When Sylvie awoke, she found herself once again contained within Snowpepper’s sleeping mind, without the power to so much as blink an eyelid. She immediately grasped what that must mean. Snowpepper! she shouted soundlessly, Snowpepper, wake up! We’re back!

Snowpepper stirred, then opened her eyes and gazed around her. She was sitting in the chair from which she had begun her journey. Sylvie felt the powerful upsurge of thrilled excitement that electrified Snowpepper’s body almost as though it were her own.

“Mother Maples!” the faerie shrieked, leaping out of her chair and flying dizzy loops in the middle of the room, “She’s back! My otherside self is back in my head!” She swooped over and hugged the Faerie Godwitch. “Oh, thank you, thank you so much!” She danced in place, hovering a foot off the floor.

Hey, Snowpepper, you’re making me dizzy! Sylvie complained, but there was no bite in the thought.

“Ah, so there you are, my young faerie,” Mother Maples smiled. “I’m sure you have a tale to tell, but I’ve no time at the moment. An emergency has risen, and I must deal with it at once. You’ve returned not a moment too soon, truth to tell. Any longer and I might have had to leave you there.”

“Oh, we would have been all right, Mother Maples,” a wide-eyed Snowpepper assured her. “We managed to find our way back okay. You could have gone and done whatever you needed to do. You didn’t need to worry about us!” The faerie beamed proudly.

“No, child, I am afraid you did not find your way back,” the witch smiled grimly. “I brought you home myself the very moment I sensed you sleeping together. Had I not, you would still be wandering the dreamlands. My presence was required here, and I am most pleased I didn’t have to abandon you. But now I really must get on with it. You may join our rabbit friend in the garden. I expect he will be well pleased to hear your adventures.”

She ushered the still-effusively grateful Snowpepper out the door and closed it firmly behind her. At last! A gnawing worry had preyed on her mind from the moment she had become aware of the development in her parallel timeline, a worry inexorably becoming dread. A swift muttered word, and the tiny black faerie was in the room with her, speaking in mid-sentence. Winkling didn’t notice the difference as the witch’s two selves, separated to function in parallel timelines, merged once again.

“…and she says that if you don’t contact her within two hours of receiving my message, she’ll know that you aren’t going to, and she’ll to take action, but ma’am, please, I don’t know what she meant by action,” Winkling tremulously repeated something she had said several times already. The little faerie looked distressed and haggard.

“Yes, yes,” Mother Maples said decisively, “And indeed I will contact her, but that contact must be private, I’m sure you understand…” She ushered Winkling to the door as well. “The others are out in the garden. I am sure they will entertain you with tales of their adventures. You have my gratitude for your assistance in conveying this message, especially if it is as crucial as it appears to be. Please, take the time you need to rest and refresh yourself before you embark on your return journey.”

“If you please, Mistress Godwitch,” Winkling said, “the Queen says if I complete my mission successfully, I may return via Portal this time.”

“And indeed you shall. But not until she and I are finished speaking. Please, time is short. I must ask for your indulgence.”

When the faerie had gone, Mother Maples bustled about the room, gathering together several objects which she sat on a small table in front of her chair. First she spread a purple velvet cloth over the table, and then laid upon it a silver basin, a crystal wand and a ewer of water.  The ewer had been filled from the fountain that flowed in the Queen’s Court; this she tipped into the silver bowl until it was filled to the rim, carefully adding the last few drops until only surface tension prevented the water from spilling over the edge. Setting the ewer aside, she took up the crystal wand and passed it several times over the brimming bowl, speaking as she did so several potent words. Then she laid aside the wand.

Almost immediately, the haughty face of her sister the Queen formed in the water. It appeared as if the Queen were looking up at her from underwater, rather than a flat picture superimposed on top of it. Her face was twisted in an expression of intense fear and anger. Seeing this, the witch felt a pang of sympathetic terror. She had never known her sister to show fear.

“What took you so long, Chyseis?” snapped the Queen. “I have been going out of my mind! I know exactly when you received my message; I could feel its transmission! Is this some ridiculous ploy of yours to drive me to a pitch of utter hysteria before responding? Or is it your idea of a joke? Highly, highly inappropriate at a time like this!”

She would have continued, but Chyseis, the Faerie Godwitch, cut her short. “I do apologize, sister, I was unavoidably detained. I had no wish to distress you, I assure you. However, I am confused. If your message is so time-sensitive, why did you see fit to send poor Winkling the hard way to see me when you could have ported her easily and quickly? Enlighten me, please.”

Part of a series using the names (in bold font) in the ‘from’ field of spam emails I receive. They’re too good not to use!

