Trembling, once more Garrison turned the key, and the box opened. All that he found within was a stack of old papers, a ring, an old piece of flint and a candle... He looked at the ring, and it was plain but for a single four-pointed star and crescent moon emblazoned upon it. He then turned his candle to the stack of papers, and saw etched upon their cover-sheet his father's rose insignia. Trembling, mind now years and distances away from this place, within the dancing candlelight, he began to read... "My dearest Perrion, ...how grey it always seems here as if nothing moves. It seems as if this silly job I've taken with the circus, with the bears is, but for thoughts of you, my only joy. Oh I'm sorry for this... Forgive me, mine love, and accept this: it is my ring and signet. I shall not be going back, ever, and so I give it, too, along with mine heart, to you." In "Winter Dreams," author B. Charles Price tells a tale of the reality beyond the fantasy through a beautiful depiction of the illusion.

Trembling, once more Garrison turned the key, and the box opened.All that he found within was a stack of old papers, a ring, an old piece of flint and a candle... He looked at the ring, and it was plain but for a single four-pointed star and crescent moon emblazoned upon it. He then turned his candle to the stack of papers, and saw etched upon their cover-sheet his father's rose insignia.Trembling, mind now years and distances away from this place, within the dancing candlelight, he began to read..."My dearest Perrion, ...how grey it always seems here as if nothing moves. It seems as if this silly job I've taken with the circus, with the bears is, but for thoughts of you, my only joy. Oh! I'm sorry for this... Forgive me, mine love, and accept this: it is my ring and signet. I shall not be going back, ever, and so I give it, too, along with mine heart, to you."In "Winter Dreams," author B. Charles Price tells a tale of the reality beyond the fantasy through a beautiful depiction of the illusion.