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LONDON, APRIL 3rd, 1872 I know I am dreaming, but I can’t help but think how odd it is of him to say that. I smile, striding towards him, unable to contain my happiness. If we are only allowed to meet in dreams, then so be it. I will make the most of it. “Why does it matter where I am? You are here, and that is the only thing that is important right now,” I tell him, my hands travelling towards him, but he steps back. I stop, letting my arm fall back down to my side. This is odd. I thought dreams always showed one’s deepest desires. Not their fears. That is what nightmares are for. I don’t think this is a nightmare. “Is everything alright?” Ezra stares at me, as if he were slowly starting to lose it. “Why can’t you just answer my question?” he wants to know, taking me aback once again.