I am blind.

But, in the darkness, I feel warmth, like sunshine on my skin.

And in the distance, I hear waves - rhythmic, rising, falling, sibilant - as they crash quietly against a shore, recede and repeat. It is a comforting sound, and it evokes memories of happy holidays by the sea, with people I love, during a time when my soul was filled with laughter and joy.

And there is the salty tang of air slightly sticky with spray, just before a playful breeze sweeps it away.

I can feel, hear, taste and smell.

Where am I?

"Sabrina?"

I turn, and my vision returns with the sound of my name.

I am on a seashore, barefoot on fine white sand.

Behind me - the turquoise sea, stretching to a horizon that turns into endless sky.

Before me -

"Granny?"

"Liebling!" She is ageless.

Beside her -

"Grandpa?"

"Sabrina."

I stand still, watching them approach, hand-in-hand, smiling like they did in the photographs that hung on her walls; joyful and completely content.

It hits me like a ton of bricks - the weight of missing her. And yet I feel no sadness, only the immensity of the delight at seeing her again, and at the thrill of meeting a grandfather I'd only ever heard stories about.

They waste no time in pleasantries; once they are close enough, I am surrounded by arms, bathed in the scents of those years with her, when I'd rediscovered anew what family meant.

"Look at you, liebling!" Granny exclaims, her German accent caressing her words. "Basil, didn't I tell you she was stunning? Look at her!"

My grandfather beams and extends his hand. "I'm over the moon to finally meet you, girl. Relda tried to describe you, but she didn't do you justice."

"Hi, Grandpa," I say, overcome. I don't know him . . . and yet I do.

"Where are we?" I finally ask, when we have beheld each other long enough in silence.

"Eternity," Grandpa replies. "Home."

"Heaven?"

"You could call it that. It has many places within it, and it's a little different for everyone. Home is the best way Relda and I could describe it -"

"- and I spent the first part of my stay here trying to," Granny interrupts, laughing. "I was determined to give it a name. Basil's been here for much longer, but I'd just arrived, and it was magnificent, and I wanted to have something in our language to . . . explain what it felt like to me."

"Home." I try the word on my tongue and feel what it conveys - security, comfort, belonging, love, happiness, longings fulfilled, favorite people.

People.

"Who else is here, Granny? Can I meet them, too?"

She pats my arm, then links hers in mine and we begin walking. Grandpa flanks my other side.

"Not this time, liebling," she says, "you'll see them all when you come to stay."

"I'm not here to stay?"

She exchanges a look with Grandpa, and he speaks in turn.

"I don't quite know how to explain it to you, Sabrina. When we come here, we're here to stay . . . usually. There's a . . . finished-ness about the people who come - it is the right time for them. But with you. . . it's different. You feel connected to the other side still, like there's a cord holding you back; you're here, and yet you're not. And this - " he sweeps his hand toward the gorgeous expanse of blue and white around us, " - this is like a gateway, the waiting room for the real place. It's hard to explain in our old language."

"Old language?"

Granny interprets, "We communicate differently here. Oh, we still use words, but they're deeper, and have more meaning, and everyone understands completely without having to explain anything."

"Why am I here, then, if I'm not staying?"

"Well. . ." Granny says patiently, "you died."

Ah, yes. I did.

I realize, with a sense of peace, that my mind is perfectly clear, fully-dimensional, new, free. And not only is there no sign of Bradley, or anyone from my illusion world, I also somehow know, with complete confidence, that I will never see them here.

The magic - that seductive thing that rooted itself uninvited in the fabric of my soul - is gone.

We are quiet for a while, the sound of the surf and the shifting sand filling the spaces between us.

Then, Grandpa speaks. "That was brave, what you did."

A vision of Puck's face flashes into my mind - the last image I had of him as I took off into the clouds - a mask of anguish and panic and wrath and fear, as he'd screamed, first just sounds, then words: I'm not ready; come back, over and over again until I could no longer hear him. Strangely, I don't feel sad at this any more than at having missed Granny.

"Is the Goblin King here?" I ask, suddenly curious.

"We haven't seen him," Grandpa replies.

"Although, to be fair, we weren't looking," Granny adds.

No malice, no serves-him-right in their voices; simply matter-of-fact.

"Mustardseed . . .?"

They shake their heads.

