"Love you," murmurs Isabella.

"Was trying to keep count. Would've guessed an Earth year."

"Fuck. Fuck, I'm so sorry, if I'd been paying attention -"

"It's important to me that you be happy someday - will you promise -"

"I'm not fixing to be depressed forever on principle but if you mean will I write you off that is not the plan."

"Sure. Hypothetically, you'd be okay -"

"What do you mean?"

Sigh.

Isabella burrows into her beanbag. "What do you need?"

"Kill Melkor and make the world nice for everybody - look after my mom, make sure she's okay -"

"Okay."

"...do you need me to explain, here -"

"I'm just guessing..."

"Telling you things I want would be a bad idea. Wanting things is a bad idea, or expecting that I ever might get them or have any control over them at all -"

"...can she fake the dreams, then..."

"Obviously -"

"Oh."

"It's not your fault, any of it."

"Unless there's some reason I shouldn't I'm just. Going to put on some music," sedate violin background, "and - and read you a book. Recite you a book, text doesn't work in dreams, but, same idea."

"No reason you shouldn't."

Isabella produces a book as a sort of prop to have something to look at besides staring at the back of Maitimë's head.

"- footnotes or no footnotes or unsafe to have footnote preferences, I'm doing A Christmas Carol and I read an annotated version -"

"Footnotes sound interesting." 

So Isabella starts reciting the annotated Christmas Carol, clearly dreamily audible over the music.

And after a little while she vanishes.

Isabella notes her place in the book. She finishes her dream. She wakes.