I slammed back to consciousness by falling into a wooden, hard-backed chair. My tailbone complained from the rough landing, but I concentrated on evening my breathing, even as I heard a nurse letting out a noise of surprise from my left. I peeked open my eyes, only to shut them again when my vision swam.
“Uhm, Lady Estelle?” the nurse asked. “Do you need any assistance?”
I let out a slow breath, before meeting their gaze. Past them, Penelope, in her simple brown clothing, rested easily in her bed— a far-cry from the version of her within the Memory. “I’ll be alright, thank you.”
“Then I’ll let the front desk know. I’ll be right back.”
I waited until the door clicked, and their steps faded down the hallway before I let myself sag back into the chair once more. It felt as if I’d just fallen from a roof after staying awake for several days. My eyelids felt like sandpaper, and desperately wanted to shut and never open again. A headache pulsed behind my eyes in time with my heartbeat, which still beat uncomfortably fast. My bones felt like lead, and I was relatively certain I was bruised in multiple places beneath my clothes.
Worst of all, and most familiar to me, was the telltale sensation of Burnout— everything felt dry, hot, and stuffy, in one way or another. With a tingling hand, I dug my warmth charm out from beneath my shirt, tucking it away in my bag. Nothing changed, but I knew stepping out into the weather outside would be blissful.
Simply need to get there, first.
Some time later, the door opened once more, and I pushed away my discomfort. The receptionist from earlier, as well as the nurse that had left had returned. They asked me if there were any other things I needed to handle, and after getting my signature and the smooth marble, they informed me of when I could expect my payment, and that they’d called a carriage for me.
Exhaustion and soreness weighed too heavily for me to question where’d they gotten a carriage at midnight, and before I knew it, it’d brought me back to my estate. No one greeted me, which didn’t bother me too much, but Esmerelda had seemingly left a note that she’d be in a guest room should I need anything. I didn’t, and before long found my way to bed, and went to sleep.
From there, things seemingly calmed down. The next day progressed as normal, despite the pressing lack of tasks I had to do, and the vague expectation that I’d feel more hollow over Arthur’s absence— a foreboding that was quickly quashed when he showed up on my doorstep a couple days later to talk. We spoke on our feelings, and both apologized and promised to try harder. A couple weeks later, following a lieu of calmness and a surprising lack of assignments from the Warden that Clara explained away as ‘laying low’, the term began at Belfaust. At that time, I still hadn’t gotten around to answering Professor Sigurd’s offer. Before I could, I found a breakthrough in my Dimensionalism research.
It had been a simple thing, in retrospect, I’d only needed to append some formulas together, and the first actual live experiment happened a couple weeks beyond that, in a large ritual stage somewhere outside of the capital. It worked, and I was given leave from my courses at Belfaust, immediately being assigned as the head of a research team surrounding the widespread distribution— in reality, mass-producing for the Empress’ exclusive use— of the teleportation ritual I’d created.
The resources were terrific, and before long, we were able to create a teleportation gate that linked Tisali and New Avon, another city rebuilt following the war. It wasn’t long before it was revealed to the public, and I was forced into a ceremony to receive my accolades.
[][][]
“This award is dedicated to the esteemed Estelle Laurent for her revolutionary work in Dimensionalism!”
A chorus of applause met me as I stepped forward on the stage. The person who’d announced it— a sharply-dressed man with a tweedy mustache and an announcer’s voice— stepped off to the side to hand me the award. We both smiled for the newspapers that were there, then he stepped away back towards the podium. He leaned towards the amplification artifact. “Now, a word from the esteemed mage herself.”
He stepped aside, and I took his spot in front of the podium.
A roaring sea of people I didn’t recognize greeted me. Reporters were in the front, large, bulky cameras clicking and flashing as they took photographs. Behind them I saw some of my friends— Arthur, with a huge smile and enthusiastically clapping with the crowd on his feet. Clara beside him, more refrained, shooting me an apologetic look, though I didn’t miss the well done and good luck she mouthed to me.
I let out a slow breath, shooting a brief glance up to the tower behind me. Particularly, the large glass-like sphere that sat at it’s top, housing a dozen interlocking and rotating rings, of which housed smaller, more elaborate rings that shifted and spun. Even from down here, I could almost hear the all the little spindles and gears nestled at the sphere’s core, whirring and ticking and humming.
That’s my work, a small part of me noted. I did that.
My gaze fell back to the crowd, who had begun to quiet. I shuffled uneasily, a strange nervousness fluttering in my chest. I wasn’t used to this, and my preparations were barely passable. My eyes traced the tiny slips of paper I’d brought with me. The bullet points were proving to be horribly unhelpful. I glanced briefly at Arthur who was now giving me thumbs-up with both his hands, and cleared my throat.
Firstly, thank-yous.
“First,” my voice echoed out into the crowd. “I must thank all those who have supported me up until this point. My professors, my friends, my family— specifically Professor Heron, who gave me the opportunity to study Dimensionalism, and gave me endless support.”
