Ruth Hollins is dreaming. And her threads are rarely PG rated. But then, neither is her life.

She's on a ship at sea. The Alethea in everything but name, where they're in the middle of a pitched battle.

Every single face is someone Ruth recognises. Her crewmates, certainly, but a wide selection of women as well, dying apparently at random.

Ruth herself, dressed in a long flowing dress, is standing central to the main deck, the weapons in her hands constantly changing while no one comes close enough for her to use it.

At this second she's brandishing a stem rose.