Hi, everyone, and welcome to get sleepy. The podcast where we listen, we relax and we get sleepy. I'm your host, Thomas, thank you for tuning in. Sam Jarvis is back to read to us tonight. I know many of you love some soft, soothing voice and you've been asking to hear more from. So I hope you enjoy tonight's episode. In this particularly dreamy and creative story, we'll be following a woman named Morgan who has a deep passion for mythology, especially the myths and legends of King Arthur.

On a visit to the rocky ruins of Tintagel Castle King Arthur's palace, Morgan discovers something unexpected about both the castle and her herself. As always, we have an exclusive bonus episode coming up tomorrow on Gaslamp Premium. I'll be narrating a really relaxing travel story set in Scotland on the Isle of Skye, where a collection of natural pools create a magical atmosphere. If you'd like to hear that and get all of the other benefits of being a premium member, like add free access to our entire back catalogue and 30 percent discount on merchandise and simply go to get sleepy dot com slash support or just follow the link in the show notes to learn more.

And another great way you can support the podcast is by supporting our sponsors. And tonight, I'd like to say thanks to better help for supporting the show. If you feel as though there's something interfering with your happiness or holding you back from achieving your goals, then I really would recommend you check out better help. Therapy and counseling is such a powerful and important thing that you can do for yourself, better help will assess your needs and match you with your own licensed professional therapist.

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And so can you remember to use our special offer? Forget sleeplessness of 10 percent of your first month out. Better help dot com slash get sleepy. So now just take a moment to settle in. And make sure you're comfortable. And then let your breathing just draw out a little longer. And as you do that. Just gradually turn your attention inward. Focusing on the body and the mind. And if your mind feels busy right now, it's absolutely normal and something that you can just accept.

I've often found myself getting really frustrated by having a busy mind at night. But it's important that we don't punish ourselves with more distress. So instead of resisting. We're trying to block out your thoughts. As you breathe in and out, just allow your mind to do as it pleases for a few moments. And now gently bring your attention. To the breath. Feel the air flowing in through your nose. Filling up your lungs. And then easing back out through your nose or mouth.

And if it helps to do so, you can just place one or both of your hands on your stomach. And really engage in that sense of rise and fall. That's not true, ever present rhythm of your body. And it's a rhythm that we can always come back to. If our mind wanders off. I hope you'll enjoy a beautiful sleep tonight. Just relax. Listen, Alan. I'll hand over to Sam for our story. Our adventure begins on the western coast of England, where towering rocky shores.

Protect the ruins of an old castle. Hotel Kamela stood proud high on the windswept headland of Agile, its windows looked out over the tempestuous Arctic Sea. Mulkern wandered down the long, winding drive leading up to the hotel. A structure certainly looked much more like a castle and it did a bed and breakfast. The four corners of Hotel Camelot rose much taller and the rest of the building. Each turret adorned with a Cornish flag waving in the breeze. At the top of the hotel's four walls.

The thick stone had been given to the effect. It was the sort of thing you might find beautifully described in a fairy tale, but Morgan knew that historically the honey even talk to a castle was about more than 50 long, long ago. The raised part of the tooth shaped parrot, part of the knights defending king and country, a protected view of the land. It was clear to Morgan that the stunning hotel Camelot that stood on this hilltop surveying the coastline and guarding the ancient ruins for generations.

But those decades were not a scratch on the history of Tintagel Castle. The ruins of which stood on the rocky clifftop behind Morgan. Castle had guarded this coastline from sex and invaders for centuries. That's why Morgan had come here to finally unravel the legend of King Arthur and see the ruins he left behind. History was Morgan's greatest passion. She'd seen ruins all over the world and watched past crumbling away, worn down by the seasons, by times and by time.

She watched the golden sunset over Machu Picchu and seen it rise on a crisp morning between the towering marble columns of the Parthenon in Athens. Tomorrow, Morgan would finally see why so many of the legends famed throughout the British Isles has just been locked into history. Stories travel differently back then. They were carried across land and time by word of mouth. Mother, father, daughter. That's how the story of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table would have been told.

