I needed to take control of the dream. I held out a hand with fingers splayed and focused my will. “Zzzzzzzsssst! Pshew! Zzzzist!” I said. But nothing happened.

“What in Sang are you doing, love?” he asked.

My arm dropped to my side. “I was trying to shoot lightning bolts out of my fingertips,” I said. Then, quietly, “It usually works.”

“Told you it wasn’t a dream. Do you want to try flying, too?”

Sheepishly, I gave a little hop, but my feet came back down to the ground.

“No,” I said, feeling sullen and embarrassed and on the verge of outright panic.

Autore: Delilah S. Dawson