Spamville Community News

by Deadline K. Lent

Top story: Spamville native son Frillier K. Recruited has joined the army in an apparent attempt to prove that he ‘is not a homo’. His stepfather, patriot and ex-military man Flagstaff L. Bright, stated to the press, ‘That pussy kid’ll shoot himself in the foot. Those limp wrists can’t hold up a rifle.’

Mr. Recruited’s mother Manana E. Saddling (who uses her maiden name), celebrated down at the Spamville Pub, pouring beer after beer down the reluctant boy’s throat, reportedly shouting, “I knew he had it in him! You go shoot yourself some Ay-rabs, Frilly boy! Whoo-hoo! That’s my little hombre!”

Barstool therapist Houseflies I. Psychoanalysis had this to say about the young man’s chances for military success. “Well, he’s got some steel under those rose petals, and his body language suggests a certain level of determination. I’d say he’ll make it through basic training all right. But under fire? There’s the real test.”

Onlooker Retrospective P. Bias said, “I remember that boy from when he was a kid. He used to run home crying when the other kids picked on him. He won’t last out the first day.”

Slumped on the next barstool, pub regular Baboon Q. Tediousness began a long-winded monologue which drove other customers home.

Over at the barbershop, barber Pigeonholes H. Haircuts went on record with his opinion. “That boy’s a homo, no question in my mind. I had him pegged from the first minute I saw him.”

In other news, ex-Spamville Mayor Defamed R. Vacationing, forced from office under accusations of embezzlement, was heard from recently by email. “I didn’t do it, I swear,” he wrote from the deck of a cruising luxury yacht in the Caribbean.

Suitor M. Straiting is still engaged in his unsuccussful courtship of local girl Kathie V. Transition. “I’m changing and growing, and he’s just so stuck,” she explained, when asked why she kept refusing his offers of marriage.

Scrounger H. Redistributing, owner of second-hand shop ‘Collectibles and Reusables,’ discovered a surprise passenger in a shipment from Toledo. Disgusts V. Stowaway emerged, coughing, from a box that had originally contained fish fertilizer. When asked why he was there, he claimed to have been dared to do it by a reckless ‘so-called friend’, Riskiness T. Jeremy. Mr. Jeremy himself was ‘probably in Alaska by now, and good riddance,’ avowed Mr. Stowaway.

A local man, Pornographic A. Array, has been arrested with an extensive collection of obscene material, including kiddie porn. The porn was being circulated all over the world via the internet by Centrifuge Q. Distribute (also under arrest). Child-protection activist Tenderness B. Crusaded accused unsavoury pair Pigsty P. Displacement and Zefirelli U. Deathly of complicity in the porn ring, using children under their care. Freelance investigator Mulder E. Aggregations is checking into the possibility that this may be part of a global and extraterrestrial conspiracy.

Australian exchange student, Vegemite U. Carom, got into a scrape yesterday with the aid of local boy Wheelbarrow Q. Bugle. Veggie was seen pushing Wheelie full tilt down the middle of Main Street in a barrow full of potato chips and chocolate bars stolen from Spamville Foods. Police caught up with the two by following the sound of Wheelie’s trumpeting voice. The youngsters were reprimanded and the wheelbarrow confiscated.

Marry H. Obtusely has filed for divorce from her husband of two weeks, Fumigator D. Spooned, claiming, “I was an idiot to hook up with this guy. What was I thinking? He smells horrible and then he wants to cuddle up in bed. I haven’t slept a wink in two weeks!”

Local ‘reincarnation cult’ leaders, Turns O. Relives and Preexisted O. Begets, have announced that they have co-written a book of past-life memoirs, entitled “Born Again (and Again, and Again)”. Skeptic crusaders Disputation K. Furze and Unbend I. Ahriman have vowed to do everything in their power to turn people against such rampant fuzzyheaded nonsense, which they claim will ruin the country if left unchecked.

“I don’t see what their problem is,” shrugged publisher Honestly I. Immunity. “I think folks are generally smart enough to stick with what they know is true. These guys have as much right as anybody to tell their story.”

“How much farther is it?” Sylvie was exhausted. She and Snowpepper had been wandering, aimlessly, it seemed, through the featureless mist for long enough that she was beginning to be discouraged. “We’re not lost, are we?”

“Um…” Snowpepper made a small, distressed sound. “I don’t know. It’s different going back. Coming here, I followed you—I could feel you, you know? But now… I don’t…” Suddenly, the faerie burst into tears. “Oh, Sylvie, I’m such a dummy, I’ve gone and lost us, I’m so sorry!”

“Hey, Snow, it’s okay.” Sylvie hesitantly put her arms around the sobbing faerie. She still wasn’t used to being able to touch Snowpepper this way, but she wanted to comfort her somehow. “It’s not your fault, truly it isn’t. Anybody would be lost if they were trying to find their way in this thick pea soup fog. I’m just amazed that you found me in the first place. That was really great. You’re not dumb at all, you hear me?”

