The elf children of Wexmede orphanage are still sleeping, thought Drew, looking back at the mansion entombed in mist. Its drawn muslin curtains giving the impression that the mist had somehow worked its way through the sashes and air vents and was looking out at itself from each window inside the children’s home.
Douglas Drew was now walking on a bed of frost. The cold, damp misty air and rime covered grass, had always held a beauty in his mind; but now, in this dream, a great sadness danced over the frozen lake ahead of him partnered with a peculiar, and bewildering sense of joy.
“You feel the presence of your friends, even on the ghost moon, that shows how strong your love is,” Drew span around several times trying to detect where the soft, musical voice was coming from. “Who is there?”
Suddenly, appearing from the mist that hung shroud-like over the grounds of his old orphanage, an Elleth appeared. Such was the beauty of this she-elf that the gift of language and all thought vanished from Drews brain.
The Elleth smiled at Drew, her eyes brilliant blue, as stars glowing in the mist like two lighthouses marking the entrance of a long sought-after harbour.
“Tell me Elleth, am I dead? Have you come to take me home? Or, if I am still dreaming, does this dream include the…
