RITA HAYWORTHCentral Park, New York
As Morgan walked into the lake, she pictured the Bethesda Fountain, the place she always visited when she was in New York, the stone angel that had been so dear to her, that had sparked her inspiration and imagination for so many years. Now, it was obvious to her why she had such an attachment to that magical place, the portal to her lover and to a strange and magical world. She wondered if part of her had always known her life would lead here.
Morgan was afraid that she was about to wake up from a dream, that as she stepped into Central Park, she would realise that dragons, sorcerers and warriors didn’t exist, that it was all an illusion, her most special and personal dream. To calm herself, she pictured the image of the one of the four cherubs featur
