Out of the Fairy Mushroom Ring in which I was gripped by a long dream (not a nightmare, for there were many wonderous sights & beings there, with manifold magicks to behold), I emerge.
All around me the Forest is dark. It is winter and the cold grips me. Suddenly I miss the warm subterranean comforts of the Fairy Realm from which I have been expelled, its bubbling brooks and soothing breeze. And already I feel the gaping loss of all the Joys I knew there… the four little Goblin-Kin who would always follow me around and curl up next to me whenever my spirit would grow weary; the sensuous arms of the Queene herself, which she would offer when the mood would strike her; the daily Feast in which all would partake, which led to merriment, drunkenness and a careless kind of decadence. It dawns on me that I am never to set foot there again, and I start crying as I walk, the wind stinging my eyes, biting at my wet cheeks.
All this because of some indirect, involuntary slight which I am supposed to have perpetrated, at some point, under some circumstances which seem arguably dubious, if not downright in the domain of blatant lies and fabrications.
No, this exile which had been imposed on this, my lost self, by them which had taken me prisoner in the first place, seems most unfair.
Yet once fallen, Icarus (if he not be drown’d) had to pick himself up and re-enter the grounded domain from which he sprung.
Slowly, as my tears either dry off or freeze, the things which I had left behind upon my capture trickle back down into my conscience.
My beloved estate, its wooded seclusion and tranquility. My precious books, an invisible realm which I have been patrolling all my life. My most cherished friends and lovers. My gentle, faithful horse companions.
I am here, awake and alive, and these things await me once again.
But how long have I been away? How many days or weeks (or dare I say years?) did I lose in that forsaken land of temptations, base delights, blissful luminous phantasmagorias, feverish oblivion?
And then I hear a voice. Queen Mab, Titania, Gloriana, She of the Many Splendored Masks, whose wrath and opulence knows no bound, the Fairy Queene herself…
She calls: “Turn back Gordon. I command you. You must. It was a mistake. All in jest. A test of your loyalty and dedication. You have failed it, and now you shall taste the fury of my merciless caress, and be obliterated by my Love.”
I tense, prepare to run and then stop. Turning towards the sound of her voice I proclaim: “No, dear Tormentor, sweet Captor. You have contained me long enough. I thank you for your incomparable hospitality, but my time here is done. I must break off your embrace and make haste, set foot on my own personal path once more.”
Not waiting for a response, I pivot, my face exposed to the harsh winds, and head for my home.
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