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will never be able to find it. It is irre-trievably gone.
    And as the kaleidoscope begins to turn again, I have one agonizing thought: that somewhere, in all the rooms through which I've traveled, I have lost myself as well.
    Now there comes the part of the dream I hate the most. The part where I wish desperately to be awake, so that I could put a stop to everything simply by closing my eyes. But, as they are closed already, I am trapped. Try as I might, I cannot open my eyes and awaken, and so put an end to things that way. The dream is not yet ready to let me go.
    For now the kaleidoscope revolves unceasingly, the images forming only for as long as it takes them to dissolve. I feel as if I am tumbling head over heels through the sky. It is dark one moment, filled with colors the next, until I lose all sense of space and time. But one thing always stays with me: the sense of pain, of loss. And as I suddenly see the ground rushing up to meet me I am filled with one desire: to make the whole thing stop, no matter what the cost.
    I have heard Nurse say that, if you dream that you are falling, it is very important that you wake up before you hit the ground.
    Either that, or you must dream you land upon your feet, whole and unharmed. Since this is a nightmare, I do neither of these things. Instead the kaleidoscope turns again and, when it stops, I am lying flat on my face in the dark.
    As I lift my head, light and color begin to return. I am in a room full of courtiers, dressed in their finest garments. They pass so near that I fear they will tread upon me, but somehow, they do not. I recognize many and I call out to them. Not one replies.
    But it isn't until I reach out to catch the silken hem of a passing dress that I realize why.
    They cannot see me. I can no longer see myself.

    30

    I know that I exist. I can feel my churning stomach when I press a hand against it. Feel the hot stickiness of my own blood run down my face when I slam my head, hard, against the wall.
    But I can see none of these things. They are invisible, just as I am. Somewhere in the midst of my whirling tumble, I have been whirled right out of existence. Or, at the very least, right out of sight, of heart, of mind.
    At this, so excruciating a pain fills me that an extraordinary thing happens: I wink back into being, as if this pain alone is the thing that gives me form. In that moment, I know I must carry it with me always, nurturing it like a child. Feeding it and tending it.
    I cannot afford to let it die.
    For someday, I will find the way to make those who overlook me see me truly. Find the way to make them see the things I long for in my heart. And when I do . . .
    I probably don't have to tell you that this is the moment when I always woke up, tears upon my cheeks, torn between relief and disappointment. Happy that the dream was over, it is true. But frightened by an outcome I could never see, and by a puzzle I have never been able to solve.
    Who was I?
    I can practically hear you say it. Surely the answer is obvious.
    I was Jane, of course.
    This is what my nurse thought, for she said this is the way of strong magic sometimes. Nurse said that the strongest magic doesn't simply act upon us, it becomes us. Running with our blood, holding us upright from the inside out, just like our bones.
    Two of the most powerful spells ever cast in the whole history of my fathers kingdom were made over me. Now, according to Nurse, they lived inside me, constantly at war. One seeking my destruction, the other, my salvation. My nightmare was the inevitable result.
    It made sense, I suppose.
    Naturally, I tried not going to sleep on what I knew would be a dream night. It never worked. No matter what I did, sleep always came for me sooner or later, bringing the nightmare when it did.
    I suppose when the things that give you bad dreams live inside you, there's no point in trying to stop them. They're going to come out whenever they decide it is their time. Better just to