“Oh, Sylvie, what do we do now?”

“I know what I need to do,” sighed Sylvie, plopping herself to the bare, featureless ground with a groan. “I need to rest. I’m so tired I could fall over. Hey,” she coaxed, “Come on and sit with me, Snow. It’s not going to hurt us to take a little break. Maybe we’ll think of something together. Okay?”

“Okay,” sniffled the faerie. She snuggled next to Sylvie, curling into her side like a small child. Sylvie’s heart tugged in a mixture of pleasure and pain. Why, she thought. I actually love this ditzy little broad. Well, I guess it makes sense that I should! Smiling gently, she put her arm around her otherside self.

The two girls leaned on one another for support. Frightened that if she slept she might be transported into another dream and thus be separated from Snowpepper and her way home, Sylvie tried to stay awake. Despite herself, she drifted into a dreamlike state, half waking and half sleeping. Still dimly aware of the weight of Snowpepper’s body pressing against her, she fell into a fitful doze.

Mother Maples jerked involuntarily, where she sat near Snowpepper’s unconscious body. It was imperative that the faerie not be disturbed, and she immediately calmed herself, but what had just happened in the parallel timeline had bled into her awareness and rocked her with its implications.

Winkling’s message from the Queen was deeply disturbing. Clearly, the situation must be dealt with, very soon. She fervently hoped that Snowpepper and Sylvie would return promptly so she could turn her full attention to it, but she was only too aware there was no guarantee they would return at all.

While she told the faerie that the fifth card meant that they would be successful, she hadn’t told her the whole truth. Snowpepper needed to believe, for the magic of faith might ultimately make the difference between return and being lost forever. What she hadn’t shared with Snowpepper was that the positive meaning of each card’s image was conditional upon the previous one having been successfully resolved. It was indeed possible that the two could get stuck—permanently—on any of the stages depicted in the cards, lost in a causal loop that would repeat itself over and over, trapping both Snowpepper and Sylvie in the dream world.

In her heart, Mother Maples had been less sanguine than she had appeared. The fourth card in particular worried her, and though the final card gave her some cause for hope, she wasn’t certain that the two parts of the Sylvie/Snowpepper entity could achieve the resolution demanded by that very perilous card. At this point, however, all she could do was wait.

Breathing deeply, she turned her mind to the message she just received on the parallel timeline from the Queen. The situation must be extreme indeed, if her haughty, proudly independent sister was actually calling to her for help.

“Sylvie, it’s Snowpepper, please, look at me!” Snowpepper pounded on the wall that separated her from her otherside self. “Sylvie, please!”

She had already called until her throat was sore, to no avail, but she couldn’t think of anything else to do. She must get her attention—somehow!

On the other side of the invisible wall, Sylvie appeared to have fallen asleep. Frustrated, Snowpepper gave up for the moment. She tried to think. What had the image on the fourth card been? What had Mother Maples said about it? She seemed to remember her saying the fourth card was important. If only she were smarter, more like Sylvie! She was letting her otherside self down, she was letting Mother Maples down, and herself as well, she supposed, though she couldn’t imagine that she was very important compared to the others. Snowpepper had only come into existence upon entering this side of things. Sylvie was real, the important one, the one who mattered. She had no right at all to be alive without Sylvie.

“Oh! Sylvie!” the faerie whimpered, in an agony of anxiety. “Please, please wake up, please notice me!” When nothing happened, she sank to her knees, her back to the invisible wall, tears flowing down her cheeks in a steady stream. However long it took, she must wait for Sylvie. However long it took, she would make her notice her. She had to.

Snowpepper abruptly woke from a dim dream of hopelessness when the wall she leant against dissolved into nothingness. She fell over onto her back before her groggy mind realized the significance. Leaping to her feet, she turned and rushed toward the prostrate Sylvie.

For a moment she felt overwhelmed by the strangeness of seeing the other girl separate from herself for the first time. She looked like a stranger, with short brown hair, small and thin and ordiinary, nothing like the way Snowpepper saw her inside. In her mind, Sylvie appeared tall and regal, with an air of intelligence and authority. Could this really be she? Yet she knew it was; she couldn’t be mistaken. Her heart’s compass was firmly pointed toward the magnetic north of her otherside self.

“Sylvie!” she whispered, touching her hesitantly on the arm. “Sylvie, wake up, it’s me, Snowpepper.” Sylvie looked so pale, almost as though she were… Jolted by the sudden memory of the dead body in the fourth card, Snowpepper shrieked, “No! Sylvie, don’t be dead! No, please!” She shook Sylvie desperately, but she only rolled limply and settled into a position that seemed too awkward for a living person.

