The door of the house is wide open, like it expects me too. I’m certain it’s the one from the photo. Does that mean I’m in Kuwait? As soon as I think it I know I’m right.

I look to my left, where the great big iron gates stand, and to the right where an old set of swings sway in the warm breeze, and finally back at the house again.

It stands there, like the ruined palace from Fairy Hunters, where you collect your quests. And this time I go inside.

A tunnel of green greets me as I step through the door. Plants hang from the ceiling, their leaves skating down the walls and on to the purple-and-pink marbled floor. I sweep my hand along the wall, gathering leaves. As I pass through I think of Mum growing up here in this house. I think of her as a little child, holding on to her mother’s skirt like she did in that photo. I want to swoop her up in my arms and tell her everything is going to be OK. Because that’s what I need someone to tell me.

Soon I find myself in a foyer with a round table in the middle of it. Windows line one entire side of the wall, their blinds, like the house’s eyelids, are pulled down, like it’s asleep. The pearlescent walls sparkle in the light, and an enormous canvas of the sky stands at the furthest end of the room. This is how I imagine the fairy palace would have looked before it turned to ruin. Red and gold furniture, rich colours and patterned curtains. It’s like stepping into a dream.

As I walk across the room it’s as if I can feel the house breathe beneath my feet.

Whish, whoosh. Pause. Whish, whoosh. Pause. Its steady heartbeat drumming through the floors.

Another leaf-lined hallway leads to a different part of the house, and a staircase winds upwards just next to it.

I’m about to try the other rooms, to explore more, when I see it.

A bracelet.

It’s the only thing on the glass-topped table, and it sparkles and glints at me.

Like it wants me to pick it up. In Fairy Hunters you always know when to collect objects, because they glow just a little brighter than everything else. That’s what this reminds me of.

I see something inscribed on the bracelet, but it’s in Arabic. Mum taught me it when I was younger, though we haven’t had lessons in a while. I understand Arabic much better than I can read it. Mum eventually gave up trying to teach me all the letters and how to join them together, but I think I can still read some of them.

I pick the bracelet up and try to make out what it says. Slowly.

I get as far as ‘am’ before I hear it.