It was a week ago last Sunday afternoon, and I was lying in bed reading a novel and listening to the music that was being played outside when the muses brought me a most interesting vision. I found myself in a strange land, standing before a personage of obviously royal blood. He looked familiar, somehow, as though I had seen him somewhere before. He lay on a table in the center of a large vaulted hall and appeared to be quite dead. A small, deformed creature, no higher than my knee and male by looks, came up to me and spoke.

"Ye must be the one who is to observe this procedure. We of this fair city have decided, upon the requests of the surrounding provinces and kingdoms, to perform a dissection of our king in order that we might find out exactly what metal he was. The only problem is that we had to find someone not of this land to observe and record all that is seen. We appealed to the gods for help, and they must have sent you. I am very sorry if we dragged you from your world, but time is getting on, and we must begin."

This little…man…smiled puckishly and led me over to the operating table, which was more a raised platform of stone than an operating table such as we have in this world. I saw around me a vast number of crystalline spheres, held in the air by some great magical power. Upon inquiry as to their purpose, the imp replied that they had, at one point, been under the control of the King at one point, but now that he was dead, they would serve another purpose.

He beckoned me over to a large pool on one side of the hall. I was told that I was to watch the operation from there, and when I began to protest that nothing could be seen but water, he silenced me. I was assured that I would be able to see all that I needed. The pooled rippled as he passed his hand over the surface. I must have looked like a fish for a moment, for when the water cleared, I saw not water, but the image of the corpse. A small table and chair then rose from the floor and a notebook and quill with ink appeared, seemingly out of thin air. I sat, took up the quill and the procedure began. Suddenly I found myself plunged into darkness, yet at the same time I was able to see. Slowly I began to realize that I was inside the king’s head. I could not see the rest of my body, but I knew myself to be breathing, and scribing all that I saw.

First, I observed this man’s eyes, which while a deep cerulean, were colder than ice. Yet as I looked more closely, I could see the vast vault of the heavens in those eyes, and the coals, now dead, that at one point must have shone brighter than a thousand moons, and sent out more fire than a hundred suns. Next I saw his tongue. At first glance it appeared to be perfectly normal, but upon closer inspection had a slit running down the center, and the tips were barbed and sharp as swords. But even odder than this was the fact that the throat, and even more so the voice box, were coated in silk and honey, and upon the lips there was inscribed a spell written in a language with which I was unfamiliar, yet familiar at the same time. Ware the hapless maid kissed by this man…

I moved on to the brain, and ‘twas like none I had ever seen. Endless hallways radiated from a central rotunda, and every few paces there was a door. Strangely enough, none had locks save one, and it was at the very end of an otherwise empty passage, devoid of any other door. There is little to say about the vast number of other doors, apart from the fact that behind them lay that which may be found in any other man’s head. But I digress.

Behind the locked door lay a large empty hall, walls beyond view. Well, empty save for two objects. One was a scale model of the great architectural feat that lay beyond the castle walls, and the other was a large, ornate door. It too was locked, but there was no key. Behind this door must have lain this man’s deepest secrets.

I left his mind and traveled throughout the rest of his person. I was surprised to find that not only blood ran in his veins, but nectar and ambrosia, yet in quantities not great enough to ensure immortality. Mixed with these liquids was blue fire, and a liqueur inspired by cupid, yet this was in poor supply.

Traveling through the blood stream, I was able to traverse his whole personage. His feet had the grace of a feline, yet by the way they were held, he did not use this talent often. His hands were strong, but judging by the lack of scars, I could tell that he wore gloves nearly all the time. They also appeared to be held to his body by the thinnest of wires, and seemed to have a life of their own. The tips of his fingers were made of the same crystalline substance as the orbs hovering around the operating platform. I did not want to think of what else those hands could do. I moved on.

Lastly I came to his heart. The outside was a glorious red, but I did see a hint of yellow in some places. Many other hearts I have seen have been pierced by Cupid’s arrows many times, but I could only see one mark on his heart. Strange that a man of this age should only receive cupid’s arrow once when so many who were younger than him had been hit so many times. The same fire that ran in the veins also pulsed within the heart itself. The numerous cavities were filled with unsent letters, and roses of all colors. Songs filled about a quarter, and music another quarter.

As I made my way deeper into the heart, it also became darker. Fog swirled here and there, and green eyes glowed at the edge of my vision. The very last, and central chamber of the heart was locked behind another door. But this one was made of yet another type of crystal. Hanging above my head was the key. I reached up to take it, and jumped out of the way just in time to miss being cleaved in half by a wicked looking blade that came whistling down to stab into the round where I had stood not a moment before. Thank you, Indiana Jones. Beyond the door was a portrait of a young woman, dressed all in white. The room was bathed in a golden glow, and I could hear music; distant, and beautiful.

Just as I started to take everything in, I found darkness swirling around me again, and found myself sitting before the pool, with the notebook and quill in my hands. The little man was standing beside me, looking somewhat bemused. When I told him about my journey though, he just smiled and shook his head.

"I know not what you are speaking of, Milady. This land has not been ruled by a king for hundreds of years. Thou hast been asleep for several hours, and ye must needs be getting back to thine studies. After all, thou hast school in the morning."

I opened my eyes, and saw that I was in my own room, and my twin brother was standing over me. I looked around, disoriented for a minute. Where was the little man, and the king’s body? Come to think of it, exactly what had I been doing?

"Meg, you need to get working," he said. "We’re seeing a play tomorrow, remember? You don’t want to be left behind because you didn’t do you work, now do you?" He gave me a strange look. "Why do you have that odd notebook, and ink stains all over your hands?"

I smiled and shrugged. He wouldn’t believe me anyway. Not even old Aristotle, for all his insights, would believe me. "I’ll get to work. Have you?"

"Yes, but why do you care?"

"I just came up with the best idea for that piece of creative writing." As I began to tell him what had happened, he reacted just as I had predicted he would.

"You’re insane!" he shouted, and ran out of my room. I just smirked.

"Maybe I am, but that depends on your definition of insanity."