The astral winds blew hot and sticky like a midwestern day stuck naked to a naugahyde couch. She didn’t make any noise, though; Silk was more than adept at traipsing quietly through a dream, no matter how crazy the dreamer.
Nebula was probably the most dangerous victim she’d ever had to help. And Nebula was a victim, Silk kept reminding herself. Dozens upon dozens of transformed heroes, flicking in and out of distinct, parallel timelines. So hard to keep track. A humiliated hero here, a ballooned bombshell over there and even Silk was having a hard time remembering it wasn’t real. Overwhelmed by the sheer power of the terrible artifact, Nebula, the so-called Queen of the Aether, had wrapped herself so tightly in this protective dream chrysalis that the line was drawing ever thin. Soon all of Reality would be asleep.
And then… ?
Like a spider navigating a web, Silk skittered across the pink and purple strands of unwoven dream-stuff, making her way over to