Stacie woke with a start, her senses slowly emerging from the grasp of slumber. The soft buzzing of her alarm clock invaded the peaceful silence of her room. With a mechanical motion, her arm extended to silence the repetitive sound, her fingers finding solace in the familiar plastic surface of the snooze button. "Just a few more minutes," she whispered to herself, surrendering to the allure of stolen time.
Eager to retreat back into the realm of dreams, Stacie closed her eyes, pulling the soft down comforter up to shield herself from the intrusive rays of morning light filtering through the sheer white curtains. It felt like mere seconds had passed when she abruptly flung the thick blanket away, her hand deftly silencing the alarm clock's persistent assault. She scowled at the small, yellow timepiece. "Thank you for your unyielding and continued service," she muttered sarcastically, her voice tinged with a hint of playful annoyance.
As Stacie gradually sat up, shedding the covers that had cocooned her, the remnants of a vivid dream began to seep into her waking consciousness. "Eldoria... Alaric... forgotten magic," she murmured, the words escaping her lips as the dream solidified in her mind's eye.
The dream felt different, unlike any she had experienced before. It clung to her thoughts, refusing to fade away like the wisps of other forgotten slumber adventures. It was as if the dream had imprinted itself upon her, etching its details more vividly than her own memories. She could recall the sensation of being the young girl named Amelia, raindrops kissing her skin as she sought refuge in the decaying tower, its walls bearing the scars of time. The scent of musty books mingled with the dampness of the air, a tangible presence in her recollection. And she could still feel the ethereal touch of mist-laden wind, pouring forth from the very gateway she had opened.
Alaric's resonant voice echoed in her mind, the weight of his words settling upon her like ancient stones. The being who claimed she was the savior of Eldoria, the realm she had never known. It was a strange and bewildering dream, yet it felt so achingly real, as if a distant memory woven into the tapestry of her existence.
Lost in her thoughts, Stacie found herself seated in the middle of her bed, her legs crossed in a contemplative pose. Her gaze drifted to the table beside her, where a bottle of sleeping pills, prescribed by her new doctor, lay innocently in wait. A wry smile curled her lips as a sardonic thought danced in her mind. "They should add vivid dreams and mild psychosis to the side effects of these things," she mused, a hint of bitterness tinged with humor.
Sleep had always been a fickle companion for Stacie, an elusive lover who seldom graced her with restful nights. Throughout her years, countless sleepless hours had been spent gazing at the swirling patterns on her ceiling, the intricate dance of plaster creating fantastical shapes and ethereal beings. In the depths of her exhaustion, these imaginary characters had become her confidants, her companions on whimsical journeys through the realm of her fatigued mind. Knights, dragons, fair maidens, and fools had populated her sleepless nights, their stories interweaving with her own in the realm of dreams.
Stacie emerged from the embrace of her bed, the remnants of her dream still swirling in her mind. Her gaze fell upon the array of business casual clothes hanging in her closet, a myriad of options before her. With a decisive nod, she selected a smart green blouse and black slacks, abstaining from anything resembling a skirt. "Skirts just aren't practical," she mused, her lips curling into a wry smile she would offer in response to any curious inquiries.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Dressed for the day, Stacie made her way to the bathroom, her reflection awaiting her arrival. A thick, tangled mass of dark hair framed her face, an unruly testament to the night's restlessness. She sighed, parting the locks just enough for two vibrant light green eyes to peer out from behind the veil. Grasping her toothbrush, she grumbled through the bristles, "Mornings, blech."
Once her oral ritual was complete, Stacie stomped out of the bathroom, her destination calling her with enticing aroma. She sought solace in the kitchen, where her faithful coffee maker patiently awaited her arrival. Placing the filter with practiced precision, she poured the fragrant coffee grounds into its waiting embrace. Inhaling deeply, she reveled in the earthy richness of the beans, her senses awakening with each breath.
"It's just you and me this morning," she whispered to the coffee maker as she poured in the water. The steady drip, drip of the dark liquid filled the air, mesmerizing her as it cascaded into her waiting cup. Mornings had always been a thorny adversary, an unwelcome intrusion upon her still sleepy world. "I just don't understand why the sun has to come up so early," Stacie pondered, a furrow forming between her brows. The previous night's dream had left her feeling as though she had traversed countless miles, draining her energy reserves. "I don't know what's better, finally sleeping through the night or tossing and chasing sleep," she mused, a tinge of exasperation coloring her thoughts. "Honestly, right now, they seem equally tiresome."
Having finished the last drop of her coffee, Stacie placed the empty cup down and cast a glance at the clock. 7 AM. "Well, I guess it's time to go," she murmured, a tinge of resignation coloring her voice.
Making her way back through the short hallway, Stacie passed the old renaissance-style clown portiats. A shudder ran down her spine as she passed a particularly unsettling image of a juggling clown with an evil glint in its eyes and a vibrant hat perched jauntily on its head. "Why haven't I taken those down yet?" she wondered aloud, her brow furrowing. The clown portraits had come with the house, a relic of its previous owner—a historian enamored with the Renaissance era. "I still don't understand the fascination with studying history, especially the Renaissance. But then again, I don't know much about it," she admitted, her thoughts clouded with memories of lackluster test scores and forgotten dates from her college days.
Snatching her brush off the bathroom counter, Stacie ran it through her hair a few times before tossing it carelessly onto the worn brown leather couch. Stepping out of her front door, she braced herself for the day ahead. However, as she took a single step, an unexpected shout pierced the air.
"Watch it, lady!"
Startled, Stacie spun around, trying to locate the source of the voice. Her eyes widened as they fell upon a white cat with long hair and piercing blue eyes, staring up at her with a mix of annoyance and scrutiny.
"Are you going to just stand there on my tail with that stupid look on your face all day?" the cat admonished, its voice surprisingly sharp.
Stacie took a step back, her mouth agape, her eyes filled with a mix of terror and confusion.
"Well, at least you're off my tail now, though you still have that stupid look on your face. But I guess one step at a time here," the cat mused, its tone tinged with sarcasm.
That was the last thing Stacie heard before she succumbed to unconsciousness, the cat's voice fading into a distant echo.