Polka Dots And Moonbeams
by Black Widow

She knew she couldn't carry on like this, she knew it had to end.

She knew, even as she laid her hand against the wall, as she closed her eyes and prayed she wouldn't dream...


A perfect autumn evening in a perfect country garden.

The gathering formal, friends who were not strangers, yet when she closed her eyes they were not there, she could dream and dance without a care.

Music soft, so gentle the mood was, she closed her eyes and all she would, was float to heaven on the scent of lilacs.

By moonlight gliding 'cross the garden, she felt a bump, and as she did, a sweet voice gently next her, "Oh, I beg your pardon."

As her eyes she widely opened, suddenly she came to see, polka dots and moonbeams, wrapped around a pert-nosed dream.

Bright music started as their eyes met. Their hands did touch, but for an instant, they stood, alone, apart, perplexed.

Perchance to dance with an angel, Fred her soul would have given, to hold the tall and wondrous maiden on the grass before her there.

She held her breath, the illusion fair, and with more courage than she'd ever dare, "May I have this dance?" her words so soft upon the air.

The angel smiled and moved close to her, cheek to cheek and in her frightened arms, she held polka dots and moonbeams, wrapped around a pert-nosed dream.

The bassoon soared, swooning, sensual, and swirling slowly, shyly, all she saw were questions in the eyes of other dancers, as they floated on the air.

Without a word her angel told her, that she was hers for evermore. Certainly, there once were questions, but now her heart knew all the answers. And as the wedding guests departed, perhaps a few things more.

Now in a cottage full of lilacs and laughter, she'd learned the true meaning of 'ever after', and she'd see for evermore only polka dots and moonbeams when she kissed her dream.


The smile on Cordelia's face when she woke faded faster than any Laura Ashley design.

The scratching of the pen, faint but frantic on the other side of the wall, the scratching that had made Cordelia move her bed so that she could fall asleep against it, the scratching that made her tremble with self-doubt and denial, was slowly killing her.

She was... she was...

"Polka dots." The words formed on her lips, but got no further, she couldn't bear, the scorn would hurt her.

Then she saw the dress and knew...

In a cottage full of lilacs and laughter, she'd learned the true meaning of 'ever after'.

And she'd be, for evermore, only polka dots and moonbeams... when she came to dream.