When I sleep my neurons play odd games XXVI...
Last night I dreamt I was in Lost Hope at a grand banquet: huge tables took up half the ballroom around the tree and strange guests in fantastic dress ate and chatted.
I had the bright idea of making myself mad so I could do magic: I imagined my mind was a mirror and shattered it.
Since that worked so well I decided to force one of the stone corridors in the brugh to lead to the Black Tower: I imagined a tendril of the Darkness and a narrow hallway were ribbons or string and then tied them together.
I left the banquet, found the corridor and opened the first door I came to. I had expected to see Jonathan Strange, or perhaps the Hurtfew library. Instead there was a plain Georgian sitting room, and Bertie Carvel was standing by the window reading a book. (Well, I thought, if the original curse was vague enough to entangle multiple English magicians, maybe it's vague enough to snag actors too?) He looked a bit confused as to why there was a deranged young lady in a regency ball gown and ornate headdress telling him to move the rug and chairs out of the way for the spell, but he got on with it and didn't ask any questions.
I then went back to the ballroom and started gathering random faery trinkets I’d need to break the curse whilst twitching and talking nonsense to myself. Lady Pole found me and tried to look after me (which was very sweet but not very helpful as I needed to stay insane).
I returned to the Black Tower corridor and the sitting room: it had been cleared so the bare floorboards showed, and Bertie Carvel had changed from jeans and a t-shirt into a white toga with a crown of ivy and a wooden staff. He smiled; crooked and a little apologetic. “I thought I might as well dress the part." I set the trinkets in specific places on the floor; he knelt down in front of one of them, still holding his staff and looking like an Ancient Roman priest. "So - how does one break the curse?”
I stood by another trinket, pulled out a little iron knife and held the blade against the inner crook of my elbow. “I just have to draw the key,” I told him.
And then I woke up.
I had the bright idea of making myself mad so I could do magic: I imagined my mind was a mirror and shattered it.
Since that worked so well I decided to force one of the stone corridors in the brugh to lead to the Black Tower: I imagined a tendril of the Darkness and a narrow hallway were ribbons or string and then tied them together.
I left the banquet, found the corridor and opened the first door I came to. I had expected to see Jonathan Strange, or perhaps the Hurtfew library. Instead there was a plain Georgian sitting room, and Bertie Carvel was standing by the window reading a book. (Well, I thought, if the original curse was vague enough to entangle multiple English magicians, maybe it's vague enough to snag actors too?) He looked a bit confused as to why there was a deranged young lady in a regency ball gown and ornate headdress telling him to move the rug and chairs out of the way for the spell, but he got on with it and didn't ask any questions.
I then went back to the ballroom and started gathering random faery trinkets I’d need to break the curse whilst twitching and talking nonsense to myself. Lady Pole found me and tried to look after me (which was very sweet but not very helpful as I needed to stay insane).
I returned to the Black Tower corridor and the sitting room: it had been cleared so the bare floorboards showed, and Bertie Carvel had changed from jeans and a t-shirt into a white toga with a crown of ivy and a wooden staff. He smiled; crooked and a little apologetic. “I thought I might as well dress the part." I set the trinkets in specific places on the floor; he knelt down in front of one of them, still holding his staff and looking like an Ancient Roman priest. "So - how does one break the curse?”
I stood by another trinket, pulled out a little iron knife and held the blade against the inner crook of my elbow. “I just have to draw the key,” I told him.
And then I woke up.