Dreaming

Dreaming
Fiona

I open my eyes, look up at the night sky, and see two women I don’t recognize leaning over me. Sharp, intense pain spikes at my temple, and I lie still for a moment, trying to piece together where the hell I am. The last thing I remember is falling into a pit at the archaeology site in the middle of the day. Nothing about this place matches that memory, and for a few seconds, I just lie here, breathing slowly as I try to make sense of it.

“Are you well, Domina?” one of the women asks. I recognize the language as Oscan, which shouldn’t be possible. 

“Sit her up,” the other woman says.

They pull me upright, and I look around to see that we’re in a narrow alley. A high wall of stone and plaster stands beside us, similar in construction to the partial wall I was working on earlier, enclosing what must be the rear of a domus. 

The surfaces of the walls are fresh and clean. There’s no dust, dirt, or ash covering them. They aren’t broken, jagged, or buried. They look lived in, yet nearly new.

The women are dressed in clothing that looks exactly like what I’ve only ever seen in reenactments or movies—fabric wrapped and draped in that unmistakable style that historians and archaeologists study and actors try to recreate. 

For a moment, I refuse to accept it, searching for an explanation that makes sense. Is this a staged reenactment, a demonstration, something I’ve stepped into without realizing it? I sit here, caught between what I know and what I’m seeing, not sure which one I’m supposed to trust.

“Where are you from, Domina?” the second woman asks.

I still can’t think clearly enough to answer, and I’m afraid of what might come out if I open my mouth. I’ve studied the language, but I’ve never actually had the opportunity to speak it in conversation.

“Perhaps she struck her head,” the woman says, cupping my face and tilting it gently as she examines me. “Her hair is like a cloud. White and shining.”

“Yes, look at her sapphire eyes. Her clothing is odd. Perhaps she’s a goddess or a guardian spirit,” the other woman replies. “Shall we help her up?”

They pull me to my feet, keeping hold of my arms as they guide me out of the alley and into a winding street. The buildings are sturdy, not ruined or crumbling like I remember. The walls stand solid and freshly kept, their surfaces rough with plaster and stone, worn only by the materials they’re made of, and maybe weather, but not by disaster.

Finally, we reach a narrow building set close against the others and step inside. They lead me through a tight entry that opens into a small central space, the air heavy with oil and perfume, then past a row of cramped rooms divided by thin walls before we step through a doorway. One of the women studies me for a moment,

“Why are you dressed like that?” she asks.

I stare at her. “Why are you dressed like that?” The words come out before I can stop them.

The women glance at each other, smirking, and then laugh, the sound light and teasing, as if they can’t believe the first words out of my mouth are a jab.

I look down at my clothes–khaki pants, a worn field shirt, sturdy boots–and the laughter hits me differently. I really am the one out of place here.

“I’m Flavia, and this is Sabina,” the one with her dark hair pulled back into a simple braid says. Her skin is bronzed from the sun, her tunic tied at the waist with a narrow belt. She lifts a folded stola from a wooden chest and hands it to me. “Here, you can borrow some of Tullia’s clothes. You look about the same size.”

“Tullia’s our roommate,” Sabina says, her curly dark hair tied back with a simple cord. Her skin is sun-kissed, and her stola is loose at the shoulders. “She’s out working right now. She’ll be home soon. What’s your name?”

“My name is Fiona.” I look around and realize I must be dreaming—or in a coma. This isn’t a reenactment; the city still stands. This is real. I’m here, holding clothes from the Roman Imperial period. 

“Here,” Flavia says, gesturing toward a wooden divider at the back of the room. “You can step behind there and change.”

I nod, slipping past the screen and pulling off my modern clothes. The stola feels strange in my hands, soft but heavy, and I manage to wriggle into it, adjusting the folds as best I can. When I step back out, the women are smirking, clearly entertained by how out of place I must appear. 

“So, are you going to tell us where you’re from?” Flavia asks, handing me a pair of sandals. 

I have no idea what to say. How could I possibly tell them I’m from a place that won’t exist for another two thousand years?

