Celestia leaped from her bed in a cold sweat. It was ludicrous that these wild dreams still affected her so. After all, she'd been having them as long as she could remember; visions of Artemis and alike Olympians were a nightly occurence for her.
She grasped for the flaming candle on her bedside table and pulled her leatherbound journal out of its hiding place beneath her pillow. She scribbled down what occurred from memory: it was nearly every detail - she didn't miss much. She finished and rewrapped the pages, her eyes scanning for the position of the rising, pure moon outside her open window.
The spell cast upon her was broken by a persistent, gentle knock at the door. The sight of Magdalena's head, peeking through the crack in her open door, beckoned for her to finish up. She tucked the book into the folds of her tunic, running her finger along its binding as if feeling it against her body wasn't enough to ensure its safety. Satisfied, she followed her mother out the door.