A place for dreams.

Night’s call I awake to a calling. A wordless sound that echoes within me. I lay on my bed with shafts of light streaming through the blinds. Stretching out a hand and reaching for my phone, which sits on my side table, I check the time – 3:30am. These are the Silent Hours, when the world slumbers. Sitting up, I rub the sleep and tension from my eyes; I feel strange, out of equilibrium. A sensation of vulnerability flows through me. The calling continues. It seems as if someone or something is physically tugging at my mind. Grabbing a dagger from my glass cabinet, the dragon-pommel one with a ruby set in its eye socket (coloured glass of course), I leave my room and wander through the house. The blade feels reassuring in my hand. I had bought it years ago, from a gypsy lady at one of those Mardi Gras that was prevalent at the time. Stalking through the house I discover nothing out of place; I am alone. With a wavering resolve I decide to go outside and investigate