There was more than a little of the fairy-tale to it, and why not? After all, we had come willingly to the land of changelings and banshees and the aos sí.
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There was more than a little of the fairy-tale to it, and why not? After all, we had come willingly to the land of changelings and banshees and the aos sí.
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Nothing could have prepared me for stepping off the train in that dying October light and walking straight into a fantasy world.
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It’s the last station on the city line, rows of wooden houses, a trail that winds beneath broken stone arches and into the smallest of alps.
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Every corner turned, another fairy tale: Sleeping Beauty resting in the Gothic parliament, a hooded eagle perching in the square, a Little Princess lost to endless games.
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I suppose Berlin was my first real fling. The first time I spent the night with a place without carrying it home in my heart. And who could blame me?
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