Philip hesitated at the doorway, unsure if he was welcome in this strange domain even as the nurse motioned for him to follow. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and vibrated with the hum of machinery. He entered the small room, stopping next to the nurse, and beheld the pale form, framed by gold, lying upon the bed. Time seemed to distort and he could recall nothing more of those moments besides her face. The attendant’s words flowed past him, leaving only one in his recollection: Aurora. Her name.

Then, the nurse was gone and it was just Philip. He looked about the small room, taking in the few pieces of furniture. There was something on the nightstand, next to a vase of roses. When he walked closer, he saw it was a book, one of those children’s books with hard, glossy covers and bright, fanciful illustrations. Picking it up, Philip read the title and smiled. He pulled over the chair, sat down and opened the book.

Glancing at Aurora, he said, “You’ve probably heard this story countless times, but somehow it feels right for me to read it.” Taking a deep breath, he began.

“Once upon a time…”

Someone was singing. It was a woman’s voice, clear as water and pure as crystal. And if he tried, he could almost taste the sweetness of honey in it. Philip opened his eyes and found himself in a wooded glen, leaning against a tree as if he had just fallen asleep. Before him was a thin screen of brush beyond which was a clearing. And beyond that, he thought he could dimly see a castle.

The song drifted closer and then the singer came into view. She was dancing and she was beautiful. Bright sunlight stroked her hair and set it shining like a halo about her head. Perhaps it was the motion of him standing up or the sudden rustling of leaves in his passage, but she stopped, half turned and saw him. She froze. The air was abruptly bereft of her music and empty with its loss.

“Please! Please don’t be afraid,” he said, walking towards her slowly, arms outstretched. “I mean you no harm.”

Poised on the edge of flight, she hesitated. There was a shift in her stance, a relaxation, an exhalation and she smiled. It was a shy smile, a small smile, but yet the sweetest smile Philip had ever seen. She looked at him through her lashes as he came to a stop a few feet from her.

“I have never seen anyone else here before,” She said. A question echoed in those words.

Philip hesitated, longing to say he was a Prince for that was surely what a maiden such as she deserved. “I am Philip,” he said at last.

“Philip.” She said his name as if tasting it upon her tongue. “I am Rose.”

Abruptly, she laughed and, with unexpected boldness, took his hand and led him away.

He smelled roses. Philip stirred, slowly raising his head from where it had drooped, feeling the building soreness in his neck. A storybook lay open upon his lap. Staring at it, he recalled where he was: in a hospital, next to a young woman in a coma. He was supposed to be reading to her but must have, instead, fallen asleep.

Rubbing his neck, Philip extended his arms in a stretch before suddenly growing still. The dream. Doubtlessly, it was the strangest, and most vivid he had ever had. Dropping his arms, he looked at Aurora. Her face was as motionless and placid as it had been when he arrived. Nonetheless, he felt a change; they were no longer strangers. He had danced with her—with Rose; they had walked together and talked together, whiling away some timeless day.

A faint beeping sound brought him back to reality. The alarm on his watch had gone off, and looking at it, he was startled at the hour. Hastily standing, he grabbed for his things before pausing. He turned to Aurora, and tenderly touching her cheek, murmured, “Wait for me.”

Philip’s hands trembled slightly as they held the storybook. Would it happen again this time? He did not know; fairy tales did not come true but he could not quell this strange, wild hope. Carefully turning the pages, he found what he last recalled reading and continued.

“The Prince said, ‘I am not afraid, I will go and save the beautiful briar-rose…’”

He woke again in the glade, but it had transformed. Instead of leaves, the trees bore thorns, long and wicked sharp, and a tall hedge of brambles filled the clearing so that he could not see through it. When Philip tried to push his way past them, the thorns cut his skin and caught on his clothes until he was stuck fast. He stopped fighting to collect his thoughts and try to find a way to defeat this test. He closed his eyes, and concentrated, shaping this dream, this story, to his will. And then, a sword was in his hand, blade bright and keen. Swiftly, he cleaved the twisted branches and battled his way to the castle. He climbed the winding stair of the highest tower and finally found her.

In a room paneled in white and gold, upon a bed with curtains drawn aside, she lay in sweet repose. Suddenly aware of his dirt and blood-stained clothes, Philip hardly dared approach her, but some undeniable force overcame his reluctance. Steps slow with reverence, he came to her side. For a long moment he merely looked at her, taking in the wonder of her existence. At last, he leaned close and murmuring the age old words, he kissed her.

Philip woke with a start. The book had fallen from his grasp and the noise from it hitting the ground must have woken him. He stared at it groggily before he remembered.

He snapped his gaze to Aurora. His heart fell. She slept on, impassive as always, oblivious to his trails.

“No,” he whispered hoarsely, “It can’t have been merely a dream. It can’t.” He reached out and caressed her cheek. “There must be something else, something left undone…” Hope lit his eyes as he realized. Bending over her sleeping form, he framed her face with his hands and kissed her.

Then Aurora opened her eyes and awoke. And when she saw him, she smiled more sweetly than ever before.