My eyes flickered once more to Arthur, who had the brightest grin on his face. Professionalism clashed with the polite smile on my face.
“As well as my best friend, Arthur Bell, who had tirelessly supported me at my darkest times. Thank you all, truly.”
I took a deep breath, glancing down at the next point. Why it matters.
“Today marks a momentous occasion for both myself and the Empire… For me, this is a culmination of nearly a decade of research… and for the Empire… it marks a new age of interconnectedness. You’ll…”
The lines I’d brainstormed earlier emptied out of my head. I was really wishing I’d actually written them down. I paused awkwardly, then settled on the first benefit I’d entertained when I’d really accomplished it. “You’ll no longer have to wait weeks for your mail! Isn’t that great?”
The moment it left my mouth, shame curdled in my chest. That sounded horribly stupid— why didn’t you come up with literally anything else? Angels— please just finish and get off this stage.
“… Once… once more— words cannot express how much this means to me, and may my work usher the Empire into a new age of wonder.”
I tucked the slips of paper away, and walked back to my seat. The man who had handed me the award said something I didn’t pay attention to, and all I could think of was how awful that mail line had been. Meanwhile, a chorus of applause I could only imagine was polite roared.
At least there’s nothing else for you to do, now. Just sit and wait till it’s over.
[][][]
Beside me, Arthur clinked his glass of juice, standing as he drew gazes and silence. He raised his glass towards me, beaming with pride. “I’d like to make a toast to my best and most wonderful friend.”
Despite it being a gathering of friends and family, I still felt profoundly uncomfortable with the sudden attention. A sheepish smile climbed to the surface and I gave a light wave, with lack of better things to respond with.
“I just wanted to say how proud I am for how hard you’ve worked for all these years, Elle. I’ve grown up beside you, and I can say that you’re the most hardworking person I know, and I know you don’t like public events like these, but I’m happy that you finally have the time to rest and relax.”
He raised his glass higher, and applause shortly followed. “Here’s to your bright future.”
When he sat down, he excitedly whispered, “Did I do well? I’ve always wanted to do a toast!”
I softly snorted, but couldn’t stop my smile. “You did great, Arthur. Everyone liked it.”
Then, dinner properly started. Servants I didn’t recognize had been brought in at some point, though I saw Esmerelda’s usual soup off to the side. At some point, after the first couple of meals which— while all exceedingly well made and tasting very good— I didn’t particularly pay much attention to, champagne had begun to be distributed, and I saw a flurry of servants prepare the buffet tables on the floors below with small snacks. The champagne was supposedly aged, though it tasted like most celebratory alcohol I’d tried before— overly sweet, floral, and tingly.
Afterwards, at some point unbeknownst to me, the floor below had been occupied by some of the guests, and they’d begun dancing. Everyone looked to be having a good time. I recognized many of the guests— a couple colleagues from Belfaust, of whom I’d been passingly close enough to deem worth sending an invite to, Professor Heron and many of his friends, of which some I was familiar with, Professor Sigurd and the Warden, both pleasantly smiling and talking quietly to one another. Sigurd saw my wandering gaze, and raised his glass towards me in acknowledgment, and I politely smiled back. Clara stood beside a buffet table, looking taciturn and vaguely uncomfortable, which was understandable.
Arthur’s voice broke me from my reverie, and I turned to see that he had stood up. He extended a hand my way, a bright smile on his face. “Elle. Do you want to dance?”
I lightly laughed. “Not really, no. I’d embarrass myself down there.”
“C’mon,” he urged lightheartedly. “Who cares what they think? You deserve to goof off once in a while, Elle!”
His bright expression eroded my reluctance, and I glanced to the floor below, only really spotting people who— probably— wouldn’t care. You’ve worked so hard, for so long— isn’t he right? Shouldn’t you relax just a bit? What’s the harm?
“Alright, then.” I smiled tentatively, then placed my hand in his and let him slowly lead me down the stairs and to the impromptu dance floor.
“I just hope you know,” I quietly began, placing my hand on his shoulder as his own slid onto my back. “I don’t really know how to dance.”
Arthur shot me a goofy grin. “It’s okay, I don’t either.”
I blew out a breath, smiling. “How do you expect us to do this then?”
“I dunno,” he said, eyes warm with joy. “We could just spin!”
I couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across my face. Arthur was always like this, saying dumb things with a genuine smile, devoid of any and all undertone. It was horrifyingly endearing, even if the habit revolted me from any other person. Though, I knew it wasn’t that simple— Arthur certainly was, but he was no fool. He was, admittedly, more emotionally intelligent than I was, and possessed no deceitful traits to speak of. It was always a wonder to realize that he actually enjoyed my company.
He enjoys seeing you happy, is that so hard to believe?
