I am living in an old. . . castle. Trying to get it to grow again. My main problem is a plot of land over on the (left corner) of the property. It is barren. My ex-husband comes to see me. Somehow I know if I don’t get that land to grow I will lose the whole castle and it will be his. I ask him please let it go so I can get it to grow. He refuses (once again). (Something about the wives—their blood being poured on that site and their bodies elsewhere.)
That night, I dig up a grave in the barren plot. It is a large, dark man. I am afeared, yet I give him an apple to eat. He eats with relish—I can taste the sweetness of the apple, watching him. He eats and he is a wolf, and a horse. I pick up the pieces that drop from his mouth and feed them to him. The core is last, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
This powerful man has come to life again. The castle begins to change into what it was when it lived. The entrance stairway lengthens, and a large plot of mangrove trees springs up around a pond. (A natural sewage treatment, I hear.)
I am in the castle. Still, the man cannot come in for some reason. He asks me for some type of dagger, but it’s really a pen (I know this). A little boy is helping me look for it. I find spaghetti sauce, and I think he can use that for ink (ha ha). I go up some stairs, and the fire is roaring and catching things outside the fireplace aflame. I run back down and tell the man I’m sorry, I can’t find what he wanted and the fire is out of control. Well, he comes in, and he shows me how to lower the amount of oxygen that gets to the flames. He touches a burning hot lever with his fingers and I grab them away, but am amazed to find they’re not hurt. Then I throw my arms around this mysterious man. He is wearing black and he is soft, like velvet. I am home.
We are out in the garden and I am theorizing about what happened so long ago. The blood of wives, women? was poured there and their bodies disposed of. The animals drank the blood, a mouse, . . . and they became enchanted and have been the caretakers here ever since. This man (prince) tells me I’ve got it and shows me a pair of birds sitting on a branch with their feathers all puffed up around them.
Later we are at an inn or something. The man is a gray stallion. Two of his former servants come around the corner and he hails them with such pleasure. I look at him and his eyes and mouth are seared shut—old scars. As I watch though, as his servants come nearer, the scars melt away and the deepest human eyes appear.
We all sit with the innkeeper—a woman—and eat raw parsnips. When the (man, horse) goes I give my apologies and run after him. I know I must follow him.