Reyna's mind is all lush flora and running rivers and dying sun as she dreams.

When she dreams, there is nothing. There is no war or New Rome or responsibilities of the Preator. There is only her and the sound, muscular hold of Jason Grace and his callous fingers running through her long black locks.

When she dreams there is nothing stopping her from laughing and giggling like the schoolgirl she wished she could be in waking life. Nothing stopping her from moaning and screaming and cuddling with the only person she would've aloud to make her feel like that anywhere - be it in dreams or awake.

There is nothing stopping her from letting go.

When she dreams there are no blonde-haired pain in the necks who tear up teddy-bears to see the mysteries of life. There are no meddlesome daughters of Aphrodite who try to snatch away what has and always will be rightfully hers.

There is only a deserted Circe's island and the sensation of Jason Grace - his lips teasing the crook of her neck and hands searching and caressing breasts.

There is only them.