She was dead! She must be! Snowpepper felt an aching howl of grief rise slowly from the depths of her belly up through her heart and toward her throat. It seemed to take minutes from the first time she noticed it until it finally burst out of her throat. Her fingers curled into rigid claws, her mouth stretched wider than it should, and she screamed in profound, disbelieving, griefstricken horror. There were no words in her howls, merely a vacancy, a loss so deep as to defy expression. She bent forward, slowly, like a sapling felled in a storm wind, until her face rested, quivering, on Sylvie’s chest. Her howls settled into wrenching agonized sobs. She couldn’t imagine surviving this. She couldn’t imagine, period. Pain occupied the place where her mind normally resided.

After some endless time, she became aware of a ray of hope illuminating the memory of Mother Maples’ description of the fourth card. The chocolate witch had said, “Your tears shall call her back from the dark place she wants to hide in.”

Her tears could call her back. Could they? Even as she wondered, she was sobbing to Sylvie, attempting with all her heart’s might to penetrate the darkness to touch her wherever she was. “Sylvie,” she wept, “I need you! Please come back, please be you again! I’ll do anything, I promise, I’ll go away if you want me to but you have to come and be alive again! You are so important, you’re the one, please stay and be real, I don’t know how to be without you!”

“No, Snowpepper…” Sylvie’s voice whispered, startling her so that she jolted as though touched by a live wire. “You’re wrong. It’s me that needs you.”

Snowpepper’s emotions shifted mercurially from grief and loss to joyous salvation. “Sylvie! Oh, Sylvie, you’re back! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” The faerie threw her arms around the slender form of the girl she had cried back to life and hugged hard.

Sylvie wriggled, protesting weakly, “Hey, don’t smother me! I have to breathe, you know!”

Hastily drawing back, Snowpepper cried, “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to! I’m just so glad you’re back! I cried and cried, and I wanted you, oh please don’t go away like that again!”

“I don’t want to,” Sylvie said. “Believe me, it wasn’t my idea. Hey, Snowpepper, how did you get here, anyway? How did you find me?”

“Mother Maples helped me. She is so wonderful!”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Sylvie sighed, sinking back into torpid depression . All right, so she was awake, but so what? Almost, she wished the faerie had not found her, had left her to drift in oblivion, so she wouldn’t have to be oppressed by the burden of awareness. Where was she supposed to go from here? How was she supposed to deal with her new understanding? How could she face the world again?

She looked at Snowpepper, at her anxious heart-shaped face, her crystalline eyes still welling with tears, her fluffy, feathery pale hair. Snowpepper was so simple and pure, so… innocent. And she had hurt this innocent, long ago. She hadn’t meant to, but she had done it. She was responsible.

She sighed again, deeply. Well, she had to start someplace. “Snowpepper,” she began hesitantly, “I…I’m really sorry, you know. About the way I treated you when I was a little kid. It wasn’t fair to you. You deserved to be alive as much as me, and I really missed out, not having you in me all that time.”

The faerie blinked. What was Sylvie talking about? “I…” she began. She didn’t know what to say.

“You have to understand, though,” Sylvie pleaded, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t even know there was a you. I didn’t know what I was doing. If I had, I’m sure I wouldn’t have done it.”

“What?” Snowpepper finally managed to squeak. “What do you mean? What did you do?”

“I pushed you out of me when we were little. It’s a long story, and I know it sounds weird, but…” Sylvie took a deep breath. Might as well get it out now. As briefly as she could, she explained to Snowpepper what she had learned. “So you see, you’re really me, after all, just like the voice said, though I didn’t want to hear it then. I guess I must have felt guilty even though I didn’t remember what had happened. I didn’t want to hear it or believe it. I wanted to push it away. But now that I know, I can’t pretend I don’t know, you see?”

Snowpepper had never felt so bewildered. “But…where have I been, then, all this time, if you pushed me out? I don’t remember anything until we came to this side of things. Wouldn’t I remember something?”

“I dunno how it works, really,” Sylvie confessed. “Maybe Mother Maples can tell us. But I know it’s true. Will you trust me on this?”

“Um…okay,” Snowpepper said doubtfully. From the outside Sylvie didn’t seem quite as infallible to her. But, she told herself, it was still Sylvie, and she would try to believe her until she really did. She wanted to. It was nice to imagine that she might be a legitimate part of their shared self and not just a spinoff.

Sylvie felt stronger now. Must’ve been that weight I got off my chest, she thought, grinning faintly to herself. She sat up and looked around. “Hey, this isn’t the same place I was in when I fell asleep. I was in a kind of glassed-in room.” She shook her head. “Things are even more changeable here than in…” She gestured vaguely. “You know. ‘This side of things’.”

The faerie nodded, shrugging helplessly. She was so confused, she didn’t know what to think.

After a moment, Sylvie asked, “Snowpepper, do you know how to get back to Mother Maples? Can you take us back?”