That boy or girl would one day grow up and retell the same tale to their own children. That's how history was recorded in the Dark Ages when Artha was said to have left. Mulkern thought it was better that way. A book, however, got a tail between its pages could be easily lost.

It's a long and winding story, quickly forgotten without being in paper. Oh, well, told story shaped by silvered filled the air around you and crept in into your posts.

It's stuck in your mind and colored your dreams. Mischief chased in the corners of Morgan's eyes, though generally quiet and bookish within the young woman was in denial, need to unfurl the mysteries of the past. And King Arthur was perhaps the greatest mystery of all. Pushing through the heavy mahogany door at the front of the hotel. Walk and step in to the whole. The door swung shut behind her and the comforting quiet, the lobby welcomed her. Stepping inside the hotel, Camelot was a lot like cracking open a time capsule.

All kinds of artifacts gathered from across the country were presented in glass cases along the walls. Dug up pottery and salvaged glassware, shining suits and coppery coins, well, all protected by the clean glass cases and lit by the velvet green lampshades on the walls.

Large red trucks emblazoned with the Arthurian crest, later top of hardwood floors. In the center of the Rio. A large round table. Just like the one Arthur would have had caught in was a replica, of course, but a good one. Perhaps the best that Morgan had ever seen, she thought upon close inspection, running Angus of a name engraved into its surface. Legend had it, Arthur insisted upon meeting with its not at a round table so that all could be equally placed around it and none could post, they had the highest position at the table.

Putting across the rich Red Rock past the tapes of the set before the roaring in the living room spoke and came to the reception desk. Behind it stopped an old woman with her nose in a book and her brow. All right. A snowy white hair was tied in a knot on top of a head and, oh, she wore glasses to read a second pair with picture frames and thicker lenses hung from a string of pearls around her neck. When she had Morgan approach, she nuzzled a book into the march and hold it.

The page is Shop Around. The cover of the book was all and ornate, nothing like the paperback and was used to reading. She looked up at the younger woman before swapping her glasses over and pushing the large pair up the bridge of her nose. You are right there, I love, she asked in a lilting Cornish accent. The woman wore a name badge just above her red Cassandre. Hi, I'm Mark and I have a reservation, she explained.

Cassandra leafed through the pages of the diary before her until she came to a girl named. There you are, Morgan Faye, as Cassandra checked, earning a note from the young woman. All right, so that's room toile with two nights bed and breakfast prepaid, she confirmed, rummaging in the desk drawer of the key before handing it over the counter. Take a right at the top of the stairs and go all the way along to the end of the corridor.

All right, Laila. Bulk and thanked woman before heading upstairs. She ran her hand on the cuff, the banister, the mahogany feeling works here and smooth beneath a Paul. Well, I think Cassandra's instructions she made at the end of the card. Counting the doors as she went. One, two, three, oh. Five, seven. OK, stop in her tracks. That all that should have been labeled sex didn't have a number at all.

Upon a small sign that read private and a big O key packing to be turned in the lock. Whoever had left the key and yes, they done so by mistake. Unable able to contain my curiosity, Morgan peered over her shoulders to check the coast was clear before turning a key in the lock, pushing open the door and slipping inside. OK, and wasn't sure what she had been expecting. A laundry covid, perhaps, but certainly not this.

Behind the door marked private by something far greater and far more beautiful. Away from the prying eyes of the other guests, Morgan found herself inside a library. An old one and evidently a secret. ET al is perfectly still inside I. Comes out sweet and smoky all at once. The crack of the fire burning at the far end three. If in the test, this peaceful place. Precious perks grow at two bookshelves and high on the slate or a tapestry each with color and detail.

It's stiches, told the story of a different time.

And Morgan found on to Evenstad before seen. She moffo that the crowd almost forgot and by the modern world. So we might take pictures whenever we want. Nowadays, we would never leave a kind of life into an image as the people who had toiled hours of a needle and thread had been able to.

Driven by need to analyze a single moment in time. A step up into history. Smoke and weaved between the shelves, tracing her fingertips over the spine of the books she passed. I shall. The book office seemed to fade and the paper between the more tired.

