By Elliott Jackson
I’ve only visited Bishop Castle a couple times in waking life, but in my dreams I have found myself wandering round it more than once, like an addled ghost looking for the Mortal Coil’s exit sign. One time, the dragon’s head which adorns the Castle’s topmost battlements came to life as an actual dragon that I had to escape. Another time, spies had chased me there for some unfathomable reason, and I had to try to ditch them by running up and down the spindly iron staircases within the turrets, and climbing higher and higher on the frail-looking iron walkways round the outside, till at length I was hanging from a spire like a brachiating gibbon. (Even in my dreams, I find myself thinking, “this is a hell of a place to discover you have vertigo.”)