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I went back to the dream again, last night. It was in the grey city again, and I was in hiding from the wolves. They searched the streets for me, for my scent, and even in my dream I knew that it was useless to run. I waited at the window of a faceless girl's home, and looked out through smoked and whorled glass onto rain-dimmed streets. What will happen if they find me? I asked her. You will be taken to their home, she told me with no words, and you will be taught how to smile like a wolf, and move like a wolf, and kill like a wolf. And if you prove unteachable, you will be bound with chains and thrown into the well. She showed me the others in the well, their pale, rotting faces in the murky water, their long tendrils of hair drifting in the currentless depths like kelp. It wasn't the death they promised that I was afraid of-- it was their serene white faces, like lilies in the darkness. And as we waited by the window, listening to the faceless girl's not-words, the wolves found me, and tore me to pieces before I could wake up.