White and black, light and dark, ying and yang. The concept of perfect balance in two opposites created to fit perfectly together.
That's not how real life works at all, though. Alina Starkov may have been the sun summoner: young, inexperienced, na...
Author's note: I'm so sorry if this is not up to par with my former chapters, but I do hope this doesn't seem like a filler chapter- it's the deepening of two relations of Endellion that will become increasingly important to both her and the plot. And if you are wondering: Yep, I'm talking about lucid dreaming- you should try it out if you haven't already- it's awesome every time, especially the sense of freedom you can gain from defying gravity!
Much love,
Inkwinds.
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Every doubt that I was dreaming vanished the moment I covered my nose and felt the chest of the body my soul inhabitated raise as air rushed into its lungs like a phantom in my mind.
It wasn't the first time I had been in controll of my dreams.
In fact I had started to consciously dream just before Madraya and I had traveled to Os Alta, the subject of dirigating one's own dreams to experience the entirety of the force of man's unconsciousness had been most fascinating to me, especially the idea of commanding a universe of my own making- no gravity to weighten me down.
And that was the greeting ritual I chose to practice with each time I came back.
Man's greatest dream... flying.
Most of the times I the place I 'woke up' to in my dreams was the cottage of my childhood. The oak of my treehouse beyond ginormous in this dream world, my younger self having created observation decks in former escapes to this imaginary escape world that could overview the whole of Ravka once upon attempting to fly on the roof of the cottage and me having found its height insufficient.
The place had branded itself into my memory ever since for some unfathomable reason and it was the only constant in this ever evolving and eradicating dreamscape, the rest a hazy flood fighting tirelessly to drag my consciousness beneath the waves of oblivion.
Although... I never flew like Icarus in my conscious dream, the wings of Da Vinci's design were a relict of unconscious dreams filled ideals like the grandeur of freedom and autonomy, instead my frame floated up to the skies once I had pushed myself off of the earth's restraining touch with both feet in a bound. I'd liken it to a bouquet of balloons escaping the desperate clutch of a distracted toddler.
The apprehension at the acknowledging the shrinking ground beneath me was a fleeting instinct in the back of my head as I reached beyond the crown of the magestical mammoth like tree and faced the sun.
My dreams were often more intense in both stimulus and experience than the reality I lived, the air carrying a thousand scents, my usually shortsighted gaze capturing every detail with the sharpness and accuracy of an eagle as my eardrums vibrated even with the sound of an ant's scutteling through the undergrowth. Neither weariness, nor weakness could ever touch my person here.
Sometimes I longed to remain in this world of make belief, to never wake up, to never open my eyes to the second grade exsistence beyond my mind and spend every moment in this fantastical world until my own body had waned away.
