Crossmare Valentine Special

Part 1

Legends speak of the Prince of Darkness, sealed inside the depths of his castle by his beloved brother, the Prince of Light. Though none dare to travel the journey to the castle of shadows, the way is clear for anyone who would be willing to go.

So the castle remained unvisited, for hundreds of years.

Until one day a traveler, blinded by the feelings of love, opened the doors to the castle.

Cross was never one to have dreams.

He never really cared about not having dreams, it wasn't very important to life. He would fall asleep on dusk, his tuckered out skull plopping onto his pillow before the darkness would consume his mind, for what seemed like a mere moment, until he awoke the next morning with the sunlight meeting his red and white pupils.

The young skeleton never really belonged in his village. While the other skeletons were short and sweet, he was taller, with a blood red marking running across his cheek as some sort of symbol. He knew not of its origin, for he had had it since birth. And while the others magic often sparked with light blue and orange colors, his was a blood red, gleaming with the color of pure power. Every night, the other villagers would go to sleep with whispers of good dreams, while he would go to sleep with no whispers.

It had been evident from the start that Cross was not a Dreamer. The villagers all followed the mighty rule of the Prince of light, an immortal brother of the holy family, with the name of Dream. The followers of Dream, born with souls filled with light and purity, filled the village focused solely on worshipping Dream. Dream had built their empire from the ground up, warding off the spirits of evil with his holy powers and keeping the citizens safe. He was their god, they were born to serve Dream, thus the name Dreamer.

But Cross wasn't a Dreamer. Dreamers had dreams, he did not. Dreamers used light magic, he did not. Dreamers was pure and happy constantly, and he definitely was not with his short temper.

Perhaps that's why he didn't feel at ease or at home either, because he wasn't born to serve Dream. He was born for something else, something that his village would not be able to provide.

He just... drifted through days, never finding a purpose. Every Sunday, when the church would get down on its knees and praise its leader, he would bow with stiff bones and a dull sense of happiness. Days would turn to a week, month, and eventually year, his motivation dwindling down to its last fibers.

Until, one night, he had a dream.

At least, it was what he presumed a dream would be like, a world within his mind where only he and his leader could access it. That's what other villagers described to him, for their dreams, a place contained within their souls, where they would have adventures, go sightseeing, and even meet their leader there, who would travel from dream to dream of his subjects to ensure happiness.

The skeleton had stumbled through a large and blossoming forest around him, which he knew did not circle his village, with the pink rose petals fluttered around him and a sudden gust of wind.

It was... nice.

He wondered about, unsure about what would happen in his dream. It had only felt for around a mere minute, but the next thing he knew he was being awoken by the real sun once more, the happiness within his dream seeming like a fluttering feeling.

The next night was the same as the others, with no dream, and so after a week of no more dreams returning to the man, he forgot about it rather quickly.

And just like that, it had returned again.

The same forest, the same feeling, Cross had once again been thrown into his inner world. And once again he walked randomly, not finding any other place, but not seeking it either. If his soul wanted him to find a place, he would find it, no need for a hurry or rush.