“I… I’m from far to the north,” I finally say, slipping into the sandals, which are surprisingly only just a little too snug. “A place you probably haven’t heard of.”

The women glance at each other, clearly noticing how different I look. 

“Is that why your hair grows white?” Sabina asks.

“Well, we call it platinum blonde where I come from,” I reply, “but yes.”

“It’s gorgeous,” Flavia adds.

“Thank you,” I say. “Did you say your roommate was working? What kind of work does a woman do at night?” I catch myself the instant the words slip out, cheeks heating, realizing how rude that must sound.

Flavia smiles. “We’re courtesans.”

Sabina pours something from a small clay jug into a cup and holds it out. “Would you like to have some wine with us?”

“Yes, thank you,” I say, taking the cup from her hands.

I notice how they carry themselves. They’re confident, unashamed, completely at ease in who they are, even in a world where women have so few choices. They have their own room here, they’re beautiful and seem healthy, and they make their own way. It’s clear to me that they take care of themselves, and they do it well.

I take a sip of the wine, and it’s incredible. “I’ve never had wine that tastes so wonderful,” I tell them.

“Do they not have wine like this in the north?” Sabina asks.

“Definitely not.” I smile, savoring the rich, tangy sweetness that’s completely unlike anything I’ve ever tasted.

Sabina tilts her head, studying me a little more closely. “How did you end up in that alley, anyway? And your head—does it still hurt?”

The question makes my grip tighten around the cup. I keep my expression as calm as possible. “I don’t know,” I lie. “I just remember waking up and seeing both of you standing over me.”

Sabina’s expression softens, and she nods. “Well, you’re safe now.”

The door opens, and another beautiful woman steps inside. Her dark hair is twisted up and piled atop her head. She wears a deep red tunic, belted at the waist, with a pale cream shawl draped over one shoulder.

“Fiona, this is Tullia,” Flavia says, gesturing toward me. “Tullia, this is our guest, Fiona from the north.”

Tullia smiles. “Welcome, Fiona. You’ve come at a good time.”

Sabina tilts her head, curious. “Why is it a good time?”

Tullia grins and pulls a small pouch from her belt. “Because I just got a very handsome tip from a client,” she says, holding out a bit of what looks to me like a small, dark lump in a cloth, sticky and fragrant in a strange, earthy way.

Flavia and Sabina clap their hands together, giddy, their laughter filling the room. 

“Poppy sap? Well done!” Flavia cheers. 

“We’ve earned this!” Sabina adds. 

I find myself smiling, too. Their enthusiasm and energy is infectious. Then I rack my brain, trying to figure out what “poppy sap” could mean, and it suddenly hits me—these ladies are about to nibble on some opium.

Flavia grabs a wine bottle from the table in the corner of the room. “Let’s take this up to the roof,” she says, her eyes sparkling.

Tullia and Sabina nod and gather cushions and small blankets. The three women lead the way up a narrow staircase, and I follow, careful not to stumble, my mind spinning. The thought of walking across a rooftop in Pompeii at night, while the city is alive and whole, long before the eruption, feels completely surreal.

On the roof, I stare out across the city, dark, quiet, and still, the streets winding between the stone and plaster buildings. The women arrange the cushions in a small circle on the flat roof. 

We sit, and Flavia lifts the wine bottle, taking a sip, before handing it to Tullia, who drinks before passing it to Sabina. I take my turn, tilting the bottle and tasting the sweet wine. The buzz hits me fast, and I feel it already starting to go to my head.

“So, Tullia,” Sabina asks, leaning back on her elbows, “who gave you the poppy sap?”

Tullia grins. “A very generous client,” she says. “A wealthy man living in a fine house not far from here.” She reaches into the folds of her tunic and pulls out the sap. 

When she unwraps the dark lump and bites off a portion, I watch her, wondering if I’m actually about to take a bite myself or if I’m dreaming. Maybe if I take a bite, I’ll wake up, and I’ll no longer be on a rooftop in ancient Pompeii with three beautiful harlots. 

