Ariadne believed it. Which was funny, given the number of times and ways the universe--multiverse?--had of trying to disprove her. But hope was what separated her from everyone else. What made her feel comfortable in her own skin. What guided her when things looked too bleak for a way out.

It was working. So far.

"Ariadne," she said, shifting the basket of her skirts toward him, so he could help himself to the strawberries. "But most people call me 'Airy.'" Which made a lot of sense, given the way she talked and the way she moved.

Even the way she breathed.

She was just so incredibly light. Lighter than air. Except that Lighter-Than-Air sounded like a terrible nickname to her.

"I'm from Valeria, although I don't expect that to mean anything to you. No one here seems to have heard of it."