From his pocket, he drew forth a scarlet-red rose, dewy fresh and about to burst into bloom from its
bud.  Opening the mirror once more, he moved swiftly across the room.  Placing it carefully on her
dressing-table, he took one last look around and then slipped back through the mirror, closing it
behind him.

Oh Christine, my sweetest love, could you...love me?  Love me for myself?  If dreams really did
come true, perhaps she would love him as much as he loved her.

He straightened, pushed himself away from the wall and adjusted the cloak around his shoulders. His
stride was purposeful but his step light, his heart singing in his breast as he hurried back down the
labyrinths to his home across the lake.

There was much to do;  music to sort and choose;  provisions to be purchased for his larder, some
wine befitting a lady’s delicate palate;  the preparation of his second bedroom into a boudoir of lace
and gossamer voile, fit for a princess, and the contents of a wardrobe to be filled with gowns of
every description.

Yes, there was much to do, but meanwhile, he could only fantasise on what could be.

Christine, oh my Christine, can dreams come true?

Then let this dream begin....