Certainly, these were far old works of literature and the books that fill the shelves before. A final look at the very end of the tunnel was found in red leather and embossed with gold lettering. History of the Kings of England, Milk and Rand gently easing the book from its shell. She had to cross a rock road out over the Great Wall and found herself a window seat across from the fire. The closing bell and the window was piled high with blankets and cushions.

Morgan and ESL into hot mess, cutting into the cushions and pulling a small hole blank and around her shoulders, just a few pages, she thought, relaxing deep into the sea and showing a few of the dramatic Cornish coastline. Beyond the window wrap, it's near the rolling, windswept cross on that. And the infamous ruins she'd be touring tomorrow cast shadow in the Lazy Evening Light. Beside the window seat stood a small round table. The candles and matches resting on top of.

The library grew dim as evening and night, and so Morgan took a match and struck it against the side of the box. She lit a candle if blowing out a match and enjoyed the smell of that smoldering. The book before and was, after all, a tale. And lechon. It detailed the history of the kings of Britain. Telling the story of heroism in a fit and peeved description. As smoke and read are unpacking, the past, a couple began to like a fire that had roared across from us now, but glowing golden embers smoldering in the hot.

As Mark turned the page of her book. It was enough to blow out the already weak and. I am an. The library grew to around. Sleepy plains. Warm and cozy and quiet. OK, and what have allowed her eyes to shocked? Coming up in the window and drifting off to sleep at sea, not in the middle of one of her favorite Arthurian legends. She fumbled for the matches and struck yet another. Having Ray lit a candle, she sat down once more.

It's like healing through. Mark Knight asked all at once that the light cast by candlelight seemed to have changed shape around. Instead of books, scrolls tied with red velvet and fill the shelves. Tooch blames it on the slaked all this time, and Morgan's window seat is OK into no more have become more of a no. If anything, one piled high with Quill that boasted Arthurian crest. Morgan, please step down beside standing to explore a library that just all around.

Perhaps this was why Hotel Kamahl was so keen to keep the library a secret because some of the magic in other stories had escaped into the very fabric of the building itself. Morgan pushed through a door that had once in marked private and found herself in the middle of a vast courtyard on a blustery but all summer's evening.

High castle walls protected Molk and for most, the breeze. She paused for a moment. Breathe deeply. And in a close circle on the heels, surveying the courtyard around. It's been this exact same before. Drawn in to history books. Morgan knew exactly where and precisely when she was. The horse and Hatchell Castle, what horse and strong. Almost immediately look and recognize this to be the upper courtyard of King Arthur's birthplace. Plus, she could hear a gentle tinkering, a flute, perhaps a musician prole, entertain the court.

Guess she thought. Ducking under the archways that lined the edge of the courtyard, balk and follow the path they've protected from the elements all the way to the steps leading in to the lower courtyard. This all sounds the loop growing close to. The courtyard looked like something out of a dream in the gentle evening light. In the center of it, a man stood before a statue of the king plucked, masterfully delivered. Women in crime in GAO stood by enjoying a little music that.

Accounts were embellished with beads, with twinkle beautifully by the candlelight at the feasts hosted in the course of great or. That's the flute player landed on his final court. Toast, the great hall swung open and the court guests meandered ideally towards the glowing candle light within. Morgan followed Arthus Gas. Into the Great Hall. Stepping through the crime, heavy wooden doors, the all the roaring fire and candlelight within right around. Room of impressive scale, great, oh, a certainly cost.

Great, wouldn't be supported the vault, it's Alyque. The last of the evening, light refracted through the fine print stained glass scenes that mirrored each other at either end of the feast angle. Hello. On the smooth sail for a slate crowd, a table late with plates of fresh vegetables picked from the castle's own allotments. Meets rich oils and wines. The rooms smelled by. Has the gas stuck in and piled that plates high milk and took the opportunity to truly explore the cars without prying eyes, just stop.

The cars are seemed quiet, with no one to crowd sleepier. Morgan followed the path from the grand ole town, the staff to the workshops.

The castle walls were as high and you could just catch a glimpse of the sea, be on the headland. Glowing silvery in the mainlined. Most of the craftsman's seemed to be all feasting and workshops shut up the night. In the furthest called building, the carcass was still left. Curiosity piqued milk and followed the sloping path down towards the workshop. Once stood before they wouldn't talk. She could feel the pull of a fire emanating from inside. Morgan pushed likely on the door to find that it was already open.