“Look, here.” I tilted my gaze towards our feet, and trusted him to do the same. “I remember enough to guide us. Take a left step forward, and I’ll take a step back.”
Slowly, he took a step forward, at the same time, I slid my foot back.
“I’ll take a step to my left, follow with your right… Then I’ll take a right step forward, and you take a step back… Take a step out to your left, and we repeat…” I glanced back up to find him smiling. “There. Easy, right?”
“Yep, yep. Got it!”
“If you’d like, we can start turning a bit as we move.”
We continued for some time amidst a backdrop of music. We were severely off beat, but seeing as Arthur didn’t know how to dance half a minute ago, I was content with our progress.
“You know, Elle,” he started, voice sincere and quiet. “I’m really happy that you were able to get here.”
“Thank you, Arthur.”
We smiled, and then my heel slipped mid-turn. It slipped off my foot, and I caught a flash of surprise as we both panicked and stumbled around until we caught our balance, leaning against one another. Both of us took a moment to calm our racing heart, and I came to rest my head on his shoulder. A distance away, my shoe lay on the ground, the heel snapped off.
“Elle— you okay?”
I let out a long breath, and clicked my tongue, smiling. “I’m never attending one of these parties again.”
“Did you trip?”
“Heel snapped off.”
We lapsed into silence, neither of us really doing anything to move away. I let myself sag a little, sighing into Arthur’s shoulder.
“Elle?” he asked, though his voice didn’t sound uncomfortable.
“Hugs are nice. I like them.”
His voice was cheery and innocent as ever. I felt his arms wrap around me. “Yep.”
This is nice.
I’d always wondered what lied between Arthur and I— whether our feelings were purely platonic, or had a deeper meaning to them. I’d never really questioned his presence in my life before— we’d known each other for so long that it’d become utterly mundane for us to be alongside each other. I certainly never felt my heart hammering or my face heating from being beside him, like the stories I’d read— but I liked spending time in his company.
Slowly, we disentangled from one another, and a wave of exhaustion caught up with me, causing me to briefly stumble. I was never fond of parties, even if I pretended otherwise.
“Elle?” Concern laced Arthur’s voice.
“Too much spinning,” I muttered, breaking off from him. I waved him off when he took a step towards me. “I’ll be fine— just going for a breath of fresh air.”
The loopy, well-meaning smile came back to his face, and he waved. “Okay. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Will do.”
I recovered my balance a moment later, and made my way towards the stairs that led to the balcony, fetching my broken shoe as I went. I ended up abandoning both pairs by a potted plant in the corner, reasoning that it was my own house and I was allowed to do what I wished. Then, I continued towards the balcony while stepping around people and giving polite remarks to avoid others. Then, I dragged myself into the freezing night, the chill a balm of blissful ice on my now-distant nausea.
I took a deep breath, letting the chill settle in my bones. I leaned against the stone railing, letting my hands dangle over the dark. My gaze trailed around, idly scanning the murky dark. Shadowed clouds roiled along the horizon, outlines of trees rustled on a silent breeze, the faint light from behind me illuminated the old stone statues in my garden.
I let out a long sigh, a strange warmth bubbling beneath the surface. I recognized it for what it was: relief, after enduring something that you had once thought unendurable. A relief that could only be summed up by I’m so very glad that’s over.
The last two weeks had been the most hectic of my life. I’d been herded from ceremony to ceremony, having to give a slightly differing variation of the same speech to hundreds— possibly thousands after the unveiling speech— of people I’d never see again; sifted through mountains of invitations to conferences or lectures or presentations or something equally inane that I had little interest in. There was a mountain more asking whether I’d be willing to collaborate on this or that project, and other thinly veiled requests into my availability for reasons I refused to repeat. Even with Javier and Esmerelda helping me sort through them, it proved to occupy my evenings for the foreseeable future.
At least it’ll die down soon, a part of me whispered. That much you can take solace in. After this, you can finally focus on other things.
Other things like what?
Is there any need to do anything at all?
Yes. Even if the main work of my life was most likely complete, I knew the answer to still be yes. I’d had periods of time with nothing to do, where I was simply stuck waiting for an order to come in, or had unexpectedly left myself with the evening free after a day of research. During those periods of peace, I’d found that I didn’t actually like them all too much. It was peaceful, yes, and wonderful— but it was unbearably boring. I found that I liked having things to focus on, so naturally the question came of what would be next? What next task would I dedicate myself to?
It doesn’t have to be something immense, just something that will occupy your attention until you find something else.
My eyes settled on the empty stone fountain in the midst of my destitute garden.
I should get that working again, I mused, an odd feeling welling up. Never had the time to do it before, but it’d look nice.
Though, Arthur’s words lingered in my ear: “… time to rest and relax.”
The part of me that wanted to fix the fountain quieted, settling into the background of muffled cheers and soft music behind me.
