A Fever Dream

CHAPTER 18. The Sleeping Spell

***

...Summer afternoon. Sun falls through tall garden windows. Beyond them - endless green, buzzing bees and a world full of wonders. White marble statues, some of them half-unfinished, crowd the oval shape of the room. The man, his back slightly hunched, stands facing the window. Long velvet cloak made of velvet on his back looks like a regal waterfall. His heavy sighs might be mistaken for sadness. But he's too ancient for that, too dry.

Excited, gossip-ready court tiptoes behind closed doors to the royal chamber. They await his reaction. Two guards, their faces unreadable - must be part of their profession - frown at nothing at all on this side of the door. It's red and golden, like a top of a treasure chest. She has always imagined fairytale castles like this.

And man is strange, but not scary.

When they took her to the castle she was alarmed. Dragging her suitcase behind her, tearing pieces of plastic wheels on the cobblestones roads, she blamed herself for not being able to merge with the crowds of the unknown city better. For being noticed by guards, or the police, it seemed, of this unknown place.

"What is the name of this town? Am I far from Westminster? Where is the tourist center?" She asked so many questions, but it did not look like they understood her.

They looked like humans, at least, the guards. Not like some of the citizens she'd come across, while wandering around from the railway station. There was a railway station, wasn't it? she turned around but saw only endless greens and blues of the sky. And ahead of her was the castle and she forgot all about the station and sharp ears and too long claws.

And now she shivers out of excitement. This was the king, she was told. Only she couldn't for the life of her fathom - of which country. The King - was the only word spoken in heavy accent that she managed to understand. And now she stands here in her stupid dress, so out of place in the midst of all other dresses. It seems like she was transported back in time - perhaps to the 17th century. Is that even possible? If it means she would miss her wedding, she realizes with a pang in her heart (guilty, guilty), then she is only happy. What is the King going to do with her, that is the question?

And the King wonders too.

For in front of him, or behind him to be more precise (as he cowardly turned his back on her, as she entered), stands the only person, who could have traveled here, for he only gave ticket as a goodbye present to one and only person alone.

But this was not her. He saw her face in the crowd. Saw her being dragged to him, like she was to be feared (and she was, only they did not know it yet). Same chestnut hair, same stature, same eyes - catlike and sharp. But this girl is not Marjorie Winter. He cannot count how many years have passed in her world - but for him it seems like it was just a moment, a flicker of her wrist, as she stepped onto the train and kissed him good-bye. He wanted to keep her safe, and that was the only way he knew how.

But being a coward, as he was, he had to give himself a way to undo what had been done.

Hence, the ticket.

And now, hence, this girl.

"How did you get the ticket, child?"

"Aster." She says, as if a bit defiantly. He smirks but regains his composure as he turns to face his granddaughter...

***

...The royal feist peaks, the tables lie heavy with wine and fruits. It must be Oberon's night, she thinks, perched on a long bench, digging into the pudding. The violins are on the verge of breaking, and glasses clank as if meant to be crashed. The people around her are dressed straight from a Renaissance painting, or a fairytale book, she thinks. A discrete smile creeps on her face.