#eventually anyway

Lucanis knew he fell asleep on his cot in the pantry.

He had done the entire "nighttime" routine that Sabriel had talked him into, actually read to Spite like Emmrich had suggested, forewent his final cup of coffee, and settled in for a decent amount of sleep.

So why was he standing in the Lighthouse courtyard? And why did it look so wrong?

The Lighthouse's Fade sky rarely changed based on time, yet somehow he was standing dim twilight, the sparkle of stars beginning to show above him. There was more lush greenery around than he was used to, and new pathways stretched into the Fade beyond, lined with bushes, flowers, and the occasional headstone.

…Wait, headstone?

"Not Rook's Lighthouse."

Spite's voice came from beside him, his purple doppelganger manifesting to his left.

He glanced down as the demon crouched to poke at the flowers sprouting between the cobblestones. Was he more…solid than usual?

"Her Lighthouse. A copy. Like your prison. Was different than our prison." Spite plucked one of the flowers from the ground and held it up to his nose. "Doesn't smell right." He glared at the bloom in accusation.

"Why can you never just say something clearly?" Lucanis growled, "Whose Lighthouse? How was it copied? Did you drag us somewhere else in the Fade?"

How could Spite transport them that far in the brief amount of time he had been asleep? What was he even trying to accomplish?

"Dreaming." The demon responded, as if the answer should have been obvious. "Compassion let us in."

"A dream? What are you—" He stopped short, the answer clicking together in his head.

The flowers. The headstones. A copied Lighthouse. Hers.

"You dragged me into Sabriel's dreams?" He wasn't sure if he should be angry or horrified, looking around as he allowed the new context to color his understanding of the space. It looked like a cross between the Lighthouse and the Memorial Gardens— a fitting space for her.

"Should smell like home."

Something twisted in Lucanis's gut, but he ignored it. "Spite, why are we here?"

"They're loud. She won't listen." Spite stared ahead at the door that usually lead to the Lighthouse's library. Where it went in Sabriel's dreams, Lucanis didn't know. "You don't belong here. New voice. She might listen."

He ran a hand through his hair with a frustrated sigh. It did him no good to argue with Spite— the Fade was the demon's territory, not his. They had agreed to work together, and new partnerships meant some stumbling blocks.

It was up to him to be the mature one here.

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