Underhill can’t be explained. I’ve tried. I usually tell people to think of it as another dimension where the laws of science don’t apply. With training and discipline, you can make anything you want happen. Without that training, anything will happen. It could be a dangerous place. It was easy to create something by thinking about it. When the area was populated, King Oberon had been responsible for maintaining some sense of order. When he’d been here, you had to really focus to make something happen. It was only when he was in the human world that you had to worry. There were no natural passages to Underhill in the area, so I had to create one. It took more magic than I should use, but I would recover quicker once I was there. The place was so peaceful. Sometimes that was unsettling. Some places always used to have people. Other areas were often quiet. I tended to stay in those areas when I returned, so my mind didn’t create phantasmic people that I would expect to see as it had in the past. My own home was often quiet, so I usually slept there, eating from the gardens I planted so many years ago. Many places were starting to become overgrown. I couldn’t maintain my father’s vineyards or the palace gardens, so I didn’t even try. After my initial search for my people when they first vanished, I didn’t go into other people’s homes either. It seemed wrong. After over six hundred years, I’d lost hope in ever seeing any of them, but I still would respect their memory. Today, I conjured a bottle of wine and took it to the glade where we celebrated solstices and equinoxes. It was always filled with people on those holy days, but most other times, it was deserted. The conjured wine would let me get drunk, but it wasn’t as good as what my father made, nor any of the other winemakers. There was a limited supply of the real wine, and much to my father’s dismay, I had no talent in making it. I had no idea how many more centuries I’d live, so I rationed the good stuff. Living centuries, even millennia, longer was daunting. I have friends and lovers but no family, no one like me. And I never would. Testing indicated I wouldn’t be able to father children, and my track record over the years supported that. That line of thought was too depressing. If I continued down that line, I’d never move. I’d lay there in the grass drinking until I faded into nothing. And this was supposed to be a joyous spot, sacred even. It was where we celebrated life. I’d been with my first woman here. I reached my majority shortly before one summer solstice. We had been celebrating here in the glade, praising the gods and goddesses, dancing naked beneath the stars, when she approached me. She taught me many things that night. I never forgot them. “And I’ve never forgotten that night either,” a voice said I looked up from where I lay to find I’d created a phantasm of that woman. “Go away,” I told her. “But you need me.” “Is that why you’re here?” I asked. “Am I that lonely?” “Why wouldn’t you be? It’s been how long?” “Too long.” She sat next to me and kissed me. I pulled away. “Don’t. I’m not having sex with my imagination.” “You enjoyed the last time.” “You were real then.” “If I were real now, would you?” In a heartbeat. “You’re part of me. You know that answer. Lay with me.” She lay in the grass with me, and I held her. I sighed. “Sometimes, I wonder why I bother. I should just stay here and fade away.” The idea was so tempting. “You’re too much of a fighter.” I knew she was right. I could never give up. “I am. What about the others? What happened to them? And why am I still around?” “You are a fighter and a survivor. Who else could have made it this long?” “Puck.” “Puck? Puck’s a child.” “He chooses to be a child. He could be an adult when he wanted to.” “He would have been lost.” “Yes, he would have.” I agreed. My cousin was as much of a fighter as I was, but he was too childlike in too many ways. He would have never handled being alone for so long. “You miss him more than most, more than your own family.” “He was a friend.” “You watched out for him.” “He needed it.” “He did. You’d make a good dad.” “I’ll never be a dad.” “Maybe someday. Pray about it.” “I did. You’re from my head. You know that. And you know I was told not to worry about it.” “Yet, you do.” “Not normally, but…” “Some days, you wish things were different.” “I do. I just have so many questions and no answers.” I took a swig of the wine and offered the phantasm one. It didn’t surprise me that she took it. A phantasm will act like their creator’s vision of them, and I remember her enjoying wine freely. We lay together in silence, and I drifted off to sleep. The phantasm was still there when I woke. I needed to get back to the human world and take care of the responsibilities I’d neglected in the hospital. “Go. I’ll be okay,” my companion assured me. I could try to unmake her, but that didn’t always work. “Constructs fade in a few days,” she reminded me. And she would. Only if the creator stayed Underhill would a phantasm last. It was odd that she acknowledged what she was. Most didn’t, but she didn’t seem as real as most. I didn’t even know her name. Aside from the holy days, I never saw her. I felt great returning to the human world. A night away from all the iron really did wonders. I felt better than I had in ages. Until I reached my apartment