“I’m looking up into the trees, their boughs and their branches, they seem to be listening to me, I think they’re speaking to me?”

“I’m placing my hand on my chest, to feel my heart, and there’s a locket hanging from a silver chain”

“Where did you get the locket?” your therapist asks.

“He gave it to me” you whisper. “There’s a secret spell hidden inside”

“What kind of spell?” your therapist asks curiously.

“One I have to obey.” You confess.

“You sound pleased for this” your therapist senses, encouraging you to reveal more.

“I’m, I’m feeling light, not like a feather, but as if I could float, as if the air here is heavier than I am. As if I’m in the sea, where the weight of salt water would let my fresh water body float free.”

“I’m bending my knees, gently pushing myself upwards, and I’m lifting up into the air, my feet are leaving the ground, but I’m not jumping, and I’m not flying, I’m floating.”

“Can you swim?” your therapist asks.

“Yes. Yes. I’m pushing my hands and arms through the air and kicking with my legs, and my body is swimming up into the boughs and branches of the trees.”

“Can you breathe?” your therapist wonders, pen poised and ready to take note.

“Yes, I’m in the air, but I’m swimming, not flying. And I’m climbing up through the trees, my white dress floating all around me.”

“Oh my god, it’s beautiful. Now I can see, I’m inside a long, lost, castle home, with chalk white stone walls, and open glassless window frames. All overgrown inside, with trees and moss.”

“The trees are pushing their summer leaves and new grown branches out through her lower open windows, she’s bulging with the wild woodland that’s taken root inside her walls.”

“And with a single breaststroke I can push out with my arms, and kick with my legs, and I’m swimming higher, reaching up through the tree tops and making my way up into the sky above.

“I’m floating, I feel buoyed inside, just like a canoe might float on a calm river, and yet I am a kite held aloft, from where I can now see over her ramparts, her steep curtain walls, rising up from her moat, a ring of fresh water, mirror flat, flanked within a sparse circle of trees, green fields and a canal.”

“I can see her battlements, her bailey, barbican and keep. I can see her corbels and her once covered parapet walk, now exposed to the open sky and overgrown with vines.”

“In the Northeast corner her tallest turret rises high, higher than her belfry and the bell tower mounted over her gatehouse.”

“He’s here, standing at the top of that tower, with his back to me, he’s looking out to the North searching over the tree lines. I can make out the broad line of his shoulder, his hair and long curls.