Above the Clouds (On Hold Indefinitely)

12. Only a Dream

I spend the remainder of the day mainly pondering over the cracks I'm starting to see in my sanity. Many of those memories or fantasies or whatever they were are already slipping through my fingers. Rather than lose all of them, though, I focus to hold a grip on a few: violet eyes, the earthy scent of a forest, and the exhilarating feeling of dancing within someone's arms. The rest are already lost to me, gone forever just like a whisper taken by the wind.

I don't say many words to Lise as she helps me eat, change clothing, and retire for bed in the evening. I may have only slept these past few days, but I'm still so exhausted. Luckily, she senses my isolated mood and doesn't press for a conversation. She must blame my sickness for this, and maybe that is the cause. However, my instincts tell me that my sunken spirits are caused by something much deeper.

Then again, perhaps that is only my cracked sanity thinking. The line just seems so blurred. The line between fantasy and reality. It's not as thick and defined as one might think.

When Lise blows the lights of my room out and leaves me in a peaceful darkness, I lay in bed hoping that I'll feel better in the morning. Not on the physical level, but on the mental one. I want to feel certain and whole, not doubtful and fractured. I pray to the God that I don't think of nearly enough, asking for a restful night of sleep.

My pray does not get answered. In fact, it is as if I am spited for it because my sleep is not as restful as I had wished for. No, when I close my eyes and fall asleep, I am met with the first dream that I can remember.

When I open my eyes, I'm standing in a place that feels familiar yet completely foreign at the same time. It's this sensation that's hard to describe. A tingling in my fingertips that leads all the way up through my arms straight to the edge of my mind. I know this place; yet at the same time, I don't.

I stand at the bottom of a staircase of glass that leads to a tall, translucent gazebo. It's intricately crafted, looking too fragile to even touch. It may be just a trick of the mind, but it appears to have a slight, ethereal light to it. All around me are glowing flowers of all different colors that are breathtaking. Pinks, purples, blues, oranges, and all of the other colors and shades beneath the rainbow. There is a lake in the distance with an elaborate, delicate-looking bridge made of the same glasslike material as the gazebo, and in the other direction stands a welcoming manor house made of the silver. It's so fantastical that it almost makes me feel dizzy with disbelief.

Still, with all the beauty surrounding me, I can't shake the unsettling feeling of a pair of eyes staring directly at me.

This isn't right.

"Where am I?" I ask myself. A slight breeze cuts through the air, both overwhelming my senses with the sweet fragrance and tousling my tangled hair in my face. As I brush pieces of it behind my ears, a striking thought crosses me: if this is a dream, why does it feel so incredibly real? The fragrance, the breeze, the quick beating of my rampant heart, and the otherworldly brightness of the moon? All of these are such small yet compelling details that make this feel like more than a dream.

But that's impossible. I live in a manor in the mountains, a place where the climate is unaccepting and where a garden like this one could never exist. Sure, the night sky does look breathtaking, but this one above me expands on an entirely different level with an almost indigo tint, a greater expanse of twinkling stars without a single cloud disrupting them, and a moon that is much bigger than the one I'm accustomed to. Despite this feeling so real, this can't be anything but a dream. I even remember falling asleep in my bed. Yes, this has to be a dream. It can't be anything else.