“You could fly over all that distress and disaster and contamination. You could fly over it and survive it and get somewhere better.” Even as a phantom, Sanji said this too casually. Was there somewhere better? Here, inside the dream? Sometimes Sanji had taken her to the lab garden, to the apple tree that grew there, but always after a session in the blood room, so that the gardens, for all their peace and comfort, were tinged red, and she could not even see them for the turmoil raging inside.
