my eyes,
denying me their meaning. What is this place? It feels familiar,
like I’ve been here many times before, but I can’t recall
why.
An uncanny sensation
strikes my mind, and I realize that this too is a dream.
Or could it be
more?
Something significant must
lie between the pages of those books, or I don’t think I’d be here.
Their words must carry some importance, and I reach toward one,
intending to find out what.
Suddenly a wave of mist
assaults my vision, and the air crackles with heat as the silver
haze I saw in the last dream reaches toward me, searing my skin
with its invisible touch. Knowing I have to escape, I turn and run
as fast as I can, but the mist chases me, swirling around the trees
and climbing over the branches.
Then a thought strikes me:
The mist is trying to keep me away from those books. Whatever
knowledge they carry in their pages, someone doesn’t want me to see
it. Which makes it all the more important that I do.
I stop running. The
unbearably hot mist engulfs me, but I grit my teeth against the
pain. I take a deep breath, which turns out to be a great mistake,
for the scorching air fills my lungs, burning me from the inside
out. My agony is so great that I want to curl into a ball and
weep.
But I can’t. I have to
find out what’s in those books. Something in my heart – something
that I don’t understand, but know I must heed – tells me that my
life could depend on it. I have to listen, if I’m to save
myself.
So I turn around, steeling
myself against the pain, and start running back.
The mist assails me with
renewed force, enveloping my whole body with its blazing grasp, and
a scream bursts from my lips. My foot catches on something, sending
me to the ground, and when I try to get up, the mist’s scorching
tendrils wrap around my arms and legs like chains, anchoring me
down. Crying out from the pain of a million flames pressing into my
skin, I kick and twist with all my might, trying to free
myself.
Then I glimpse my own
foot, and widen my eyes in horror as it dissolves into ashes before
my eyes. I feel nothing where it once was. The ashes creep up my
leg, consuming me bit by bit. I desperately struggle to get away
from the mist, but it’s no use. It’s devouring me, and I’m helpless
to stop it.
I awaken with a gasp to see
the dark iron ceiling staring down at me. The cold floor stings my
bare back, and as I sit up, my head throbs with a dull ache. It was just a dream , I
tell myself, breathing deeply in hopes of calming my racing
heart. Only nonsense. I glance down at my leg to make sure it’s still there. It is
– of course it is! Nothing actually happened; that was all in my
head. No mist hangs in the air, and even the memory of the
nightmare seems distant, now that I’m awake.
I absorb my surroundings
with my gaze, reminding myself of what is real. This cell of ice and iron.
The darkness that fills my mind where memories should be. The Sorci
master who imprisoned me, but won’t tell me why. I close my eyes.
Reality is better than the nightmare of turning to ash, but not by
much. I can’t tell myself that the mist’s infernal touch was just a
dream … I’ve felt it in the real world too, when the magician
cursed me.
The last thing I remember before the
dream is him telling me to be silent, his eyes so hot with rage,
they could have melted glass. The burning mist in the dream must
have been my mind forcing me to relive those moments under his
spell, and I wonder how I’ll ever sleep again.
But there was something prior to that
– something that brought me happiness and peace. I think back to
what I saw in my sleep, grasping the remnants before they can fade
away. A sense of familiarity came over me in the dreamscape, like I
was visiting an old friend whose face I knew, but whose name I’d
forgotten. I want to believe it means the visions were telling me
something … but then again, I had that same feeling about the
nonsense I recalled before –
denying me their meaning. What is this place? It feels familiar,
like I’ve been here many times before, but I can’t recall
why.
An uncanny sensation
strikes my mind, and I realize that this too is a dream.
Or could it be
more?
Something significant must
lie between the pages of those books, or I don’t think I’d be here.
Their words must carry some importance, and I reach toward one,
intending to find out what.
Suddenly a wave of mist
assaults my vision, and the air crackles with heat as the silver
haze I saw in the last dream reaches toward me, searing my skin
with its invisible touch. Knowing I have to escape, I turn and run
as fast as I can, but the mist chases me, swirling around the trees
and climbing over the branches.
Then a thought strikes me:
The mist is trying to keep me away from those books. Whatever
knowledge they carry in their pages, someone doesn’t want me to see
it. Which makes it all the more important that I do.
I stop running. The
unbearably hot mist engulfs me, but I grit my teeth against the
pain. I take a deep breath, which turns out to be a great mistake,
for the scorching air fills my lungs, burning me from the inside
out. My agony is so great that I want to curl into a ball and
weep.
But I can’t. I have to
find out what’s in those books. Something in my heart – something
that I don’t understand, but know I must heed – tells me that my
life could depend on it. I have to listen, if I’m to save
myself.
So I turn around, steeling
myself against the pain, and start running back.
The mist assails me with
renewed force, enveloping my whole body with its blazing grasp, and
a scream bursts from my lips. My foot catches on something, sending
me to the ground, and when I try to get up, the mist’s scorching
tendrils wrap around my arms and legs like chains, anchoring me
down. Crying out from the pain of a million flames pressing into my
skin, I kick and twist with all my might, trying to free
myself.
Then I glimpse my own
foot, and widen my eyes in horror as it dissolves into ashes before
my eyes. I feel nothing where it once was. The ashes creep up my
leg, consuming me bit by bit. I desperately struggle to get away
from the mist, but it’s no use. It’s devouring me, and I’m helpless
to stop it.
I awaken with a gasp to see
the dark iron ceiling staring down at me. The cold floor stings my
bare back, and as I sit up, my head throbs with a dull ache. It was just a dream , I
tell myself, breathing deeply in hopes of calming my racing
heart. Only nonsense. I glance down at my leg to make sure it’s still there. It is
– of course it is! Nothing actually happened; that was all in my
head. No mist hangs in the air, and even the memory of the
nightmare seems distant, now that I’m awake.
I absorb my surroundings
with my gaze, reminding myself of what is real. This cell of ice and iron.
The darkness that fills my mind where memories should be. The Sorci
master who imprisoned me, but won’t tell me why. I close my eyes.
Reality is better than the nightmare of turning to ash, but not by
much. I can’t tell myself that the mist’s infernal touch was just a
dream … I’ve felt it in the real world too, when the magician
cursed me.
The last thing I remember before the
dream is him telling me to be silent, his eyes so hot with rage,
they could have melted glass. The burning mist in the dream must
have been my mind forcing me to relive those moments under his
spell, and I wonder how I’ll ever sleep again.
But there was something prior to that
– something that brought me happiness and peace. I think back to
what I saw in my sleep, grasping the remnants before they can fade
away. A sense of familiarity came over me in the dreamscape, like I
was visiting an old friend whose face I knew, but whose name I’d
forgotten. I want to believe it means the visions were telling me
something … but then again, I had that same feeling about the
nonsense I recalled before –
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