A Dream -- Saturday 26 September

I'm standing in a grand library at midnight, the scent of aged parchment filling the air like whispered secrets. The bookshelves stretch up to the dome ceiling, mirroring the canals' skylines I've been piecing together. Each book has its own gender, masculine or feminine, like French nouns dancing on the spines. Socrates, that barefoot philosopher, is here, questioning the books themselves, his echoing inquiries illuminating the path between the shelves. An old photograph album floats down from above, its pages fluttering open to reveal a young Heather, her passion igniting the room like a wildfire. I'm suddenly in a locker room, intrigued by the revelation that time-travel is hiding within the M4 Sherman tank's reflection. The tank transforms into a puzzle piece, completing a grand jigsaw of the Outback under the Southern Cross. King John and his rebel barons appear, signing the Magna Carta on the puzzle's border, each clause echoing like a mathematical equation. Asta from Black Clover materializes, her presence completing our family, as we all dance in the mirrored skylines of the library's canals.