She thought, “I can’t believe this is true, that all this is happening. That this is what my present and future will be.” She drifted off to sleep, not long after closing her eyes. It seemed like she had only begun to enjoy the thought of her new life when she felt a gentle kiss on her forehead. She heard her father’s voice call to her. “Georgia, it’s time to wake up. We have much to do today so we can free ourselves to continue with our story time of preparing your education to ensure you have the proper training for a royal in the court of the kingdom.”
The sunlight was warm and spread its golden filtered light through the delicate curtains of her bedroom. She woke up, slowly coming out of the tight embrace of a dream, a dream that wove together the fragments of her imagination and the echoes of stories her father had shared with her during the play acting.
Georgia responded, “Okay father, I know I must get ready to take on the mantle of being the queen. That I must take on the responsibilities of our royal lineage. I promise I will be a good one for our
people, all the people too, not just those of the royal court. Please, give me a moment and I will be up soon and join you for the day’s activities, I promise.”
Her father paused, smiled down at her and asked, “Have you been dreaming about our role playing again?” “You do remember we are just role-playing during our story time together as royals in the court preparing you for your future role.” Georgia, laid there with her eyes closed. She thought about what he had just said and then answered him, “Father, that was so long ago, I was only twelve then.” He stood up then and went to the window of her bedroom.
There he gazed out into the gardens and thought, “It could not be, could it be her insight is that strong? That it had the power to reach into a possible future that might or may not ever be?” He finally shrugged his shoulders then tapped her shoulder and said, “Why don’t you come down and see me. You know, once you’re up and about, we’ll … talk about this a bit more.”
He left the room then, closed the door, and begun the descent to the kitchen. Georgia began to wake up more now and gain a little bit more of sense of where she was.
She pushed the covers off and sat up thinking while looking around the room. She then looked at herself, and realized something was off, she was young again, a girl of only twelve years of age. She began pondering, “It was so real, so vivid as if it had been the truth all along.” She giggled as a girl of twelve should and thought. “It could not be so; I mean who would believe that such a thing would happen.”
“It’s something I must have cobbled together in my dreams from reading all those books recently. Also, all that role playing with her father. They played out a story of being the royals hiding away from some evil sister of her mother. That must have been the answer. Her dreams were spinning parts of her role-playing with her father into a wonderful future self. Of course, it was only a dream, not the truth as they lived here at the inn”
She got dressed and skipped her way to the kitchen, opened the door and began to tell her father about her dreams. When she completed her story, she said to her father, “Don’t you think that was an amazing dream to have?” He looked at her while tying on her apron to get her ready to help with the work in the kitchen. He pondered over her words and considered whether there could be any significance to Georgia’s strength of foresight and maybe it was stronger than he had originally thought. Then said, “What have we discussed about truth in the past, what were the lessons you learned?”
She thought and then said, “Truth is an absolute fact or principle. It’s accepted as being non-negotiable. There is no disregarding its existence. Yet, it also has a subjective quality or concept. Thus, can differ from person to person. In the end, it is up to everyone to decide what they believe is true.” She paused a moment and then continued, “Yet, that leaves the question. On considering whether truth is ever real or is always subjective. A creation based on what we hold to be true at this place and time?”
Her father then said, “So, what do you believe is true about the dreams you had? Are they perceived or real?” She thought a moment recalling some of the wonderful things she had dreams about that night. She then responded, “They’re dreams though, how could any of that be anything but subjective? Then again, there’s something that keeps nagging me as if there’s some memory at play here.” “Something from a time before I could even speak. Something about my mother that she said, but it’s all lost to me somehow.”
Her father mused to himself, “She’s latched on to something, something like a sort of divination of sort.” But then he responded, “Well in that case, only time will tell. Speaking of time, we have a lot to get ready before our morning guest arrive at the inn.” “Will you help me to get ready?” She then asked, “Are we going to play some more when were done for the day? Oh, please say yes, father. I so love our make believe of being royals in the court of the queen.”
He thought to himself, looking out the window to see the gardener, the Druid tending the flowers. He then mused, “I need to speak with him in private about this and see what he might think concerning her…sudden insight.” He turned then, came over to Georgia and said, “Of course we will, I wouldn’t deny you something you enjoy so much.” She laughed then, hugged her father, and went to begin her duties assigned to her. It was necessary to assist her father out each day in the kitchen. She was an important member of the staff at the inn she thought.
Then she thought, “The dreams seemed so real though, it couldn’t be, what a funny thought.” She chuckled and then went about another day at the inn with her father. Nothing could be better with her then that truth.
She loved being here with her father. She couldn’t think of anywhere else could ever be a better then to being here, living out her life with him as her father here at the inn where wonderful stories were told everyday by the guests and patrons that enjoyed their time together at the inn.”
Epilogue
“Whose finger sits on the scale of fate, is it choice, is it whether you are born rich or poor, or does a god push the levers of life to influence how our day will be? Of course, if could be none of these at all, but simply a rolling of the dice that provide a multitude of chances of which only one of many provide an outcome called truth.”