It felt strange, in retrospect. I’d been so, so heartbreakingly tired of it all: the research, the potential assignments from Larissa, the upcoming graduation— yet it was all over and done. Nothing left to do— I’d achieved everything I’d set out to do, and I was simply happy.
It felt very strange, to have been running from place to place for so very long, only to one day realize there’s no need to go anywhere at all. It was strange, to be here now holding a glass I didn’t recognize. Something was off.
What next? What do I do next? I swirled my glass, watching the bubbles in the pale-gold liquid play off the light behind me. Maybe I don’t have to choose? Maybe I never have to pursue anything again? … I could… just relax, for the rest of my life.
I took a sip, idly savoring the way it tasted. Before this party, I’d never really drank. Even at the formal academic ones I had to attend in celebration, I’d only ever taken a sip or two to be polite. I’d never let myself indulge more— having reasoned that anyone who did was distracting themselves from what was important. I took another sip, mulling over the taste. It tasted of fruit, something tart, and probably expensive. I don’t know, I knew well enough I was no alcohol expert— whatever expensive vintage they broke out was wasted on me. I took another sip, slowly starting to frown. The aftertaste was disgustingly sweet.
A small voice piped up, tone strange, Well aren’t you just a stuck-up noble now— finally achieved enough to be happy— finally achieved enough to start complaining about the expensive alcohol you’re drinking for free.
A small smile bloomed on my face, and I took another sip, grimacing. It really was too sweet.
Finally achieved enough to be free— free enough to complain. After another heartbeat, I drained the rest of the glass. Isn’t that something?
The champagne tasted like freedom.
A content sigh wormed out of my throat, and I tilted my head back, shutting my eyes to breathe in the cold air. Faintly, it smelled of the party— roasted meats, fruits, cheese, scented decorations. Faintly, it smelled of ferns and underbrush. There was no breeze, but if there was I probably would’ve likened it to the wind that buoyed wings.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
I hadn’t truly registered that it was all finally over— that my decades long research had finally ended, in spectacular success, that because of it, I’d gain an unparalleled amount of fame and prestige, that I’d never have to worry for anything again. None of it— the party, the award ceremony, the multiple congratulatory letters— had felt real, not until this moment, anyway.
My eyes opened, idly scanning the stars in the sky. I picked out my favorite constellations— not that I knew any, or how to identify them, but I think I liked them. Why else would I have made such an illusion in my library, if I hadn’t? My gaze slowly drew invisible lines between the spatter of stars, marveling at the brilliant way they shone in the night.
Then, finally, I picked out the last star— my favorite, and the one I genuinely knew. The North Star— polaris— my guiding star, the one I’d used so often when I had once been a Dreamspinner, before I’d fully devoted myself to research.
It hung in the sky, all brilliant effulgence and effortless grace, eight-pointed and—
Something sharp prickled at the root of my brain, raking along the back of my eyes. I blinked, seeing stars, and tore my gaze from the sky. It burned like a coal at the base of my throat. My eyes watered, and I coughed, once, twice, my mouth tasting of ash. Nausea bubbled up in my gut, and for a split second, I’d felt as if I were falling. I clutched at the stone banister with both hands. I hunched over, the— almost— malfeasance and disquiet having seared itself into my head.
I couldn’t tell what was wrong— everything felt mostly fine, if I disregarded the pain in my throat, but my senses were violently at odds with whatever was happening. Immediately, some part of me tried to explain it away with logic— Maybe you had a bad reaction from something?
I’m not allergic to anything— everything here I’ve had before.
The champagne?
I’ve been sipping on it all night— why now? Why specifically when I looked up?
I blinked rapidly, clutching at my ice-cold ether to catch my breath. The panic, pain, and nausea dulled, my breath slowed, and I’d felt as if I’d been plunged in ice— but everything felt sharper. More clear. I took another breath, before slowly letting it out in a frosty mist. I straightened, not quite trusting myself to look anywhere upwards.
What was that?
I mentally went through the checklist in my head again. Bad reaction? No. Anxiety? Highly unlikely. Burnout? Not a chance. If not anything else— then what was that?
I frowned, slowly, tentatively gazing back up towards the sky again. That eight-pointed star was still there, still my favorite, still just as brilliant as before. I stared for a few heartbeats, but the sensation never came back— there was a dull buzzing at the back of my eyes, something that was quietly screaming that something was wrong over and over again, but I couldn’t see anything amiss.
My eyes felt odd staring up at the star, though that probably wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I tore my gaze from the sky, bringing a hand to lift my glasses out of the way to rub at my eyes, before I froze.
Where are my glasses?
My hand went to the side of my face, as if I’d just missed the bridge— but my glasses were missing. I blinked, thinking back to whether I’d had them on at all. I’d read papers and letters earlier— I read the lettering on the champagne they brought out… I don’t have contacts in…
The sense of discomfort slowly grew the more the facts sank in. I still couldn’t tell what the cause of it was— simply the fact that something was horribly off-kilter. I sharply looked around, as if there was someone waiting to ambush me. There was no one— the same trees outlined in shadows sat on the horizon, the same fountain devoid of water sitting at the very edge of the patio light.
