He wore a cape and led her down a dark corridor, made all of stone. She was in a gown that trailed on the ground behind her. Then he was gone, and she was in a glittering ballroom, swirling around in a different dress. The man leading her in the dance spoke in her ear. “I will make you a queen,” he said.

Then a door opened, and she was lying in a bed in a white room. A man dressed in the same color entered and sat down in the chair next to her.

“How are we feeling today?” he asked, pushing his glasses back up onto his nose, glancing over the clip board in his hands.

“What is real?”

“I’m real, Charlotte.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Dr. Fishbourne, Charlotte.” His voice was gentle.

“Where am I?”

“We’ve been over this, Charlotte. You’re here because you’re not well.”

The room was gone again and she was in a dark trench, clutching a large gun to her chest. Why was she here again? Oh yes, the war. Anarchists. Everything made sense.

“Charlotte! Charlotte!” The soldier at her side was shouting at her as a grenade hit. She was in the rom again, the man was still there. “Charlotte, it’s time to take your pill now.”

“What for?” Nothing made sense.

“It’s to make you better.”

“Am I sick?”

“Yes, Charlotte.” He held out a small white pill and a glass of water, then he was gone, and she was clinging to the railing of a ship on a churning sea. The dark skies, the lightning, it was all so familiar and terrifying and real. And then it was gone, and she was standing in the middle of a college campus.

Oh class, she thought, and rushed off towards the building. She reached the door and stepped through, into deep space. The stars were close and warm and glowing, and she reached out to take one.

There she was again, back in the bed, holding the tiny pill. “What is this for?”

“Please just take it Charlotte. It’ll make you feel better.”

“…Better?”

“Better.”

She took the medication. “I don’t feel any different.”

“It takes a while to work, Charlotte. Just wait.”

But she was back again in the ballroom. The music had ended, and the man stepped away with a sad smile. The corridor, and the caped man melted into the cold wall. There was the ship, slowly sinking, though the storm was gone.

She was back in the white room, alone. She dug the heels of her hands into her closed eyes until she could see slowly swirling lights. “What is real?” she murmured.