Magic shimmers silver in the moonlight, drifting from her hair, her skin- 
Her pixie dust as she floats down the marble hall
On silent feet.
They watch with ice cold stares, closer and closer until she stands in the center of the floor.
Not a word. Not a breath. 
Even the stone statues speak with more eloquence of their secret desires to be filled with life.
The clock strikes twelve.
Unmoving, she waits for the last note of the magic hour.   Time sings to her.
One.  Everything is still.
Two.  Be patient, love.
Three.  Silence speaks louder than words.
Four.  Soon you will be free. 
Five.  Return to your fortress, oh prisoner of hope.
Six.  The desire  of your heart will overtake you.
Seven.  There is nothing to fear.  Just wait.
Eight.   Believe.
Nine.  Are you ready to live again?
Ten.   Believe.   
Eleven.  He is here.
Twelve.  Dance.
She raises her arms into the air; the satin dress slips down around her shoulders as she spins in circles, dancing .  Nobody moves. They do not hear the music.  Faster she spins. 
Her feet move in to the beat of the pounding of her heart.  Everything moves around her.  The appalled faces of the courtiers, the ladies in waiting become a blur.   Somebody shouts. 
Tells her to leave the dance floor. 
She dances.  They surround her. 
The song is gone.  All that remains is her heartbeat.  Pounding.  In her head.   She closes her eyes as she falls.  She struggles to catch her breath. 
“THIS IS PEPOSTEROUS,” a man yells, “Who is she? What is she doing here?” a woman cries.  They are at an uproar.  A crystal tear slips down her face and shatters on the floor.  
Suddenly everyone is quiet.
She feels someone standing over her.  He touches her, soft fingers sending a shiver down her spine.  She opens her eyes as he kneels down beside her. 
“Who are you?” He asks gently.  Her voice trembles.
“My name is Willow.”  A murmur runs through the crowd.  His look silences them. 
“Willow, why did you dance alone?” He asks softly. 
“I was dancing for love,” she whispers. 
“Dance with me,” he whispers.  He gently takes her hand and raises her to her feet.   The orchestra players fumble for their instruments.   The dance floor quickly fills with dancers. 
She is so delicate, this fairy girl. 
“Where did you come from?” He asks, watching her young face. 
“From a dream you once had, I think,” she replies, “do you remember?”  He feels his heart stop as it hits him, the remembrance of a dream.  His pulse quickens. 
“Yes,” He says confusedly, “but how did you know.” 
“I’m not sure,” she says quietly, “I only know that I am the princess from your dream. “
“How did you find me?” He asks. 
“I don’t know,” she answers, looking away. 
“What do you mean?”  He searches her face.  She swallows hard. 
“Willow…” The dance ends.  The courtiers stiffly applaud and return to their seats.  She steps back. 
“I have to go now.”  The skirt of her dress swishes around her ankles, mesmerizing.  He watches her walk away.  He glances down at his hands, coated with a silvery substance.  Along with the floor where she danced.  He looks up as she vanishes through the doorway, into the moonlit night.  Suddenly, he remembers his dream.  The way that she danced.  And the part where she left. 
“Wait,” he whispers hoarsely, “WAIT!”  He runs after her.
The courtyard is bathed in moonlight.  She is nowhere to be found.