Last night she dreamed she was in France.

Her dress was silk and there were precious stones hanging from her ears and around her neck.

All the designers loved her. They begged for her favor, and those who got it wept tears of joy.

You have a perfect body, they said. You have a perfect face, they said. Let us dress you they said.

Jewelers searched the world for the perfect gems to adorn her body. Sparkling diamonds, shimmering pearls, dazzling rubies and sapphires.

They bring out your eyes, they said. They go wonderfully with your skin, they said. Let us show you more, they said.

Last night she dreamed she was in France.

She was sipping champagne from a crystal glass, staring out over the edge of the Eiffel Tower.

There were boys everywhere. Stretching in a line all the way down to the base of the tower and back into the streets. French boys and English boys. Spanish boys and Italian boys. Hundreds of them, all clamoring for one thing. Her.

You're beautiful, they said. You're incredible, they said. Let us love you, they said.

Last night she dreamed she was in France.

The midday sun shone down on her face, and she gazed into the deep blue sky above.

The boys, and the designers, and the jewelers stopped and watched her. Bathed in her radiance as she bathed in the sun.

We love you, they said. You're perfect, they said. Let us treat you as a queen, they said.

Last night, she dreamed she was in France.

But this morning, she woke up in a cave, two miles from home.

The clothes she wears are stolen. The jewelry plastic. She hasn't seen the Sun in one hundred and thirty two days.

But there is a man lying beside her, so that's something.

I'll take you to France someday, he says.

(She doesn't believe him)