“I think so. I walked here. I guess we could just walk back.”

Sylvie stood, a little shaky, but ready to move. She was sick to death of this place.

Sylvie’s head throbbed painfully. She lay still, hoping its pounding would lessen, but if anything, it increased. She felt unspeakably sick and miserable. Fearing to move lest she throw up, she breathed shallowly and tried to think of nothingness. Everything seemed dark and hopeless. She felt utterly lost. She would never escape this dreadful dream within a dream. She knew it with a certainty that torpedoed all hope.

“Sylvie…”

Oh, God. It was the voice again. She wished she could just surrender to it, give it what it wanted, but it felt so appalling to her, she just couldn’t.

“Go away! Leave me alone, please,” she moaned.

“Look at me, Sylvie, turn around and just look!” the voice insisted. Its oily slithering feel made her feel sicker. No way was she going to do what it said. No way was she going to encourage it. She wanted it to vanish, she willed it to disappear.

“Sylvie, I’m not going away, I’m not!”

If she didn’t know better, she would almost think it was Snowpepper. But that couldn’t be. And though it sounded a bit like Snowpepper, it still felt wrong, horrible to her. It had to be a trick.

“Sylvie, it’s Snowpepper, please, look at me!”

Oh, joy. The thing could obviously read her mind. As soon as she’d thought ‘Snowpepper’, it picked up on that and called itself Snowpepper. How stupid did it think she was? She squeezed her eyes shut and curled into a ball. She tried to wish herself away from this awful place, as she’d wished herself out of the falling dream, but it didn’t work this time. She had known it wouldn’t. This was different. There was no escape. She was trapped here forever.

How had this happened? Her thoughts bent unwillingly toward the things the voice had said to her the first time. About how Snowpepper was really herself, and how they had become artificially separated. About how she wasn’t really a whole person. Something about the idea drew her in like a magnet now. There was nothing else to think about. She gave in to the pull. She fell into her childhood.

“Carlie! Carlie, wait a’ me!” she shrieked, plump legs toddling after her beloved big brother. Sylvie was nearly three years old. Carl turned and held his arms out to Sylvie, his smile dazzling her. She loved her big brother more than anybody—more than her parents even. But before she could rush into his arms, she was pushed roughly from behind and fell on her face. She burst into enraged, hurt tears.

“Hey, you stupid little turd! She’s just a baby!” Carl shouted as Scotty dashed away giggling, taunting, “Baby, baby!”

“Hey, it’s okay, Syllie,” he murmured, lifting her up in his arms. He was eight years old and protective of his little sister, while five-year-old Scotty seemed to view her as a cross between a hated rival and a plaything. His favourite hobby was making her cry.

“Scotty bad!” she sputtered tearfully. “He a bad bad boy!”

Carl wiped the tears from her face. “He’s just a brat, don’t worry about him. You’re okay, right? You’re a toughie, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I tuff!” she giggled. “I Tuffy Syllie!” They laughed together and Carl hugged her close. He was very young to have responsibility for a toddler and a five-year-old, but their mother couldn’t afford a proper sitter and had to have a nap in the afternoon, she said, or she would go ‘simply insane’. Carl was unusually steady and mature for his age, she said, so told herself it would be all right. Sylvie used to nap with her mother, but lately, she’d outgrown her nap. For two hours each day, the three children were left alone.

Carl sat in the shade, reading comics, while Sylvie dug in the sandbox nearby and Scotty played with his toy cars and trucks. The older boy became absorbed in the tribulations of Peter Parker and lost track of what the younger two were doing.

Scotty glanced over at Sylvie, a mischievous light in his eyes. Picking up his toy dump truck, a heavy steel weight, he began to swing it around in circles, spinning like a top, letting his path move him closer to Sylvie while pretending to be oblivious of her. She didn’t notice him.

“La-la, la-la, dig dig, my hole is big,” she sang to herself as she played. Suddenly her head exploded in a burst of light, then everything went black.

Carl did his best, but he was only eight. He couldn’t watch every minute, and with Scotty around, he needed to. The littler boy was a bundle of wiry, nervous energy, and easygoing, placid Carl couldn’t always keep up with him.

This is what their mother said as she berated herself for having left Carl in charge, but Sylvie knew it wasn’t about Carl. It was Scotty. He was evil. He had tried to kill her. As she lay unconscious, while a horrified Carl ran screaming into the house to wake their mother, while a terrified Scotty shrieked at the sight of his sister’s blood, while the ambulance was called and she was rushed to the hospital, deep in her soul’s recesses she was making decisions and coming to conclusions about what life was really about.

