"Dream King?" she repeats. She's never heard of such a thing. Manhattan's lack of royalty was part of her whole orientation, and she'd like to think she would have heard if any Dream Kings had come through the Rift since then. Greta frowns at the cat, then cautiously lowers herself onto the opposite side of the couch. This is all completely mad; she might as well sit.

"I'm not sure what you mean," she says, smoothing her palms over her jeans, wincing just a little at the reminder that she's not wearing a dress. "There's no Dream King in Manhattan, and I don't think there's one here, either. Just the Rift." She watches the cat sidelong, wondering if it's really new to all this, or if the Rift is just toying with her. It doesn't seem like the Rift, but then again, her experience with those cats is rather limited.