Once upon a time there was a woman, alone in the dark.
She lay across her bed, gazing dreamily out at the night sky, her features lit by the light of the moon …
After a time she turned away from the moonlight, and quietly opened a drawer in the ancient oak dressing table with its silvery mirror. Her long fingers dipped into a pile of silk, satin, lace, and cool slippery flimsy pieces of dreams.
After a time the bed was strewn with gauzy wisps of exotic lingerie.
The woman smiled, and slipped off her wrapper, her body illuminated for a moment in the silver light. Her eyes were deep pools, her hair was a dark shadow, her everyday existence faded as she rolled that first stocking up her thigh, slowly, slowly.
Your body is a temple; all women are goddesses. There is a place for plain cotton underpants and sensible bras, even sturdy socks and sensible singlets. But it isn’t here. You are not just the provider of food and the washer of clothes, you’re not just utilitarian and sensible and sexless, and you’re not just an unpaid scullery maid …
You are the woman in the moonlight; your life is about more than sensible things and prosaic everyday life.
You are the woman Kornelia created the world of dreams for …