The cottage was surreal, just as charming and quaint as Alice had always pictured it. The stone walls had wooden trellises on which deep green ivy climbed, and the thatched roof was a pale brown, dappled with shade from the surrounding trees. The stone walls along the path connected to another set that surrounded the small building, leaving space for an overgrown garden all around the cottage’s walls. A mossy wooden gate stood on the path leading to the front door. It was immediately obvious to Alice that the Princess hadn’t yet arrived; the garden was lush but wild, filled with blackberry bushes and wild roses that had grown over the wall and choked the plots meant for vegetables and crops.  The chimney was blocked by a large bird’s nest, and the windows were so dusty and grimy they were completely opaque.  To Alice, it was utterly beautiful.

She stood a few yards from the gate, breathing shallowly, choking back quiet sobs. This was something she had wished for, longed for, and begged the universe for years. And it made her terribly sad because if she was seeing her dearest wish, then this must all be a dream.

How cruel, she thought. Because it was awfully cruel of her imagination to conjure something she could never have. Scared that the vision would disappear if she approached it, Alice stood there for a long time, drinking in the sight but staying completely still.

The light changed, turning gold and gentle, casting emerald through the forest canopy. It all felt so real. She could smell the forest, feel the warmth from the sun, and hear the sounds of birds and small creatures rushing about the woods.

So what? It hit her then, that she could not stand here and stare forever. So what if it’s not real? If I’m dreaming, I’ll deal with it when I wake up. If I’m hallucinating, or dead or dying, then I might as well enjoy being here. If this is somehow real, then…

She cut herself off, not daring to finish the thought, not daring to hope for anything impossible. It was only logical for her to keep moving, and to treat this as her reality for as long as she had no reason to think otherwise. But wishing and hoping for this to be really, truly real was foolish.  

Her decision made, she stepped forward confidently. The gate creaked as she opened it, iron hinges rusted so badly that orange flakes fell in a flurry. Large flat stones marked the now-grassy path up to the door. As she approached, her heart began to pound, and her hands grew sweaty. She wasn’t sure if she imagined the rose buds opening slightly as she brushed by them, her jeans catching slightly on the thorns. At the door, she paused only briefly before opening it gently, remembering how the story described the fragility of the old, rotting wood. The Princess accidentally knocked the door down completely when she first arrived, and Alice didn’t want to break or disturb anything. The inside was dark, dusty, covered in cobwebs, all gloomy and dirty and glorious.  It was just like the novel described. The fireplace, the small kitchen, the door open into a tiny, cozy bedroom, a table by a large window – just glorious.

Finally, Alice felt calm again. It was time to get to work.

There was a well in the back, and the water was clean enough to drink. Once she was hydrated, the headache from her hike gone, Alice set about removing the worst of the dirt. She moved quickly, sweeping and dusting and wiping down the surfaces – she found brushes and rags and a broom in the kitchen and closets as soon as she thought of them, like the cottage knew what she needed to clean it and wanted to help her. As she worked, she wondered as she often had while reading the book where the cottage came from, and why it was so special. The little house was filled with magic, a gentle, unassuming sort that helped the Princess learn how to care for herself, do simple housework, and survive independently. There was a small bookcase filled with just the books the Princess had needed – books on foraging, cleaning, gardening, cooking, medicine and home remedies, and even things like finances and market prices and almanacs from recent years. In the novel, the Princess thought at one point how odd it was that there were recent almanacs in a house that had so clearly been abandoned, but it was never explained.

The cottage was a small space but there was a great deal to do and not much time before nightfall. Alice moved quickly, astonished at how easy all the tasks were, the gloom disappearing and being replaced with a friendly atmosphere as she cleaned the large windows to let the light of late afternoon flood the kitchen and living space. The bedroom was a huge mess, and the sheets and blankets on the bed would need to be washed and repaired, so she focused on other things. There was a lovely armchair in fairly good condition by the fireplace, which would do perfectly well as a bed for the night.

As it grew dark, Alice found some candles and lit them, finishing up the last bits of sweeping and dusting. It would be a cold night, as she didn’t have any firewood and it was already too dark to safely get any – and just as she thought this, she noticed a small pile of firewood in a stone alcove by the fireplace. Smiling to herself, giddy and relieved and oh so happy, she cleared the empty birds nest from the chimney with the broom - which was just long enough to manage it - and then set up the small fire and heated some water for tea. She had even found dried elderberries for tea and some grain she could make a porridge with for dinner. A sense of disjointed déjà vu struck her. It was incredible just how similar her evening was to the night before: a dinner of porridge and tea, an evening alone in a small home. And yet she was completely content, where before she had been miserable and lonely. Perhaps not completely content, she thought guiltily, remembering her plants, alone at home. And although her uncle and cousin hardly felt like family to her, and she hadn’t seen them in years, it was painful to think that if she truly was gone from her world, then it was most likely that no one was missing her except her little garden. A window shutter creaked outside, and slammed shut, breaking her reverie.

Shaking off her melancholy, she turned to the bookshelf. It was small but packed with books of all shapes and sizes, mostly hardcovers and leather-bound tomes, still a bit dusty despite her cursory efforts earlier. She would need to spend more time cleaning each book carefully tomorrow. Alice decided it would make sense to read before trying to sleep, even if she didn’t have the story she normally read. Then again, she laughed to herself, maybe I have the story more than I ever did before. I am in it, after all, or at least in the same world. Still chuckling quietly, she picked a book from the shelf titled On House Magicks and Spirits – a book that was never mentioned in the novel. It was a thin tome, bound in a dark black leather cover with a stamp of the imperial crest on it which she recognized from the novel’s description.  Her surprise grew more and more as she read.

The magicks of the home have often been overlooked by scholars who focus more on the so-called ‘five great magicks’, but their power should not be overlooked. Most families throughout the empire are protected to some degree by house spirits. These spirits inhabit domiciles and grow in strength with the care and attention given by their residents, and they reciprocate by defending the comfort and hospitality of the homes they share. Humans with an affinity for house magick resonate with their house spirits, sharing power and increasing the sentience and self-sufficiency of the home. Respecting these spirits is vital for the residents’ safety, as maligned and neglected homes often twist and warp the character of their spirits into ghouls. Despite the simple causes of these ‘hauntings’, precious little is widely known of how to care for a house spirit, and house magick is not taught in any leading universities. Widespread ignorance endangers the public and leads to mistreatment of the house spirits, and this scholar brings this issue to the Council of…

Suddenly, the candle went out, and Alice’s head snapped up. As fascinated as she was, she had begun to fall asleep, utterly exhausted by the day. She looked around the darkened room in wonder, marveling at this world she had found herself in, already so much more complex than the novel had ever described. It was like the cottage had heard her questions and given her the answer. And then, when she had started to fall asleep, perhaps the spirit of the cottage had decided it was time for her to go to bed. “Thank you,” she whispered, feeling warm and safe and so very, very happy. Then she gathered the blankets she had found and curled up in the armchair by the now-dying fire, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.