Whoever has walked through a shadowy landscape, listening for the footsteps behind, has travelled with Red Riding Hood through the forest. Those far from home know the exile of the Swan Brothers. And I do not suppose there are many people reading this who have not speculated on the hazards of glass slippers, gingerbread houses, shiny red apples, and the problems of being caught out after midnight when you have been well warned that at the stroke of twelve, with no second chances, the party will be over.

I loved writing these stories, wandering through the ancient, magical, always changing landscapes of fairy tale. So many people have travelled those roads, for so many hundreds of years, and yet there is always something new to be discovered. A glimpse through a window, a voice calling in the forest, a turning from the path that leads to a new view.  We all make our own journeys, through life and through dreams. This is mine, but it is not the only journey, not the only path, not the only view, not the only dream.