All the learned know of three kinds of dreams. There are those brought on by the bedbug's bite: invariably horrid and disturbing and often terrible enough to scare a man awake. There are those brought on by the Sandman's gold: so nonsensical and sweet that they leave a man completely and utterly refreshed- ready for the new day. Then there is the third kind: The dreams the heart makes. These are the sort of dreams people mean when they say "Follow your dreams!" or "When will my dreams come true?" While one man may wake from a nightmare and be relieved, and another may wake from a sweet dream and laugh at its silliness, not so for the third kind. Therein, the fantasy is neither far far away nor so horrid that you wish it were. On the contrary, for many, it is the fruit just out of the starving man's reach- maddeningly possible but inescapable false, rendering waking life a broken reality, and all else, anything else, even the nightmare, even death, by far preferable. This was the sort of dream Cindy was certain she had just had.

You must imagine now, a girl who had lived in a cave with candles her whole life. Her whole life, she had been content- counting herself blessed just for having candles at all. Now imagine the girl finding an egress and seeing the sun. It is a given that her contentment with candles would end there and then, since not even the sweetest of scented candles could replace the sovereign star. All throughout the Eve of Candle-Day, Cindy had been without her darkened lenses. And though, at first, the light blinded her and angered her to the point where she felt like running away, her eyes eventually settled to it and found it precious. It wasn't even the sun by itself, though its brightness and majesty are seldom denied. It was simply this: by it she could see everything. It is one experience to have the path ahead of you be lit up. It is a very different, and altogether grander, experience (for better or worse) to have every possible path ahead, behind and around you, lit up. And it is all the worse for you in returning to the dark. If you had never seen the light, the dark would not bother very much. You could still see fairly well. But, Cindy had spent all the Eve of Candle-Day without her dark lenses and so, in her dark room with her darkly lensed mask, she feared, for a moment, that she had gone blind. But that was the night before and sleep tends to adjust one's eyes.

At first, she went through the motions of waking up after such a dream. First, she sat up, taking a deep breath followed by several violent sighs. Then she wiped the little tears on the edge of her eyes from under the darkened lenses before laying back down. From there, she looked out at the window and saw that she had woken up far too early and felt cheated.

It was still about ten-to-fifteen minutes before she had to wake up and make breakfast for the Gibbses. Thus she stayed in bed, waiting to fall asleep again; waiting for just one more glimpse, however brief, of the wonderful dream. And it had been such a wonderful dream that she might have stayed in bed all day, just hoping beyond hope. She might have. She didn't, of course. She stopped bothering with such silliness as soon as she realised that she did not feel cold; this in spite of the fact that she often woke up shivering during those winter months. When the realisation finally struck, it struck with all the force of a thunderstorm. Though it was hard to see in the dark of her room through the dark of her lenses, when she investigated the matter, she found herself covered, not by her usual poor excuse for a blanket, but by a shadow-black cloak of wyvern wool.

Don't do that. That's not fair.

However, fair or not, it had happened. She had spoken. She had been heard. And it had ended. And there was no good in pretending otherwise. Up until right then, Cindy had been terrified to say a word. She had been afraid, terribly afraid, of more hollow words. Of blanks fired in the air. Of the tree fell'd with no one round to hear. Yet, she couldn't help herself at the realisation. And, indeed, her unheard moments did a great deal to make her more miserable. You must imagine now the miserable experience of praying to forget someone whose ghost you summon every time you open your mouth.

Silly girl.

With a stiff upper lip, she washed herself, got dressed, and marched down the many steps from her room to the kitchen. Usually, she'd save for herself a portion of the Gibbses' meal. However, she did not feel very hungry that morning so she cooked for her roommates, packed their breakfasts into little packages for takeaway, washed the dishes and went right back upstairs. There she waited and waited and waited and waited and waited for James, then Darius and, at last, Cornelia to take their packages and be off for their day.

It was hard to discern the shutting of the door from so high a room. Usually she waited in the drawing room or the kitchen but, this time, she couldn't bear to see any of them. Still ever fearful of Cornelia, Cindy waited until the stroke of nine o'clock- since that was the hour of Cornelia's first appointment that day and she was never ever late. When the old grandfather clock announced the changing of the hours, Cindy began her chores and did them with such a diligence- and such a disgust for rest -that she was finished before the clock struck twelve. When, at last, the clock did just that, she was already on her way out to settle the matter of the cloak- which carried the whispers of a calamity in the possibility of it being found in her possession by the former Lady Cornelia.