Seventeen-year-old Sylvie watched her past self in dawning understanding. The Snowpepper part of her personality, the innocent, carefree, childlike self was pushed aside by a ruthless survival urge. She decided that she lived in constant danger, in the presence of evil. Scotty became more than just a mischievous, hyperactive boy, hateful with jealousy. He became the embodiment of evil in her life. In order to survive, she must be watchful. She must be careful. She must never trust.

She still loved Carl, but she no longer trusted him to look after her. She clung to him, followed him so closely that sometimes he tripped on her. Carl was endlessly patient. Deep down he felt responsible and guilty. He, too, had made a decision during the crisis. He was supposed to be watching, and he hadn’t watched well enough. His penance was to have his baby sister constantly by his side every minute that he wasn’t in school. For as long as it took.

Fortunately he loved her, too, but he suppressed his natural impatience and desire to have time on his own in favour of making himself be there for her. Deep down, his guilt and sense of responsibility weighed him down like an anvil.

With a sickening rush of insight, Sylvie saw how Carl had run away from her as much as he had the rest of the family. She saw how he had been at the end of his rope, so inwardly sick and tired of her constant dragging presence, her neediness and pulling, that when the time came to get away, he couldn’t even bring himself to say goodbye.

She crashed back into present time. Oh God. Carl. She felt stabbed, her bones crushed by the horror of what she now understood.

She wanted to die. She had killed Snowpepper… forced her to live outside her life, to wait in limbo for the opportunity that hadn’t manifested until she’d stumbled into the strange fey otherworld, led by none other than a white rabbit. She sobbed out a laugh. What irony!

She saw that she’d lived a stiff, colourless life since then, the only bright spot in it her big brother, at the cost of his freedom. He’d been a kind of servant, always at her beck and call.

She’d abandoned herself, worked grimly at her schoolwork, cultivated friendships, and occasionally had fun in a staid, self-conscious sort of way. She hadn’t been the sort of kid who could relax and give in to the moment. She’d never really had fun. Not since she was three years old. All her life, she’d wondered why she was so stiff. Now, it was all clear.

What about Scotty? From her new perspective, she had to see him not as a personification of evil, but just a jealous, mischievous, impulsive little boy. He was only five. Little kids did stupid, mean things sometimes; it didn’t make them Satan. She saw now that at that age he couldn’t really have known what he was doing.

She had hated him their whole lives for something he did that she hadn’t even remembered until now. Spurred also by his own guilt about what he’d done, he’d responded to her hatred by playing the role of villain and oppressor. She saw now how she had forced him into that mold with her wall of stolid, unwavering hate.

No wonder he had never been able to outgrow his childish jealous feelings toward her.  She had claimed their brother, put him under lock and key and left nothing for Scotty, who had also loved Carl, had wanted his attention too. She had demanded it all, and she’d used Scotty as her excuse.

“Oh, Scotty, oh Carl, oh Snowpepper,” she groaned, too overwhelmed for tears. “What have I done? Where is my life? Oh, it’s too late, too late!” The overwhelming weight of her responsibility, her mistake, loomed over her like a massive thousand pound weight, suspended by a thread. Then the thread snapped and the world went black.

The Way To Say Goodbye

That’s the way the cookie crumbles
That’s the way an icon tumbles.
That’s the way the snow flies in July.
Tell me if I’ve been mistaken
Tell me if my heart is breaking;
Tell me, brother, tell me, tell me why?
Is that the way to say goodbye?

That’s the way the plate glass shatters;
that’s the way a dropped dish clatters.
That’s the way the sun falls from the sky.
Tell me, did my eyes deceive me?
Tell me if I can believe me;
Tell me how to tell truth from a lie;
tell me, tell me how to say goodbye.

That’s the way the twilight falls;
that’s the way a nightbird calls.
That’s the way the moon lights up the night sky.
Tell me that I’m on my own now;
tell me just how strong I’ve grown now;
tell me that it’s time for me to fly.
Tell me, tell me, brother, goodbye.

That’s the way the story goes;
that’s the way a flower grows.
That’s the way a newborn baby cries.
Tell me that the earth is quaking;
tell me that the dawn is breaking,
I can love you like the eagle loves the sky;
and that’s the way I say goodbye.

“Now, child, breathe deeply and allow your body to relax once more, sinking ever more deeply into the ground of your flesh.”

This time Snowpepper found it deliciously easy to melt, sinking into herself like falling into a bed of thistledown. Her breath deepened. She became aware of herself again, within her body, surrounded by a bag of skin. She felt her heartbeat like a drum, its steady rhythm reassuringly familiar. She was home. She lived here.

“When you are ready, enter the dream world where your otherside self is to be found. Allow yourself to sense her, to feel her magnetism drawing you to where she is now. Continue to breathe, deep and slow, and surrender to the power of your desire to be reunited with your other half.”

Snowpepper could feel Sylvie, tantalizingly close—so very close. But she couldn’t get a fix on a direction. Where should she go? Where should she look? It seemed Sylvie was all around her, everywhere.

