I have no idea where I am. Outside, somewhere. There is a church and a graveyard. The place seems desolate, neglected, overgrown. A young woman is standing silently in the middle of the graveyard, looking down at the ground. She is dressed in black. She has her back to me, so I can’t see her face, but I feel sure it is Isabel. The graveyard is enclosed by a grey stone wall, some four feet in height, I estimate, which once would have been covered by climbing plants. In one place on the wall, opposite to where I stand at the side of the church, a single branch is clinging to life, a single red rose, withered and dying, hanging forlornly down from it.
There is something odd about the graveyard, and I am trying to fathom what it is. As I turn to go, it comes to me. There are no headstones, nothing to tell me who may be buried here, when they were born and when they died, whether they had spouses or children, whether anyone left any epitaph for them. Nothing. There is something else, too. I am not in a city now, I feel sure. I am in the countryside. Yet I think I hear a sound, a roar of some kind, not loud but steady, and I have a sense of some tall structure behind me. I think perhaps an aqueduct with a great mass of water flowing along it, but I cannot turn my head to see.
With this, the dreams come to an end for now. But so, too, do the nightmares.