It is the eve of the celebration and Alden welcomes his guests with a keen eye. Sofia and her cousin Josie Carmichael are known for their charm and beauty; who could mistake that- but no, it is word of their cruelty that has spread far beyond their looks. Their society of wealthy ladies dressed to the nine's in sparkling jewels and gowns, click across the marble in their petite undersized feet following their queen.

Josie positions herself at the front of the hall. She curtsies to his mother and stares sullenly at the prince, with her long nose like a sundial and a mocking smile.

“You treat your people too kindly.” Sofia is telling a courtier. “It is you that owns the castle, not they. Only last week a merchant presented himself at my father's court claiming his daughter's beloved kitten had escaped beyond the walls and assured us of a week's trade for its safe return. The insolence! I discovered the creature cowering by the rose gardens and made sure I witnessed its death. That is the example you want to set for such bold behaviour. The father was executed also-”

“But for what crime?”

“The crime of overindulging his child of course! As for the child, growing up without a father is punishment enough.”

The courtier nods in agreement, for no-one would dare to speak out against the cousins. Their father is in the king’s inner circle, and desperately besotted with his two girls, which, the prince believes, spoke volumes.

“I've heard stories about your glass room. Is it really as magnificent as they describe?” Josie’s eyes have the natural softness of shape, large like an animé character but within its core, the underside of a blade and equally as sharp.

“Yes. Quite magnificent I believe.” He replies, watching the smile that breaks across her skin like a crack in an ice pond. He turns to leave. One, two, three-

“Will you show me sometime?” She has the fervour of curiosity; they always do.

*

Two hours later sees Sofia padding down the glaring green of the hall, now transformed with the fevered green of a thousand forests, sunlight dappled on leaves. Her feet sore, mouth strained from an evening of smiling… and oh, what revelry! How she adored being the centre of the ladies’ desire and envy, and the gentlemen; ever eager to add their names to her dance card. They would have kissed her feet if she wished it, oh, it was positively delightful!

Sofia had hardly noticed her cousin was gone. Gone where exactly? No doubt, vanished into the depths of the castle with the prince to view his rather ‘spectacular’ collection. Huh! She was just as beautiful, accomplished, charming as Josie, had she not also trekked kingdoms to be here? “Josie, it’s getting late. Where are you?” Sofia complains, her face contorted in annoyance.

Staircases of glass winding to unknown rooms, endless corridors… all look the same in the dazzling brightness of the sun’s wicked power. As it draws strength from her, the sun keeps Sofia in the belly of its cruel oven. She does not know of a castle that can be as cold as the Arctic Ocean and as hot as the Gobi Desert at the same time. She circles up the staircases, running her hands over polished glass-

I’m over here! Here…come find me. That tantalising whisper does not seem far away, and it is her cousin, she is sure of it. Just playing hide and seek, always the prankster. 

“Did you not hear me calling? Josie are you deaf?” She charges through one of the doors, and into… an empty room. Framed on either side by long mirrors. It opens into the distance, an optical illusion; her bright blue gown reflecting back, hundreds of clones. All, so beautiful…it takes her breath away.

It’s not for a long moment, bathed in a glow of vanity, that she notices that in fact, the room is not entirely empty. In the centre, stands a large glass box. A figure is perched atop a pedestal, limbs askew, elbows crooked, head slumped forward; a marionette on strings. A dark stain blossoms its chest, spreading outwards rapidly.

“Josie?” Sofia is afraid. She is afraid of her cousin’s silence, the awkward stillness, the glass like a coffin. There is no opening, no door handle or rim to open it and most shockingly, no hole to breathe from.

“Josie, my love can you hear me?” In this music box of a room… she cannot tear her eyes from the stain, on the dress as white as snow, slowly, bathed thick with blood.

*

As Dinah exits this vision of the past, she wonders, does time matter in a reality that does not exist? The casket girls with their dreams, their histories, their set of moralities. Their bond to this world is stronger than the one they left behind.

As the Dream Devil stands there in the doorway now, with that knowing, sad, ghostly smile, she feels a shiver run up her spine. He knows everything about her, the Pandora’s box of fears her mind created, a watchman through her childhood. The land of dreams was a reprieve against a reality sometimes so unbearable she felt she could lose herself in it forever. And yet, all things considered, what could be more sinister?

“Welcome Dinah. I have been expecting you.” His iris’, so close now, she can almost see her own reflection pooled in its depths.

“Why am I here?” She wipes her eyes.

“That’s not important, is it? Don’t cry, my sweet. The important thing is you're here.” He begins to lead her down a corridor, dimly lit. Candelabras with their silver ornate holders, casting dancing outlines along the black polished glass. All is glass, and all is black.

“Alden.” Dinah turns her attention to the young man who is now leading her by the arm. To all who encounter him, he is well dressed, in a navy, impeccably pressed suit, cufflinks set in gold, a bright turquoise mounted on a pale but eye-catching blue. They flicker in the meagre light, as if the very stones are on fire. His eyes too are unsettling; the same colour as the stone.

He has not aged a day.

As they emerge from the bleak corridor, there lie a pair of heavy-set glass doors, rising above their heads into the sky. Alden smiles at the irreplaceable look of awe on her face. He staggers a hand through his feathery hair as the doors slide open with expectancy, revealing a small room with nothing but a bed and a dressing table.

“You must join me at dinner.” Alden indicates the wardrobe. “I’m sure you will be able to find something to your liking. I will send someone for you when it is time.” He bends to kiss her hand, a gentleman’s parting.

“Wait...” But the door has already slid shut.