She remembered the second card: the crossroads, with the raven. There was supposed to be somebody here to misdirect her, and she was supposed to follow her heart to find her way. But there was no one, just her own self.

She heard Mother Maples’ voice, speaking as though she knew exactly what was going on for her. “If you don’t know where to go, call to your otherside self. Ask her to guide you to her.”

She called, “Sylvie! Where are you? I want you!”

Only silence returned her call. She thought she felt something, but wasn’t sure. She asked for a sign to show her the way. She imagined herself standing at a crossroads, and faced in each of the four directions in turn, trying to feel which direction was right. A voice in her ear said “Not that way. She’s this way. Over here.”

She turned to look, but could see no one. The direction the voice indicated didn’t feel right to her, either. Because of the warning given by the crossroads card, she felt it couldn’t be trusted. She felt prompted to try in the direction the voice had indicated was not the way. As she moved along that path, it felt more and more right to her. Yes! This was the way.

The crossroads image faded away, leaving her in the fog once more, but she felt a clear sense of movement and was sure that she was traveling closer to Sylvie.

She bumped, hard, up against a blank clear wall in the fog. She could go no further. She knew Sylvie was on the other side of the wall. As she stood there, the fog cleared, and she saw her otherside self lying on her back on the other side of an invisible wall. “Sylvie!” she cried. “Sylvie, it’s me, Snowpepper!” But Sylvie never stirred.

Of course! It was the third card. Sylvie would not listen, would not recognize her. She was going to have to get her attention somehow. But how?

“What do I do, Mother Maples?” Snowpepper fidgeted anxiously. She felt an urgent need to get on with it! She felt Sylvie slipping away from her, and it terrified her.

“Now, child, it is time for you to relax your mind, slow down your thoughts, and simply breathe.”

“What? But Mother Maples, she’s in trouble, I just know it! Please, I have to go to her now!”

“Remember the first card, Snowpepper.” The witch’s voice was firm. “There is no other way. If you are frightened because of the time this must take, then that fear is where you need to go right now.”

The faerie could hardly restrain her agitation. She wanted to leap up and dance a dance of impatience, jerky and wild, but instead, she tried to pay attention to the Faerie Godwitch’s words. She trusted her implicitly, though she could not say why. “How can I go to fear?” she asked, to take her mind off her own impatience. “It’s not a place, is it?”

A smile twitched the corners of the chocolate mouth. “It’s not exactly a place, no; but we will make believe it has a location, and that will do. Now,” she continued briskly, “You will need to find a comfortable position where your body can relax. That chair should do nicely.” She indicated a huge, stuffed easy chair in the dim corner of the room, which Snowpepper hadn’t previously noticed. She sank obediently into the chair’s soft embrace. It was unbelievably comfortable.

“Allow your body to grow heavier, to sink into the chair, child,” she murmured. “And breathe, deeply and slowly, allowing your breath to fill you on the inhale, and empty you out on the exhale. Imagine that you are a balloon. When you breathe in, the balloon will inflate, and when you breathe out, it will deflate completely.”

The faerie slowly began to relax. It was easier than she had expected to allow her jittery tension to ease, though her background sense of urgency was unabated.

“Sink inside your body, and immerse your awareness into your sensations. Feel the weight of your flesh pressing into the chair, and the feeling of the air and the textures against your skin. Hear the sound of my voice and the ticking of the clock. Hear all these things from the inside of your body, enclosed and surrounded by the boundary of your skin. You exist within your skin, as you continue to breathe, deeply and slowly, and continue to surrender your weight to gravity’s pull.”

This last was proving especially difficult for Snowpepper. Her natural instinct was to lift, to fly; to try to let go of her buoyancy and give herself over to the inexorable force of gravity triggered a deep, visceral terror. Mother Maples seemed to sense this, for she said, “If you feel frightened, locate the fear. Where is it situated in your body?”

Snowpepper felt the fear shuddering in her solar plexus, at the bottom of her rib cage right in the centre, about where her stomach was.

“See yourself traveling with your point of view into that part of yourself, and feel the fear directly. Don’t think about it—feel it. As you do that, allow yourself to make any sounds that the fear wants to make. Let the feeling grow—amplify it—don’t resist it or fear it. Nurture the feeling of fear and find out what its message is. It is a valid part of you trying to tell you something important. Remember that, as you express it.”

She tried to imagine herself moving down inside her body toward the tight quivering ball in her stomach. As she did so, she began to tremble, small quivers at first that grew into wild juddering heaves. Before she could stop herself, a piteous wail escaped her lips.

“Yes, dear one, make all the sounds you need to.” Mother Maples’ voice was soft, approving. “There is nothing you can do wrong now. Simply allow. Release your controls and let go into the fear.”