My racing heart was beginning to calm down, and I took a couple breaths to shove away the anxiety.
“Estelle— everything alright?” Clara called out, and it took everything to not flinch. She shut the balcony door behind her. The look of soft concern made the disconcerting feeling come back, though I wasn’t sure why. “I heard something shatter.”
“… oh— Oh. I…” I coughed, clearing my throat, realizing that I’d dropped my glass over the edge at some point. A glance towards the dark below availed me nothing of where it’d shattered. “I— yeah— yeah— I’m alright. Thanks for checking on me… Eigenlicht.”
She gave me a funny look, brown eyes narrowing with amusement. She teased, “Eigenlicht? Elle— I thought we were friends? After you so boldly offered?”
Huh?
“I—“ I blew out a breath “— yeah— I— I— haha— I don’t know what came over me. Sorry, Clara.”
Her first name had redoubled the sensation again, as if I’d always addressed her by another name.
“You’re sure everything’s okay?”
“I— yeah. Yeah. Simply…” I waved towards the party. “Unaccustomed to it, is all.”
Though— that wasn’t right— since I’d always called her Clara, hadn’t I? Even when we’d first met under those horribly unfortunate circumstances, we’d addressed each other without formalities—
No, that’s not true. That’s never been true, a cold voice sharp with urgency cut in. You’ve always addressed her as Eigenlicht, without fail. Think. Think! the voice hissed. What are you missing? The facts are staring you in the face!
I rubbed my brow, a headache beginning to form. Clara’s expression grew concerned and she took a step forward. She reached out a hand. “Elle?”
Something’s not right. Something’s not right. Something’s not right. Something’s not right. Something’s not right— what’s wrong?
Eight-pointed Polaris— missing glasses— Clara— my thoughts snagged on what was so intrinsically wrong. Eight-pointed Polaris.
The pain doubled and turned white-hot, shotting through the back of my eyes, and I clutched at my head as my vision blurred. I let out a whimper of pain, slumping against the banister as Clara’s expression changed to one of panic. She said something that sounded muffled, immediately coming to my side as I fell over, my vision rapidly spiraling into darkness.
[][][]
When I came to, I found myself in bed.
I dragged myself up, groaning and rubbing the sleep from my eyes. The echoes of a headache lingered, and I pushed past it, groping for the lamp at my bedside. After a moment, I swiped my hand across its surface and a soft light bloomed into existence.
I blinked the discomfort from my eyes, situating myself.
I’m in my room. I can’t hear the party anymore, and the curtains are drawn— but there’s no light.
I ran the last memories I had before I collapsed over again. There’d been no explicable reason for my collapse, it wasn’t as if I’d been pushing myself too hard— and the likelihood of it being a sudden… what? What do you even call that? A sudden relief response? It certainly wasn’t a stress response. At least it seemed that someone had the forethought to move me somewhere else— probably Clara— but I didn’t see her nor anyone else at the moment.
My thoughts snagged on a particular memory, and I dragged myself towards my window, gingerly picking my way through the books strewn about my floor. When I pulled the curtain back, I saw it again— the eight-pointed star that I’d once used as a Dreamspinner.
Though, I still didn’t know why everything felt wrong. The star’s presence there was normal. The star had always been there, even if certain times of the day didn’t allow observation. The North Star had always looked—
No, a voice hissed like nails on a chalkboard. No! It never looked like that— look at it! The stars are never that large, or in that shape— you know perfectly well that they’re large burning spheres. A star should never— never look like that.
I winced, clutching at the headache forming behind my eyes again. My gaze drifted towards my open window. The curtains drifted on a warm breeze. Then, the realization cleaved through the fog muddying my mind.
This is a dream. I’m currently inside of a dream. I sighed. Which means there’s a high likelihood that I haven’t figured out Dimensionalism at all.
That thought was heartbreaking, in some ways.
I’d once said that in the Empire, anything to do with the mind was expensive— psychiatrists, therapists, Dreamspinners, to name a few. The ones capable of magic, Dreamspinners and healers who had specialized in the formers, were especially expensive— a fact that I took wholehearted advantage of to fund anything my auctioning history couldn’t cover. The immense cost-to-hire in part due to the massive amount of regulations that surrounded anything that had to do with the mind.
Not because Dreamspinning took years of practice, or because it was a difficult thing to do, but simply for the fact that the ability to run around in a person’s mind doing whatever you wished is exceptionally dangerous in the wrong hands. In part, most of the time spent becoming a Dreamspinner is usually split between finding someone who has the license and the willingness to teach you, and passing all the required background checks— which often took mind-numbingly long due to how short-staffed just about every establishment was now, even years after the Silver Flower Coup. That wasn’t to mention the nightmare and a half that was renewing my license to practice, which came in the form of an ever-changing practical every other year whose results took even longer to return.
