A Silver Ring and the Bricked Library Exit

A Silver Ring and the Bricked Library Exit

I was at the public library downtown where I used to study for exams, but it was lit entirely by soft candlelight and everyone was wearing heavy, stiff Victorian clothing. I was frantically searching for my phone in the coat check because I was supposed to meet someone, but all I had in my pockets were heavy brass coins and a folded letter sealed with red wax. Then this guy walked over—he looked like a coworker from my first retail job, but in the dream he was a soldier home from some 19th-century war. He took my hand and slipped a silver ring onto my thumb, telling me we had to catch the carriage before midnight. My heart was pounding with this intense rush of relief and longing, but then I realized I was just wearing my modern sneakers under a massive velvet ballgown. I tried to pull him toward the exit, but the front doors were completely bricked over.