The Dream.

It crawls into that dark and empty space.  It wraps its gnarly claws around me.  Grabbing me, suffocating me.  It is the colours of the night; colours of the day.  It blinds, weeps, scares it away.  This dream it holds me, cherishes me, frightens me.  Nothing to it though; in the end, it’s a dream.

My Prince.

I saw him standing in the mirror.  My prince.  He called to me.  Called me to the mirror.  The mirror, I could not, should not step into the mirror.  But he called.

I touched his hand through the glass.  My Prince should save me.  But he couldn’t.  I pulled away.  He was but a dream.