Some years, I’d caught myself thinking that the license was more trouble than it was worth, that one day, I could stop Dreamspinning. Though, with each passing year my finances dwindled a little more, and the pressing reality that I was the only one capable of funding my own research stopped me from ever stopping. The whiplash from suddenly not having to worry about funding ever again, to the high possibility that I was once more burdened financially, and on a time limit, made leaving particularly unsavory.
I drew myself back up, swallowing the vague sorrow that had made itself home once more in my chest. Right, right. Back on track, verifying what you know, and if this really is a dream.
Dreamspinners always chose something as theirs. It was different from a mage sigil, or a coat-of-arms for a noble, as it didn’t function as an inherited spell or identification. Rather, it was exclusive to the specific Dreamspinner, and contradictory to the actual symbol they chose. It was meant as an additional safety net for Dreamspinners to tell the difference between a dream and reality.
For me, I’d chosen an eight-pointed star, meant to take the place of the actual northern star in any dreams I’d walk into.
The fact that it’s here confirms the idea that I’m currently in a dream.
On a vague instinct, I drew in a cold breath, before letting my ether sink into the surroundings as I’d done countless times before. Randomly, I chose a book lying on the ground a distance away, and without doing the necessary calculations to Transmute the material, willed the cover to change from red to green. I felt the world shift, ever-so-slightly, before nothing else. The book stayed red, and I released my hold on my ether moments later.
I frowned, parsing the implications. While what I attempted wasn’t unfeasible by normal standards, the hint of a response from the larger world seemed to imply that this was a dream, and one I had little control over. I blinked, and my vision refocused. I moved my gaze to another spot, and stared at it until the details grew fuzzy. A book seemed to come into focus, before the words became blurry.
If I stared hard enough, the seams that made up the walls of my library, as well as all the books, seemed to ever-so-slightly blur, as if the actual details couldn’t hold up under scrutiny. Now that I knew that I was in a dream, I could almost hear the underlying, muffled static that seemed to accompany any dream, that would fade into the background as soon as you stepped in.
Though, a part of me whispered, it could just be your eyes becoming unfocused, or the buzz is the noise you hear in silence.
How would you explain the star, then?
You’re hallucinating due to stress, go see a doctor.
Yet, I wasn’t stressed— and everything pointed to the idea that I was in a dream, even if I wasn’t sure when or how I’d gotten here. It’s not like my memories were tampered with— at least, not to any degree I could tell. The last dream-related spellcasting I’d done had been right after I completed the Memoir surrounding Penelope. Beyond that, my existence in the following two months had been relatively ordinary, if I discounted all the ceremonies and discoveries that I’d been involved with.
The longer I gave it thought, the less it made sense; I couldn’t rationalize why calling Clara by anything besides her family name felt wrong, and why Arthur would say I could rest and relax during his toast if he knew that my Oath entailed an entirely different venture altogether.
It’s not like Arthur is politically minded enough to just say it to say it, he meant every word that he had said… but he might not know the extent to your Oath. You never spoke with him again about it, either. It just never came up.
Then who would do something like this?
What are the chances that you ran into someone, or something, that dropped you into a dream, then took your memory of doing so?
Not zero, if that were the very situation I found myself in. Though, the fact that I couldn’t locate the bead of glass that every Dreamspinner took with them to record their assignments suggested a lack of preparation on my part. I frowned, and leaned back farther in my chair.
Would it matter to find out the origin of effect? Would knowing when exactly this occurred do anything for me?
In the longest duration, where I’d first fallen into this dream possibly months ago, it’s not like I knew the effects of prolonged existence in a dream. It’s not like I could look up any accounts, either, as I couldn’t trust my library’s veracity due to the dream’s inherent malleability and the foundations it was possibly built upon. That said, maybe the effects were bad, or maybe they were fine— I wouldn’t know.
Secondly, in the event that I could find the source and circumstances that led me to being trapped here it likely wouldn’t avail me any concrete methods to escape. To say I understood the mechanics behind how Dreamspinning worked, in regards to Shades, memory marbles, and actual transposition beyond the fundamentals of input and output, was an incredibly generous overstatement.
The most concerning part was the purpose of this… trap, for lack of a better term. It felt safe to assume that it wasn’t just a flight-of-fancy built by some eccentric Dreamspinner that messed with your memories, and that there was more to it than simple wish-fulfillment. Not that I wanted to find out, however alluring staying was.
Then came the question of escape.
Typically, Dreamspinners left dreams in one of two ways: the first relied on the same principles that changing a client’s dream did. I wasn’t particularly certain of the mechanics behind it— but it relied strongly on the Dreamspinner sort-of… willing themselves out. Of course, this method could take multiple forms depending on who the Dreamspinner was, but all boiled down to the same premise. The second method lied in the spiky bead of glass Dreamspinners carried on jobs, which would eventually form the marbles that were given to the client. Smashing them, whether by hand or otherwise, usually shunted the Dreamspinner out, though I wasn’t familiar with the exact method they did so.
