Ess lay on her bed staring at the ceiling. What was wrong with her? She'd wanted to tell Oz about the fairy king. More than that, she needed to. Oz was a friend, one who had been put under their spell as well. Who knows what they might have done to him psychologically? Not that she could tell any difference. Maybe any change would be for the better. But when she'd tried, she'd been unable to form the words. She'd not even been able to articulate the fact she couldn't talk about it.

It was all so infuriating and frustrating. She was a daughter of Gaia. She was one with the universe. She was in harmony with both the physical and the spiritual world. She was Ess, damn it. She was meant to be the one in charge, and here she was, under a spell she could do nothing about, as helpless as the girly woman she despised in the movies, ankle twisted, waiting to be rescued by Shades. Well, not Shades specifically, and he knew better than to patronise her. But Shades in general, who thought of her as the weaker sex. Her!

She became aware of her balled fists and clenched teeth. This wasn't going to help her sleep. She glanced at her clock. Just after three. She needed to sleep. Shades had promised her a rare weekend. They could even go out together in the evening. Well, they could if she could stay awake tomorrow.

Maybe she should take Oz's advice. Ha! That had to be a first. Maybe she should run away, catch a plane to somewhere she could lose herself. Even as she thought it she knew she wouldn't. That dreadful injunction remained on her. Somehow, no matter what, she would return to Regents Park to keep that appointment, even if it meant a stroke was inevitable.

Stroked by the fairies. It seemed such an innocent phrase. That's what happened when the world forgot what the old stories really meant. Would Shades still love her when she was a dribbling vegetable, touched in the head?

She threw the covers off and strode to the kitchenette. As she mixed the melange of herbs to aid sleep she gave herself a good thinking to.

You're not bloody superwoman, she thought to herself in no uncertain manner. With all the power of Gaia, you're still human, and humans are, well, they're human. Sometimes they needed help. Ironically one of the people best placed to help her was Oz. He was a doctor of applied psychiatry, amongst other things, though even Freud would throw his hands up at Oz. But she couldn't speak to him, and anyway, her problem wasn't strictly psychological.

So you know who you have to turn to. But that would be an admission of failure, Ess protested. That would be saying she wasn't a strong, independent sister. Sometimes, she countered, asking for help was the strongest thing a person can do. You need help, girl. I mean, look at you. Your only other option is to argue with yourself in the small hours of the morning, and even then, you're losing the argument.

"I'll sleep on it," she told her empty apartment. She breathed in the acrid fumes from her herbal tea. Dear Mother Gaia, let her be able to sleep on it.