It's 3am and a prince has slipped onto the mind. He's dashing and charming with golden hair that sways when the birds fly from the princess to create a gazelle of colour and peace around his head. He has a name that's strong and royal, and holds himself as if his posture determines his fate. The princess smiles calmly upon him, butterflies stirring in her stomach and literally flying in her hands. This is the man she'll marry, and she waits patiently for him to take her and stare into her beautiful unwavering eyes.

"My princess, will you do me the greatest honour and accept my hand?"

And she says yes, without a nerve in her voice. Then in joy she is swept into his arms and onto his horse where they will ride into the sunset with bells playing around them and a happily ever after ringing in their eyes.

Of course when at 3am a prince knocks upon the door it must be answered, no matter how heavy the mind is fogged. So then of course when he appears dashing it must be noted, and the way the princess smiles must not be forgotten.

That is what happens at 3am when a person opens the door. Even if they fog may appear treacherous and deceitful and willing the hand to rest, they let the handle turn. Then when the air slips through the mind to clear the fog they pull over a sheet of parchment, a quill of gold and they write.