That said, seeing as I couldn’t find said marble— and I couldn’t remember the last time I did possess one— odds were that I wasn’t escaping via marble. The lack of any solid control over the environment of the dream was unsettling, as it meant that it ruled the first method out.
Fortunately there was a third way for Dreamspinners to exit any given dream.
Unfortunately for me, that method included dying— a situation that was difficult to get into for incorporeal Dreamspinners, and… slightly undesirable for corporeal Dreamspinners like I.
Though, looks like it’s your only solid way out, rationale whispered.
The implications and logistics I’d have to figure out from that conclusion through were slightly daunting, to say the least. I let out a long breath, glancing at my pocket watch. While I wasn’t sure there was a time limit before the metaphorical jaws— that may or may not exist— of this dream to snap shut, the vague possibility still set my nerves on end. Quickly, I focused at the task at hand, narrowing down my possibilities by preference: no pain, and as much adrenaline as possible, in service to the first point.
Eventually, the conclusion seemed to be death by falling, which, while unappealing, certainly beat any other methods I had lying around my house. Intoxication, knives, and drowning seemed to be either too painful, or too liable for failure. While I could design a spell to do so, I wasn’t exactly amenable on the idea of sitting down for an evening to work out the equations necessary. The Vitrine crystals didn’t seem to be a very good idea either— explosions didn’t sound particularly appealing.
As if you’d step off a cliff, a part of me sighed. We both know you don’t have the guts for it.
I fell from one once. That wasn’t the worst.
I ignored the fact that I’d been both unwilling and forced off said cliff, and that I looked back on the event through the comfort of hindsight. Granted, repeating the stunt seemed to be the most fear-heavy of any of the other methods…
At least it’ll add to the adrenaline, a self-dreading part of me chuckled dryly.
I let out a soft sigh, checked the time on my pocket watch again, before gathering myself and leaving to find Stephen.
[][][]
The tall iron gates of Clarion Isthmus loomed before me, slick with frost and rusty with neglect. It seemed more imposing in the dark, all harsh and cold and elegant angles. The vine patterns almost looked to have thorns, and the rust made it look stained with blood. Though, maybe it’d always looked that way, and I’d only just now caught the details, devoid of animal panic and ragged exhaustion staining my perception.
This wouldn’t have been my first choice of location, in all honesty— but practicalities cared little for preference, and— regrettably— this was the only large enough cliff I was actually familiar with falling off of, for better or worse. Already, I felt doubt creeping into my heart, and I frowned.
For once, that little voice that doubted my every move seemed to stay silent, but in it’s absence was my own thoughts.
What if I’m wrong?
Perhaps it stayed silent because it knew that it didn’t need to say anything, simply wait and watch as I inflicted self-doubt upon myself. Somehow, that was worse.
Well, a sardonic voice whispered, if you are wrong, then you’d look like a really stupid corpse, then, huh? … Though, I suppose you won’t have to worry about it. No thoughts for the dead girl, yep. Well— unless an afterlife exists, in which case you’re going to feel reaaaal stupid about this.
Conventional belief— that is, the worship and sacrifice to the Divine Choir— claimed there was an afterlife, and that souls went there after death. Though, they also claimed that resurrection mainly consisted of transporting the soul from said afterlife, a claim that was slightly undercut by the fact that a resurrection— at least, a publicized one— hadn’t been performed in centuries. Even then, the rumored resurrection of their High Cardinal centuries ago was little more than myth, and as far as I was concerned, myths were little better than cobwebs in the wind.
“… Miss-tress,” Stephen gruffed from behind me. He was still standing in the cold beside the carriage, arms folded tightly within his large coat. “Don’ mean to rush ye or anythin’ jus’…”
“Ah.” I dipped my head slightly. “I know this was on short notice. Thank you for your help, Stephen. You can head back without me.”
A conflicted look crossed his face. “Lil lady, I don’ mean to… dig my nose where it don’ belong— but ya sure?”
“Mhm. Yes. Thank you again, Stephen. Please take the rest of the night off and…”
What if I’m wrong? I clicked my tongue, before digging through my pockets. I was going to do this unless I found new objecting evidence, but if I carried through anyway… well, best to leave something behind, then. I dug through my pockets until I found a slip of crumbled paper, and I drew a quick line with my false philosopher’s stone, watching as the ink stained the tip of my finger black. Then, I let it fall back onto the paper, willing it into a neat note that distributed the last of my wealth to those under my care— namely, my servants. I folded and handed the note to Stephen.
“Deliver that to Mister Carrol in the morning.”
Stephen’s thick eyebrows raised further, but he took the note and stuffed it into his pocket before turning to mount the carriage. “Ai’ then, if yous certain.”
“I am, thank you again, Stephen.”
