"We are such stuff

As dreams are made on, and our little life

Is rounded with a sleep."

Prospero, The Tempest

William Shakespeare



Chapter 1

I fought the creepy fingers of sleep like a wounded fox limping from a pack of baying hounds. The nightmare pulled me from the comfort of my memory foam mattress and flung me back into the deprived streets of a bygone age. I lifted the ends of my green, satin, dress out of the filth that caked the road. I could feel the eyes of its inhabitants following me as I crept along, fearful and ever watchful.

“Ear luv; buy some lucky heather.” The toothless crone reached out her gnarled fingers and touched my hair.

I cowered away, retching at the smell emanating from her. I felt sure that lice now crawled through my hair.

“I'm sorry… I don’t have any money.” I trembled, praying that my rescuer would come soon and take me to safety.

Her fingers pawed at my dress, resplendent and beautiful. I could never wear it again. I looked at her tatty grey dress and black shawl, covered in a multitude of patches.

“Tis a bonny dress you be wearing. I'm sure you must have a penny to spare for a worthless wretch like me.”

I could see the others converging on me, clothes ragged, hunger in their eyes and their emaciated bodies. I started backing away, one tiny footstep at a time, my dainty slippers little protection against the cold stone. I saw the rancid bare feet of my tormentors as they continued their slow, inexorable march towards me. I was cornered. Sweat broke out on my brow. What will they do to me?