Bee And Foxglove

Bee Weaves With Dreams

"Sit back down, would you?" asked Bee to the gaping men. "Now the real show starts."

Bee spread her hands and let off colourful fireworks. She made the air before her shimmer, then turned it into a lens, first expanding her image, then contracting, then contorting it into a wild twist. The audience gasped.

And suddenly Bee looked normal again. The snowstorm was over – at least, the one Bee had conjured intentionally. A few pearlescent snowflake-like crystals of magical energy were winking in and out of existence at certain points in the air. Bee's hair was standing on end and sparks were jumping randomly from her fingertips. She didn't try to stop it. It could be part of the show.

The silence was tangible. Bee's audience watched her with baited breath. That odd blue bird preened its feathers for a moment before going back to blankly staring.

Bee cleared her throat. "I want to tell you a story," she said.

Damn, but she wished Foxglove could take her hand right now. She just imagined she was doing it anyway. Probably, Foxglove was imagining the same.

"My grandma was too good for this world. I was too young when she was alive to really listen to what she had to say, most of the time. But some of those things stayed with me. My big brother told me some more. This one is from him.

"My grandmother used to say, that this world is like a dream. You can have a good dream, or a bad dream. And if you know what you're doing, you can choose what kind of dream you want to have. When the Peace Movement came to Kandra, we, as a society, started choosing to dream a good dream.

"She told my brother, if you ever want something with all your heart, you just have to choose to dream it. That's why it's called a dream, you see?"

To illustrate, Bee conjured up translucent images of horses galloping through meadows, dragons flying past mountains; they were pink and blue and trailed sparkles and mist. A warm wind blew through the room, carrying a subtle scent of flowers.

"And she said, our dreaming self, it doesn't always know what's good for it. So that's what the divine Tree is for, you see? You tell the Tree what a good dream looks like for you. And the Tree will make sure you don't have to deal with any unintended consequences."

Bee made a grasping gesture. The dragon blew fire into the air with a roar.

Foxglove felt the heat on her face. She was gazing at Bee, feeling awe and fear, silently telling the Tree that her good dream would look like Bee's success and safety.

"So that's what I did, right? Long before the meteor struck, long before I could conjure fancy lights, I did a little bit of my grandma's magic. I was lonely, you see?"

A cold, whistling wind blew through the room.

"I said, 'I'm going to dream some good friends and a woman who loves me with all her heart.' And I asked the Tree to make sure that worked out in the best way possible.

"Well, it all came true. Without a sparkle or a bang; it just all kind of slipped into place, as if that's what was always going to happen. I found a few, true, loyal friends," – Bee met Melis' gaze in the audience – "And I married the love of my life, and if you could only see her the way I see her, you'd know why I start every day with a prayer of gratitude."

Melis later reported that, though it was subtle, he felt as if the audience could see Foxglove the way Bee saw her for a moment. Maybe it was a little glint of light in her eyes, a little highlight on her cheeks; as if the light itself was caressing her lovingly.