Author's Note: Given the nature of this plot, there are many literary characters and concepts that will make their appearance into the story. Part of C.S. Lewis' Narnia will come into play. Lewis Caroll's and Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland will also play its part, but the concepts obviously belong to them. I could not imagine myself to take any credit for their brilliance. What's more, all Harry Potter components belong to Queen JK Rowling, and the concept of switching between dreams and reality, and not knowing the difference belongs to Ted Dekker, from The Circle Series which I absolutely love.

Also, I found the cover on tumblr via google images. It is not mine, nor is it me.

Hope you like it! =]

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Chapter 1

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The Dreamer's Curse

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The twenty first century was a beautifully tragic era. Despite all the information we had and the many ways we could acquire it, the world has continued to depreciate. All the old books on science fiction had obviously had it all wrong. The world didn't progress, it seemed to digress.

And here I was, a hopelessly ideal university freshman, dreaming of the hour I could rush to my room and sink my eyes into a book. I sat in my class and mulled over the different ways to sneak out of it. To no avail, however.

My English professor was of the opinion that every single word in a book ought to possess a hidden meaning. "There is significance to each choice of word," he would often say. At first, I had thought he was being metaphorical, but no, he wasn't. "Why did the author use 'the' instead of 'a'?" he was in the middle of saying. I rolled my eyes. Well, obviously because he was referring to a specific piece of object in the realm he had created, whereas 'a' refereed to one of many. Of course, he had used this explanation before. If we had been on the subject of C.S. Lewis, or J.K. Rowling, I would have been infinitely more interested. We were instead on the subject of World Literature – an interesting subject enough, if Professor Fiddle had not been the instructor.

"Ms. March?" he called, pulling me from my thoughts. "Jane, I asked you a question."

"I'm sorry, Professor, I was still mulling over Achebe's use of 'the' versus 'a'."

"We're now on Ezinma," he looked at me expectantly.

I glanced about me. The whole class was staring at me, concealing their amusement. I shifted in my seat, fumbling for an answer. "I think, Professor, that since Okonkwo often saw his son Nwoye as a disappointment, an embodiment of his father whom he sought not to emulate, Ezinma became the son who could have been, because of her bold and boyish nature. She was the one Okonkwo would have wanted to succeed him, although she was born a girl."

Professor Fiddle gave an approving nod. "Very insightful," his mouth twitched as the bell rang. "Right, I want a three page paper on Chapters 12-14 by the end of the week. If I don't see it on my desk, then you don't get a grade – no, Mr. Bryan, I shall not go to hell, at least not before I grade those papers. Class dismissed."

I stuffed my books into my knapsack and made straight for the door. Raphael Bryan was by my side in no time. "Nice save back there," he said in his melodic voice. His perfection irritated me. "Come on, cousin, aren't you going to amuse me today?"

"No, Raph, and if you insist on calling me 'cousin' even when we really aren't, then I won't even attempt to be nice."

"Come on, we did spend our high school years together, and I know how you just adore how they used to call each other cousins in the 1600s. Hang out with me, Jane, we could get drunk, and snog, and fall in love –"

"If you ever make such a cruel suggestion again, I swear, I'll – I'll strangle you!"

Raph burst into laughter. "You'll strangle me? You're pathetic. You wouldn't hurt a fly."

"I could so! Honestly," I shook my head as we emerged into the cold winter's air. The sun was setting in the horizon. Were we in that classroom for very long? "You can do whatever you want to, Raph, but I'm going home to sleep, and no, you can't come with me," I announced. I trudged through the fresh snow, creating new tracks with my boots. The weather lifted my sourly mood, despite my fatigue. I made my way out of campus and rode the metro home. When we moved here from Glasgow, neither Papa nor Mum justified themselves with a reason. As much as I loved my beloved Britain, America has been treating me well. We were tucked away in a quiet town near Portland, surrounded by parks and friendly people. I often wondered why my parents had given England up, but after three years in the quaint Americas, I came to understand why.

The metro screeched to a halt, and I stepped out. Two blocks away, our cozy house stood at the corner of nowhere, and I am perfectly happy to say that I had – have a happy home. I rang the doorbell, and smiled at Mum as she opened it. She pulled me into a tight hug and ushered me into the kitchen. She was always happy to see me, but Papa always spoke to me as if I had been gone for years.

"Have you read The Valley of Fear, Jane?" Papa asked me as I entered the living room.

"By Arthur Conan Doyle? Of course, Papa," I sat next to him on the sofa. He was always engrossed in some Sherlock Holmes story or another. "Is Henry home?"

"Yes, he's up in his room filling out his application forms," Papa said absently. "What do you think of it?"

"Oh, of Henry leaving? Well, he's twenty two now, and he seems to be headed for a promising career in Houston, so I think it's great. Or was it the book you were asking after? I like it very much. Why?"

He smiled and gave me a pat on the shoulder. "Never you mind, just a puzzle I've been working on," he muttered. I had just thought to ask him why he was puzzled by a book he had read so many times over, but turned to find him fast asleep. I myself could feel the tug of slumber wash over me, and since I didn't consider my paper as sufficient motivation to stay awake, I drifted off into the land of dreams.

I had just shut my eyes when I found myself prying them open once again. I looked about me, and found that I was no longer on our living room couch. I straightened up and looked about me. A vast field of wheat stretched as far as my eyes could see. I stood up, only just realizing that I had been on the ground, leaning on a great oak tree. I dusted myself off and began to walk aimlessly about the wheat field. I recounted the day in my head, leading up to how I got here. "Well, first, I was in class," I muttered. "All day, actually. Then I came home at sundown, before supper, and I was sitting with Father on the couch. Oh! Then I fell asleep! I must be dreaming!" Just when I had said this, a small white rabbit dressed in a waistcoat was scurrying past. I felt a familiarity seep over me. "Well, it's just like Wonderland," I whispered. The rabbit, apparently hearing me, looked up at me in shock. It hopped away, and I chased after it.