“Is my job, is all,” he responded, a note of… something in his voice.
I watched as he spurred the horses to motion, and didn’t turn away until the carriage turned the corner and out of view. I took a long, steadying breath before turning back to the gate. I let out a frosty breath. Then, biting my lip and clutching my false philosopher’s stone, the bars silently parted for me to climb through.
I picked my way across the long-dead ruins of Clarion Isthmus.
Even months later, after the explosion that had occurred here, the Keepers hadn’t been able to find anything linking it back to any of us involved. The case had gone cold, presumably, and they seemingly just hadn’t bothered to fix any of it. Clarion Isthmus had never resumed service after its shutdown— it’s supposed ‘maintenance’ project abandoned after everything that had happened.
I came upon the crater, letting out a slow breath. No, that’s not quite right. “Everything that had happened” is willful ignorance. The maintenance project had been abandoned after what you did here. If you hadn’t thrown that Vitrine crystal, some people would’ve raised a brow at the gate, but it wouldn’t have sparked an investigation like the explosion.
I could almost smell the burning, the waves of heat and dull screaming that had filled the night. If I shut my eyes, I could hear Scabs’ snarl of rage and pain— how he had still stumbled forward towards the ledge I now walked towards.
I paused at the edge, a hand braced against a bent railing, and looked down.
The clouds were infinitely vast, from up here, and for a moment, doubt morphed into sorrow.
Had this been the point my life had led to? A part of me entertained the idea that I wasn’t in my right mind— that, after over a decade of research, the sudden loss of it and any other distracting tasks in my life had led me to a future of boredom I found so horrific that I couldn’t properly comprehend it. That the only way I could was through a million justifications that would lead me to… ‘going for round two’ on Clarion Isthmus, as Arthur would put it.
If you aren’t right, and you do just die, and that’s that— do you think our obituary will say we were insane?
Probably not, obituaries were often focused on the positives, regardless of the person they were about. Any point of vagueness regarding my motivation would be painted as tragedy, and my research and work lauded to even greater heights.
The environment did little to help alleviate my tension, and I instinctively drew away from the edge. Not because I was afraid of the height— but because that ledge felt like the culmination of everything that had went wrong that night— the night that had most likely changed the trajectory of my life. The awful, disastrous night that had nearly gotten me and Arthur killed.
The irony that I was attempting to reclaim my real life by jumping off the very precipice that had so nearly claimed it was not lost on me. I let out a cold breath, devoid of ether, and— with a pained grimace— threw my wand and false philosophers stone over the edge. They tumbled down and vanished in moments. I shored up my resolve, biting my lip until I tasted metal.
How certain was I, that this was all a dream? Is it a certainty I can bet my life on?
My entire life, I’d always assumed the worst, and worked in spite of it— that maybe, maybe I could change the awful fate that I expected awaited me.
I’ve always been so focused on what could go wrong, that I never once tried to think about what could go right. I’d spoken to Clara— who’d literally told me that I had to find something worth risking my life for, and all I’d done was ignore it and try to protect myself more.
But what if things continue to go wrong?
I can’t expect everything to always work out, but it’s horrible of me to expect the worst of everything. I had to have a little bit of faith, at least. My gaze trailed the clouds, my toes edged the line between solid ground and open air.
This is a lot more than a little bit of faith, Estelle.
More than once, in the hours leading up to standing here, I’d caught myself doubting my conclusion. That same part begged for a little more time, saying that we had to have missed something, brought up logical failings in my emotions and my senses— of which neither of us could prove or disprove, which made them moot— and said anything to drag me away from this result.
“First steps always the most important,” I muttered, echoing Maple. My heart clenched at the idea of jumping, and no number of deep breaths and self-affirmations would ever make it not fear jumping. “It’s always the hardest, too…”
I slowly let my hand come off the railing, swallowing. “I have to find something worth fighting for.”
The words came out with less conviction than I liked, and I dug my nails into my palm.
It’s kind of sad, a bitter part of me thought, how many times you’ve seen the signs that told you to change, and how every time you ignored them.
I had seen a lot of dreams in my position: people who had asked me to create happier worlds for them, people who had asked me to reunite them with loved ones, asked for wealth beyond imagine— people who wanted to have their last conversation with a loved one, others who simply wished to see sights they were incapable of traveling to.
I had weaved myself a dozen more, and yet, this one— without a doubt— had to have been the most beautiful one I’d ever experienced.
“This world…” I slowly said, letting the wind whip the words away, as if giving them voice made them more real. “This world isn’t real. Everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve learned— this place is nice. The nicest place I’ve ever lived, and I desperately want to stay, to let this become reality, but it’s not. It’s a future I want— but it’s not real.”
I dangled my foot over the void, my heart leaping into my throat.
Angels both above and below, I silently prayed, Please let me be right about this.
I shut my eyes, and let go of the railing, tipping forward into the endless clouds.