Flavia takes a piece next, chewing as she passes the remainder to Sabina, and I catch myself thinking that I need to quickly decide if I’m going to try opium for the first time with strangers in a strange land. Sabina nibbles hers and then holds the last piece out to me, and I realize I’m caught somewhere between curiosity and completely losing my mind.

I take a deep breath, telling myself that if I eat it, I’ll wake up from whatever dream or nightmare I’ve fallen into. I bite off a tiny piece, chew, and immediately, a cozy warmth spreads through my head, softening the edges of the stress.

Tullia lies back, head on her cushion, eyes half-closed. “Ah, that’s perfect,” she murmurs, her words coming out soft and dreamy.

Flavia giggles and looks at me. “You feel it too, don’t you? Light… floating…”

I try to focus on the language, but my thoughts are wild, like feathers drifting, and it takes me a moment to translate my thoughts from English to Oscan. “I… I think I see what you mean,” I whisper, the words coming out slowly, as I let my body sink into the cushions. The pain in my head has completely disappeared, and I’ve never felt so weightless and carefree. 

Sabina sighs, looking up toward the stars. “It’s like the world’s spinning in the palm of my hand.”

One by one they stretch out on the cushions, relaxing into the warmth, eyes closing, breathing slowly. I feel my eyelids growing heavy, my thoughts softening and drifting, and I tell myself that when I wake up, I’ll be back in 2026, at the dig site, with my colleagues, in the world I know.



The sun’s first light falling across my eyelids must wake me because when I open them, the sky is no longer black and twinkling silver. It’s orange, coral, and fuchsia. The beauty of the morning crashes into the hideousness of the terror in my heart when I realize that I’m still here with the three ladies I met last night. 

How am I going to get back home?

I rise and walk to the edge of the roof, taking it all in. The city is waking, carts being loaded, shutters opening on the houses below. People move with purpose, unaware of me above them, and for a moment, I can’t even be upset that I’m stuck here. It feels like a dream I don’t want to leave yet, and I wonder if I’ll wake up at any second. 

I hear movement behind me and turn around to see Tullia stretching and yawning and Flavia standing up to smooth her tunic.

“Good morning,” Tullia says, looking up at me. “Did you sleep well?”

“I think so,” I reply, still dizzy from last night’s wine and sap.

Sabina wakes up next, stretching and standing up to brush the dust from her clothes. She doesn’t speak, and her brow is furrowed, making me think she must not be a morning person.

Tullia stands, too. “Let’s go downstairs and get ready for our day.” 

They move toward the steps leading down from the roof, and I follow. Back in their room, they begin their morning routine. 

We each dip our hands into the basins of water and splash our faces. Sabina hands me a chew stick, and I follow her example, scraping gently at my teeth as she does hers. Flavia twists her hair into a braid, securing it with pins. 

Tullia pulls out a small bronze mirror and holds it up to me. “May I?” she asks, holding a pinch of reddish powder between her fingers. When I nod, she gently dabs it onto my cheeks. 

After Tullia finishes with the powder, Sabina leans over and asks, “May I do your hair?

“Of course,” I say, and she begins twisting sections into a braid, securing them with pins as she works.

Sabina’s fingers move carefully through my hair. “Are you sure your head is all right? From when we found you?”

“It’s fine,” I say. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Do you remember anything at all?” Flavia asks. “Where you live? Your family? Your friends? Where you were coming from or going to?”

“No,” I lie again, shaking my head. “I don’t remember any of that. Just my name.” I hesitate, then add quietly, “I’m so sorry.”

Tullia waves a hand dismissively. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“Yes,” Sabina agrees gently. “It’s not your fault.”

Flavia nods. “What matters is that you’re all right. You’re sure your head doesn’t hurt?”

I shake my head again. “No, it’s fine. I just… don’t remember anything.”

Sabina’s tone softens. “Then we’ll just have to make sure you’re taken care of until you do.”

When Sabina finishes with my hair, I lift the bronze mirror and stare at my reflection. I hardly recognize myself. I look like one of them, apart from the color of my eyes and hair. A thrill runs through me. This is starting to feel like an adventure, and I can’t help but smile at the thought. What is a day in the life of a woman in Pompeii like? I suppose I’m about to find out.