Snowpepper shrieked and spasmed, her body writhing in a terrified agony that held no physical sensation of pain, yet was utter agony still. The world exploded into a red blaze and she lost all sense of separation from the pure emotion that gripped her. She was but dimly aware of her own voice sobbing and wailing, so immersed she was in her flesh. She felt turned inside out, more aware of the interior of herself than she had ever been.

After an endless time, she became aware again of Mother Maples’ voice, still murmuring, calmly, comfortingly, “Continue to breathe, deep and slow. Continue to feel yourself sinking into your body, into the chair. Continue to feel the sensations of your body from the inside. Allow your body to move in the ways that it wants to, and to make any sounds as you feel the impulse to.”

She focused again on her breathing as the sounds and shudders abated naturally. For the first time, the witch asked her a question. “What has happened to the fear? Can you see it?”

Snowpepper looked again where she had first sensed the fear in her solar plexus. To her surprise, in its place she saw an infant, floating in soft waters. She said, “It’s turned into a baby. It’s floating underwater.”

“Very good. Continue to breathe, deep and slow. Now ask the baby if it needs anything from you now.”

She had an impression of pure contentment. She said, “I don’t think it needs anything. It seems to be happy under the water now. But it was afraid of the water before. Something changed.”

“That’s good,” the witch said, smiling.

“Mother Maples! Something’s wrong! She’s… she’s screaming… she’s falling—oh, please, we have to help her!!”

“There is little we can do for her yet, child. It will take some time to reach her. However, what you can do is trust the dream to take her out of danger. Your trust can help her; it is all that will, now. There is magic in faith; it can cross the boundaries of worlds.”

“Trust the dream… oh! Yes, that’s right, she’s just having a dream, right? and you never land when you dream of falling, do you? So she’ll be okay. Thank you, Mother Maples!” Snowpepper breathed easier. Of course Sylvie would be all right. It was just a dream, and dreams weren’t dangerous, not the way reality could be.

******************

Sylvie closed her eyes tightly and curled into a ball. The wind buffeted her from all sides. She didn’t believe this. It was too crazy and weird to be true. She would make it change. “Something else happen,” she whispered. “Change into something else. Change… change…” Still, the wind buffeted her; daring to open her eyes a tiny slit, she sound the ground rushing toward her at dizzying speed.

“Change, dammit!!” she shouted.

The wind stopped suddenly. Everything was still, calm and quiet. She lay curled on her side. Gravity pressed her down onto a flat hard surface. The sensation was very strange after her previous experience in the air. For a moment, she considered not moving, not looking, just laying here with her eyes closed, never moving again. Catatonic. That way nothing could happen to her. She savored the idea for a long moment, then opened her eyes.

“Oh, nooo!” she moaned. This couldn’t be! She was back in the glassy room with the watery green light. She closed her eyes again and tried to stop up her ears. When the voice came, it seemed to speak directly into her brain, bypassing her ears entirely. She whimpered.

“Oh, Sylvie, what is the matter with you, girl?” the voice had a silky, confidential undertone that gave her the shudders. “Don’t you know you can’t escape your own self? You’ve been running forever, or trying to, but you haven’t moved a single inch beyond your own being. You still are who you are. Why don’t you just surrender to that?”

The words sounded reasonable. She almost agreed with them. But the silky intimacy of the voice felt unremittingly horrible to her, like rape. She felt an acute, horrifying sense of intrusion, violation of her most essential boundaries.

“Go away!” she shrieked. “Get out of my head!”

“Ah, but I have no place to go, silly girl. I live in your head. Don’t you know that? It’s not a very pleasant place to live, either. I’d leave if I could. But you won’t let me. You cling to me like glue while pretending I’m not here.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Stop paying attention to it, she chided herself. You’re only enouraging it. Ignore it, maybe it’ll get bored and go bother somebody else. The trouble was, the voice was impossible to ignore. It spoke inside her bones. It reverberated like a bell inside her mind. It was maddening.

“What do you want from me?” she whispered, defeated. If I give the horrible thing what it wants, when it’s satisfied, maybe then it’ll go away, she thought. She felt little hope about it, though. It seemed that she had been locked up alone with this slimy mental intruder for eons. She doubted that it would voluntarily leave.

“Want? I want nothing. I want you to be a better person than you are, since I am doomed to spend eternity inside the confines of your brain. You are broken and pathetic and that impacts on the quality of my experience. If you would wise up and awaken to your true potential, my experience would become more pleasurable. That’s all.”

“What are you?” she asked, dazedly, feeling goosebumps prickling her skin. Was she possessed by some sort of demon? How weird was that?

But the voice was silent. As it faded away, so too did the watery light, and she found herself once more stranded in the darkness, this time too tired and dispirited to feel anything but relief that the voice had gone.