"Wait! Don't go!" I called after it, but it was too late. The rabbit had already gone down its rabbit hole. I meant only to poke my head in to see where it had gone, but I felt my foot slip, and down I tumbled into the rabbit hole. I let out a yelp of surprise, as I tumbled down the hole. It dipped down, and was as deep as a tunnel. My long dark hair fluttered behind me as I fell down, down, down. I whizzed past bookshelves and trinkets, and had to swerve to avoid floating mirrors and chairs of all sorts. A letter was floating near my feet, and I caught a look at whom it was addressed to. "Why, that's my name!" I exclaimed. I grabbed it before it could fly past me.

The fall seemed to go on and on, so I propped myself up and pried open the letter's waxy seal.

"Dear Jane," it read.

"I knew you were coming, of course. The White Queen has never been wrong, and I should much like to think she's right about you. Of course, having this in your hand means that the curse has been passed on yet again. Dearest Jane, I hope you haven't lost your muchness after nineteen years of the world trying to drill it out of you, for you will need it much more in the nights to come.

"Darling, you are the seventh generation to be cursed with this fate – to live whilst you sleep, to live in dreams. I apologize for my father, who had dabbled with magic in his travels. This was his punishment, to walk in between two realms, until a descendant could break the spell.

"Of course, you would have many questions. You see, dreams are when our spirits are most vulnerable, and my father Charles Kingsleigh thought himself clever to explore different realms in his sleep – he was a young man at the time, barely two and twenty! His pride led to his downfall when a true witch sensed his tricks, and warned him not to meddle with the fabric of the realms.

"By this time, Charles had realized that time was not a continuous stream, and dreams could transport one to the past. He attempted to change his fate, for his business partner had made a blunder the day before. This would, of course, have unfortold consequences, and was foolish. The witch had intercepted him, and cursed him to live the nights in his worst dreams, until one of his children took the burden for themselves.

"I received the burden at seven years old, and I thought I had gone completely mad after my first adventure in Underland. I had strange dreams, always in the same odd place. Father assured me that I was completely sane, and told me of the curse. I would sleep in my bed back in England, and find myself in Underland. I would sleep in Underland and find myself back in my bed. My father had told me that if I were to be shaken awake at home, then the moment I awoke would match some time I slept in the other realm, and vice versa.

"I first thought this exciting, but realized it was far from it. I could never tell when I would get back to reality, and sometimes, I couldn't tell reality from my dreams. I could feel pain in Underland, and I could feel joy. I could weep and I could laugh – just as I could in the real world. I had friends who were real and true in Underland. Sometimes, even more so than in England. Most difficultly, I fell asleep in Underland, but did not awake in my own home.

"I had discovered that the fabric of time between the dream world and our world was not the same. In fact, I could spend months in Underland without going back! Oh, it was difficult, waking up and realizing you were no longer dreaming, or that you were. An hour in England was not necessarily commensurate in Underland. Fortunately, I had Absolom and the White Queen to guide me, and soon, I was able to live a proper life in both realms, although I had no idea how to break the spell.

"The curse plagued me until I was seven and thirty, when it was passed onto my son, Jasper. Before then, the White Queen and I had made preparations for each descendant's arrival. There is no doubt – when you arrive, I shall be living in a different realm, the realm past our world's death. Although I cannot go back to help you in our own realm, for the time is but linear there, I do believe my son should find a way to meet you in the dream realm as his own self – for he has the knack of traveling between realms and time.

"To be honest, dear Jane, I am not completely sure how it all works out, but to bear the curse, you must be brave. I trust you will not disappoint us all, darling.

"Your ever affectionate ancestor, Alice Kingsleigh."

I gasped. If it were all true, then I barely knew when I would be waking. I felt myself land on the floor with a thud. Exhausted, I lay my head down to rest.

"Jane, please wake up," Papa's pleading voice woke her. "Jane, dear, it's happened, hasn't it? You've gone down the hole? Oh, that's how it starts."

I stared at him, wide eyed. "But it was all just a dream," I furrowed my brow, "it can't possibly be true."

Papa's expression was so serious, that I knew he wasn't lying. Suddenly, his fixation on Sherlock Holmes had made sense. His elation when Mum and I were around understandable. His completely composed nature when things go awfully wrong – oh, everything made sense! "You dreamed of Sherlock," I exclaimed. Papa nodded wordlessly. "Oh, Papa, it's not your fault. Alice had already explained everything."

"My dear Jane," He held my hand tightly. "I always hoped it would be Henry."

"What did Grandma Caroline dream about?" I asked, somehow knowing she had preceded him.

"She was obsessed with Dracula when she was a girl. I suppose it's why she dreamt of deadly vampires. She ended up becoming one in the other realm. She hated it," Papa's expression lightened. "She was in my dreams. I was always anxious to keep her safe. People can die in dreams. Father did, in fact, shortly before he died in this realm. When you run with Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson, your life isn't exactly peaceful."

Papa sent me off to bed before Mum could ask questions.

"You'll know which book you fall into once you get back to bed," Papa explained. "It's difficult, and we don't know exactly what links this world to the other."

"Will your dreams stop? When I begin to dream?" I asked him before he left my room.

He smiled at me, relief filling his eyes. "They just did."