I have dreams of wandering through a wood. The light is soft-green, filtered by gold. I can smell damp wood and earth. I can hear things: the birds, the rustling of leaves, the crunch of the ground under my feet… I can hear my thoughts. I think it’s only when you’re sleeping that you get to hear what you are actually thinking. It’s only when you’re asleep that you become truly real.
Artist: John William Waterhouse
Perdita, the lost one 