fantasies (5.1.13)

The man strides across the lacquered floor and stops at the oak door heavy laden with gothic engravings and knocks thrice.
This was it.
The door opens and the hinges creak in a strange welcome to the man.
“Princess Madeline, Sir Davenport is here.” 
“Send him in,” replies the smooth, sultry voice. 
And then it hit him.
She was not a figment of his imagination. She was as real as the nose on his face and the hair on his head. Realer than the sun setting over the mountains. Realer than the shoes on his feet and the money in his pocket.
He crossed the threshold and smiled.