Even the thought of my sweet and gallant brother-in-law - wherever he is now - cannot evoke any sorrow or regret in this strange and peaceful place.

We continue walking and talking as we kick the sand with our toes, as if this were one of many regular visits to see my grandparents at their seaside vacation home during the summer breaks. They give me their news - messages from people I know - and I tell them about Daphne and Red and Mom and Dad and Basil Jr.

"Tobias is getting more frail," I report. "But he doesn't want to move in with Red, even though she offered; insisted, really."

Granny smiles at the mention of her old friend. Grandpa says, "When he finally gets here, I'm looking forward to shaking his hand and thanking him for taking care of you all those years when I wasn't there."

"Will he come here, then? Will he be allowed to. . .?" There is no filter between my brain and my mouth here, yet - just as strangely - I feel no embarrassment about it. "What about . . ."

The things he's done? The lives he's taken?

Granny looks into the distance.

"I'm still surprised," she muses, "by who's here and who isn't. It's not at all what I'd thought."

And that was that; the conversation flip-flops back to the dead and I find myself once more collecting love notes to convey to the living.

"Seven says to tell Morgan that she was right about his brothers. . . "

"Geppetto sends his love to Pinocchio. . . "

. . . and on and on.

Then, finally: "Briar says to tell Jake that she knew about the ring and that she would've said yes. But now he must ask someone else, when he is ready."

I nod. I know how she feels.

Then, a new thought hits me.

"My . . . our baby. Is our baby here, too?"

"Yes, he is. We've met him."

"It's a boy?"

"Yes, and he looks just like Puck."

My heart breaks.

"But he doesn't have a name yet," Granny continues. "We just call him liebling."

In spite of not being able to feel sadness here, I sense a tug on the inside, an aching need for this little boy who is just like the one I've left behind. My heart swells with the deepest, sharpest love I've ever felt, and I gasp for breath.

"Tell him . . . tell him his name is Oriel, and that we can't wait to see him."

Granny smiles. "He'd like that."

I sigh, deep exhales to calm my soul that suddenly, acutely, desperately misses Puck more than I've ever missed him. And although there is no sorrow, I feel the great weight of it on my heart.

As if they sense it, too, my grandparents look at each other and ask me, "Are you going back?"

"I can decide that?"

Another shared glance between them, then Granny allows, "You can."

I have a choice.

If I stay, I will meet my son. Be with him. Find answers to all those possibilities that were closed to me when he'd died, so new in my body that it hadn't even announced him to the world. I won't have to deal with Bradley-who-never-existed-yet-is-real-to-me. Or Marian, or any part of that twisted, counterfeit reality, because my mind is whole here. I will be with Granny, whom I've missed, and Grandpa, whom I can spend eternity getting to know.

But I will not have my family - Mom, Dad, Daphne, Basil.

I will not have Puck.

And eternity is a very long time to spend without his voice, his smile, his arms.

Not to mention the fact that he'd kill me himself if I didn't return.

The thought makes me smile.

It's kind of a no-brainer.

"I'm going back. I made a promise. There's a certain fairy waiting, who can't find his own shoes without me."

"Good." Grandpa winks at me. "We guessed we wouldn't be taking any prisoners, anyway."

But Granny hugs me tightly, whispering how much she loves me, vowing to take good care of everybody on her side of forever, and making me promise to take care of those on mine.

As she releases me, she says, "And tell Puck I love what he did with the restaurants! But that spaghetti could use a touch more rhubarb."

Then they step back, letting me go.

"How?" I ask. "How do I get back?"

There's no tunnel of light to walk through, no trod to slip along to an alternate realm, no door to open back to the land of the living, not even a seam between worlds, a brink that separates Here from There.

"You just choose, Sabrina," Grandpa says gently.

Oh.

As easy as that.

So I say, "I want to go home."

Then the light and sea and sky around me recede, before I realize that it isn't them - it is me, moving through dimensions. As it all disappears, I feel this place fading in my mind, as if it were a memory of something important and beautiful that I once had but can't quite capture any longer.

And then it is the darkness overlaid with brightness, veiled and indistinct, that reminds me of a poor blindfold shutting out vision but not light. For a little longer, I hold on to the image of Granny and Grandpa standing with their arms around each other, smiling and waving.

Then they are gone.