Since she knew not how to return it, the only safe place she could think of was- of course -the Hall of Psalms. However, when she made her way down those familiar roads, and looked through the windows into her daily escape, she found boxes upon boxes and rolls of tape. On the door, she saw the closed sign up even in the afternoon and when she went inside to find Master Smith, he gave her the news.

Last night, I went to my cousins to finalise arrangements for my move. I have, in fact, been making arrangements since that day. It was Cornelia, that witch. As soon as she made her threat, I knew my days were numbered. I was her servant for long enough to know that even if I tutored the young Master Gibbs with all the earnestness and diligence I could muster, I would still be turned out the instant someone else won the prize. And there really was no chance of Darius winning. He is a very good boy but a very poor lyricist. Do forgive me for keeping it from you. I wanted to give you one last gift before I left. Last night was the sweetest farewell I could muster. My only regret is that the party was too foolish to see the truest champion.

Indeed, when the vote was tallied at the end of the Candle-Day feast, it was Master Simon who wound up winning. And for his prize, he had his parents and all the parents of his classmates- including Darius' mother, the former Lady Cornelia -give pinky swears to the Overseers that they would never again force their children into entering contests.

At hearing of Smith's leaving, Cindy took out her notepad and began drafting a reply to all she had been told. Because of her panic, she kept making mistake after mistake and her frustrations only made the matter worse. As if she did not miss the boy with the shadow-cloak enough, her inability to draft a coherent message made it feel as though she were being mocked for her injury. When he saw that she was struggling, Smith gently bent down and put away the notepad and handed her a note of his own.

Jinx. (after a pause) I'm sorry, good Kiara, but I have not much time. There is much to pack and the movers are coming soon for the very big things. For mercy's sake, my landlord has given me this Candle-Day and I must make use of it to be gone by twilight. On this note, I write my final offer. I know not why you choose to stay but if ever you want to leave, if ever the Gibbses abuse you, find a ringer. Use a standing one if you must, with the coins you have made here. Dial this number and wherever you are in this world, I will find you and I will rescue you and I will be a Papa to you.

On hearing such words, and receiving such a note, Cindy threw her arms around the Who and held him dearly with all her might. Though voiceless, she wept bitterly- as loud as she could -and let out sniffles against his shirt's shoulder until he let her go. At her insistence, Smith allowed her to remain until the very last moment. Until the autocars arrived to fetch him and his things, she stayed to help him prepare. Then she stayed even longer to watch him fade away into the horizon with her lyrical. Then, at last, she left the Hall to chase the carriages as fast as her legs and her breath would carry her; if not to catch them then only to see them just a little longer before they disappeared, completely, out of her sight.

Much to Cindy's surprise, Cornelia had managed- beyond all perceivable hope -to make her days even emptier than before, without even knowing it. Yet, they were still not wholly unhappy. Her nights had even been sweeter than usual since the chill no longer got to her on account of her souvenir. What's more, she delighted in the look of it. More specifically, she adored how she herself looked wearing it. When the Gibbses were gone, she'd spend a good amount of time playing an Overseer about the house and in front of the mirror whilst wearing the cloak and combining it with whatever other clothes she had and using the attics' many knick knacks and whosits and whatsits as weapons and other accessories. To keep the cloak a secret, she hid it under the same floorboard as her stash of coins and she then made plans to secretly wash it every so often whenever she got done with the Gibbses' laundry and could do her own. However, before long, a letter was sent out to all who were in Pelton's Company that Candle-Day's Eve:

To my Candle-Day guests,

Greetings! It has come to my attention that one of your fellow guests misplaced a shadow-black cloak on the night of the party. If you or yours happen to be in possession of the cloak or have any information that could aid in locating it, please inform my office. Any assistance is appreciated. The reward is negotiable.

Cordially,

Geoffrey Pelton and Overseers

It was that last word which sealed the request. Nearly everyone of note who attended the party began looking through every inch of the locale to find the cloak. All of them sought the favour of the great and terrible Overseers- with hope for another chance at making a blessed request. Yet, the one who actually had the cloak had no knowledge of the letter.