An hour ago Reshma had gone outside and sat in the snow, eyes closed, searching for Insanity. During this time Sandy thought about the Muse. He had first met her through her dreams. She had been one of the rare few whose dreams intrigued him. Each dream is unique of course, but there are some so unique they are like beacons of light in a sea of darkness to the Sandman. Reshma's dreams were possibly the brightest light of all. So vivid and utterly different were they that it would have been preposterous for Sandy to not take notice. Her mind was a thing of beauty beyond even his ancient comprehension.

As the years went on her dreams became more chaotic, frightening. They were not good dreams, nor nightmares. Reshma's dreams were in a league of their own. Yet one fact became increasingly clear within them – Reshma was going to die. Her mortal brain could not handle the strain her brilliant mind was placing on it. The very mind that had captured wise, old Sanderson Mansnoozie's attention was the very thing killing her. The morning after the most painful dream Sandy had ever seen in any man, beast or spirit's mind, Reshma's dreams halted altogether. It was a month before Sandy accepted that Reshma, someone more alive than he had believed possible, had died and he almost forgot about her. Almost.

Nearly a thousand years later Sandy saw a dream that reeked of Reshma. It could hardly compare but the endless imagination was so like her. Sandy would have thought it a coincidence had he not recognised Reshma herself in the dream. He knew that face from her own mind. Reshma was alive! So Sandy went looking.

Reshma was easy to find in the end. She was with a little boy in a tree late one evening. Although Sandy was not sure he could call it a tree. It was so exquisitely decorated it appeared more like a realm of the sky; everything from day break, to midday, to sunset, to twilight, to midnight depicted on its bark and leaves. To Sandy it was a piece of Reshma's mind come alive.

The boy, about three, seemed equally impressed by the mastery. As did the small lion man next to him. At first Sandy thought it was a child in dress-up but the detail was far too life-like. Had Reshma made it?

"Reshie sure daddy won't find us?" the boy asked, fearfully glancing at the house the tree stood in front of. "Liplid say daddy angry. Drank the bad stuff."

A third eye opened on the lion man's forehead and a stream of gibberish flowed out. The boy gibbered back. "Liplid scared," the boy supplied with a quiver in his own voice. Reshma smiled sadly and stroked the boy's hair. Liplid the lion man snuggled into her side.

"Hush Henry. Daddy won't find you tonight. And tomorrow it's going to be scary because daddy is going to get very mad. But don't be afraid because someone is going to find you and take you to a new home. They will be so nice and love you very much and will not be like your daddy at all. I just know they will love Liplid. Do you trust me Henry? You may get hurt but that is the only way you can be happy later."

Henry murmured something in gibberish and Liplid nodded. "Liplid say kay so I will be brave to be happy." He burrowed into Reshma's lap, holding Liplid's paw. "Reshie?" Henry mumbled into her stomach.

"Yes Henry?"

"Why daddy hate me? Did I do bad?" Reshma rubbed Henry's back soothingly.

"No, no, no. Daddy is the bad one. You are such a good boy who was very unlucky but soon you will be happy and you will never see daddy again," she comforted.

"I love you Reshie." Liplid said something. "Liplid love you too. Why can we no stay with you? You make us happy."

"I'm sorry Henry. Soon you won't need me anymore. Please, imagine being happy. Even without me I know you can." A silver light formed in Reshma's hand and floated into Henry's forehead. A grin overtook his face and Sandy sent Dreamsand to put him to sleep while he had cheer. As the effects of the Dreamsand took hold Liplid faded from existence. In his dreams, Henry was playing horses with a kindly man and woman that looked a lot like Reshma. The man praised Henry for his horse's speed, ruffling his hair as he cuddled with the woman. Next to the woman's leg purred a large, golden cat that resembled Liplid. It may not have been an exciting dream but Henry felt the most safe and loved he had ever in his short life.

In Sandy's eagerness to talk to Reshma the sand images that played over his head were far too fast to be translated. He should have guessed Reshma would be able to.

Are you Reshma? Your dreams are amazing. You are very kind to Henry. He is very lucky you are here, Sandy signed. He had seen in Henry's nightmares his drunk father beating and abusing him after his mother died. How did you make the tree look like this? It's also amazing but I can't expect less from you with the dreams you have. But why aren't you having dreams anymore? I thought you died.

Sandy stopped the rapid images, realising how forward he was being and how rude it was to sign that quick.

"I am Reshma, thank you," she whispered, to which Sandy's mouth dropped open.

You understood me?

"Yes, quite easily," she replied. "And so you know, I made the tree like this with my magic." To demonstrate, the branches of the tree twined into a nest complete with fluffy pillows that appeared to be made of leaves. Gently she tucked Henry in and the nest glided into the centre of the tree, hidden from the outside world. "Most of it is illusions," the tree reverted back to its normal state except Henry's nest. "I did die, actually, but I became a spirit. For some reason I don't dream anymore. You're the Sandman? It explains how you know of my dreams."

It was a shock to Sandy that to become a spirit Reshma had died, but he did not let it show. That is correct. Sanderson Mansnoozie at your service. What do the mortals call you?

"The Muse I believe."

That was odd. Sandy had heard of the Muse but not in the sense that she was believed in. So Henry is one of the Muse's believers?

"Not specifically. No one truly believes I exist."

Then how can he see you?

"Most of the children that can see me have an imaginary friend. I suppose by believing in them they believe in me."

Curious. She was not the object of belief yet they could still see her. Sandy guessed then and there that Reshma was a spirit of imagination. And imagination is very powerful. It was nice to meet you, Sandy signed. Reshma smiled back.

"Yes, it was nice meeting you too. However you best return to your duties Sanderson. Many more people need sweet dreams tonight." With a wave, Sandy left. It was not the last he saw of the elusive Muse.

Sometimes years would pass, or decades, but Sandy and Reshma often met between dreams and imaginary friends. Both were willing for impromptu chats mid-work. Sandy enjoys his fellow Guardians' company, he truly does, but the lack of understanding can become tedious. But with Reshma there are no such limitations on his sand. He can "speak" as quickly as he wants to and she always understands.

It seemed Reshma found a similar relief in their conversations, no matter how brief. It really should not have surprised Sandy that most spirits had never heard of the Muse, let alone seen her. Reshma is very secretive for a spirit of imagination. Reshma's joy in having intelligent discussion was evident, which made Sandy all the more proud she trusted him out of the other spirits.

She is a puzzle. Sandy has seen her many a time bringing imagination and protection to children as though a Guardian would. Yet she thinks she is not deserving of Guardianship. Unlike Jack, she gave no reason why other than her unsuitableness, which contradicts everything Sandy has seen. Another mystery. What did she mean by saying "it is not only children" when he argued for her case by bringing up her believers? Who else sees her that is so incriminating? Then Insanity shows up and she is determined to stop him. What is their history? Why has he not of him before except in passing? Why has Insanity not struck before now? What is Reshma hiding? It is all very confusing.

Before Sandy can go further into thought Reshma returns inside, look of resolve on her features. "I found him."

I'd like to think little Henry was discovered by a neighbour being beaten by his father and found the life he desperately wanted. Ugh, I am depressing. Children being beaten, drunk fathers and insane spirits plotting the demise of all humans. I should get this problem sorted.

Therapist: How do you feel about the world?

Me: It's full of darkness! Dang it, Henry!

Therapist: Mmm hmm...

Okay, bye.