Great Aunt Mildred had the best stories. She was always the main character. As kids we’d sit enthralled by her medieval tales.

As adults we’d roll our eyes. The old bat was clearly a few drawbridges short of a castle.

Turns out she wasn’t crazy.

One moment I was in my apartment, the next I was in a field. The first thing I heard was the thunder of hooves. The soldiers surrounded me and one hopped down from his steed. I don’t understand a word of whatever language he’s spitting at me, but I can translate the sword pointed in my direction.

He stares at me intently before uttering, “Mildred?”