Welcomed by or walk and stepped inside and received a second surprise of the day. They half expected to find another blacksmith burning the midnight oil shoeing horses and sharpening swords. She was surprised to find what looked much more like a baudry or a kitchen. Shelves crowded with books and countertops buried beneath gemstones, oils and herbs fill the space. Hunched over a small coldren, suspended above the fire at the end of the workshop was the old man. He had a long white hair and even longer wispy white hair.

He wore a purple velvet cloak embellished with gold thread stitched into the shape of the moon and the stars. Sitting on top of his head, there's a at the heart of the same rich Helfeld. In this part of book, far heavier than a man his age, all have been able to carry with such ease. The man looked at all the kind knowing, smile, you're right on time is placing the ball on the counter beside him and beckoning Morgendorffer.

I've gathered most of the ingredients already explained, and as she came to stand beside him, she realized this is no ordinary book. It's awesome, that's palpable, and the aged man stood beside her as no man at all. But with my lips and eyes and sorcerer to King Arthur himself. Mullin began to read instructions from his spell book and motioned to the ingredients on the countertop. OK, and all his method, chopping fresh wheat crops and finding powdered crystals salvaged from the caves below the headland at low tide.

She added, fine salts imported from Morocco and lavender from the fields. It was relaxing following Mullin's instructions. Finding the ingredients and preparing them before dropping them gently into the cauldron above the fire. Potion had finally come together, the ingredients create at the sweet dispelling lilac colored liquid. Though it took a little from a hook beside the half and spoon some of the potion into a glass vial. Taking a piece of parchment from the countertop and dipping a long effort quale into a silk and ink mud and scrawled out his message.

Our beautiful tree gently massage to drops in to the temples, lay back and drift off into a deep, deep sleep. He secured a label it just fashioned over the top of the file, using a piece of gold and thread the same color as the one woven into his classic. In the candle light the fire or down heat up to the next page in the spell book and field a short poem. At least that's what Mark and I thought it to be.

Madeleine took her hands and folded them around the top of the vial. Before wrapping around its base. He asked a young woman if she would read the incantation from the book with him. But Kether airpower might give the potion more influence. Mark and nodded in agreement. I'm taking a deep breath, pressed her fingers into the old class of the five. She recited a spell with the wizard. A cell see below a silvery moon. In the Elfriede three US spell brings to you.

Safe and sound. Dreams about. All right, sleep through the night. And I know why you're here and you, Rashtrapati Dryfoos, push and brings you. The incantation only easily irked Monk and removed the top of. But the smallest thing in the warm ocean with.

And to draw on each temple. Getting back in deep in the corner of Merlin's workshop, she gently massaged the potion in temples. Her eyelids grew heavy on small. Walk inside out de. Enjoy. I must also seemed to relax deep into the armchair every time she exhale. She closed her eyes for a moment. Anticipates a beautiful dream a potion might bring. Just sheer, but to blow out the candle beside. Her eyes locked and opened once more to.

As they did, she realized that she was no longer sitting smack in the corner of my workshop. But nestled into Windows eight in Camelot's. Secret library. The book, The History of the Kings of England was still open in the. Turning lazily and somewhat confused to the final chapter of the book. Something called Molk Sleepy Eyes. On the last page of King Arthur story, she noticed a name.

Mork and A. The book described her as having been the bright apprentice, a great source, her mother, during the time that he ised the king. If there wasn't proof enough of Morgan's mark on history, I extracted parts and illustration. The drawing was all but its detail exquisite. Illustrations depicted the old chestnut wrapped up warm in his cloak. Spell in hand, peering down into a cauldron. Beside him, a young woman shopping herbs. Wearing the same clothes as Morgan was wearing, how?

Mark and her first book. Setting it down beside. She leaned towards the candle. And gently blew it out, sinking back into a hole in the seat. And drifting off. INTUITY. De sleep. Her upper right hand is a legend, a sense of peace washed over look. She drifted off in to beautiful, restful dreams, a soft spot played at the corners of her mouth. She was safe in the knowledge that she had o f under her seat around this table.