Dreaming Pride

Opening the door, I stumble into my flat, cursing loudly at the world in general. The day has been a hellish nightmare, right from the start. I hate Mondays.

It started off with a thunderstorm, wind whipping like a lash at the hapless travellers trying to reach their destinations. I was thoroughly drenched by the time I arrived at my workplace, and got treated to a stern glare from receptionist, as I dripped all over the priceless carpet. Under her weighty gaze, I scrambled off to change into my uniform, feeling small and unworthy.

The Hotel's clientele had been particularly troublesome, and I received a lengthy, heated lecture from one of the patrons, who, red on the face and with raised fists, screamed his dissatisfaction with the service. I had troubles comprehending what was the actual problem, as from his words, everything was subpar and not meeting his expectations.

After the work I had to rush to the University, with my wet clothes close-clinging to my skin, much to my distaste. The rain had subsided, but the gusts were unrelenting, and with chattering teeth I prepared myself for the inevitable. I just knew I would get sick from all this. I've even begun constructing well-rounded sentences in my head I would offer in explanation during the coming days.

The professors' intent that day was to wring us back dry. I had a hard time recalling any of what I had read of the assigned papers, which resulted - predictably - in me getting steamrolled in front of the group without mercy. I detest being made a fool of, even if the criticism was well deserved.

And then, on the way back, I got into pointless argument with a clearly battle-hardened elderly lady who was convinced I had pushed her on purpose. The very idea reviled me, and as my nerves snapped, I replied harshly, instead of simply ignoring her. Of course, that only edged the woman on, and she screeched derisive words for the next ten minutes of the ride. I was glad to be gone from it, even as I walked back out into cold once more.

Removing my coat, I throw it over the chair in the kitchen, to let it dry. I stretch, groaning, and make a beeline for bathroom, scattering clothes about the corridor. Once soaked in the warm water, I let out a contented sigh, slowly rubbing my favourite lavender soap into my body. I leave close to an hour later, relaxed, but already feeling the beginnings of a budding headache. I pick up my phone from the handbag, impatiently scrolling over facebook notifications. Tim sent me an invitation to a bar hang-out, but running a hand through my wet hair, I reject him summarily, adding a few scathing remarks about the weather.

I feel much too exhausted for anything else, so I enter my bedroom, and sprawl myself over the bed, asleep in a matter of seconds.

My dreams are, unusually I suppose, vivid and bright in colours. I had spent over a year continuing a particular imaginary story of mine, observing a life of a youth who trained dragons. He had begun from merely a stable boy, but through hard work and determination rose to the ranks of the prominent, meriting himself a dragon of his own, and a hand of his beau. I was cheering him on, as I flittered around his life, through hardships and happiness, up until he got himself an heir to continue the family's honour. Then the visions changed, and I let go of my Crimson Knight, and turned to face another, fantastic, adventure.

This time the new world is saturated in strange light. I look up, and open my mouth surprised at how high the skies seem, coated in a slightly greenish aura. I take a breath of air, fresh and clean, and turn to explore, when suddenly a child's voice stops me.

'Ahn elgar ma?'

Well, that is certainly new. Never before had I been able to interact with people in my dreams. I face the direction of the voice, and correct my initial assumption. Not a human, then, but something akin to an elf, with pointy ears and lithe body structure, though never before had I seen a child so beautiful. Of course, the language barrier is something of a hassle.

'I don't understand you' I reply evenly, and his eyes widen a fraction. He literally sparkles with interest, and as I remember from my favourite books how people learned languages, I recreate the steps slowly. I point out an object, say the word, and wait for his translation. It is an arduous process, but I find myself captivated in the beauty of his speech, and slowly yet surely make a steady progress.

Time passes in my dream world, but of course it's a dream, so I don't feel tired. My guide, on the other hand, takes breaks, for food and rest. Wherever he goes, he always returns, as I walk around impatiently; until one day I suddenly break out of our reverie, when a ringing noise assaults me ears.

'I've got to go' I tell him, even though there's no way for him to possibly understand.

And I wake up.

With an annoyed groan, I throw a pillow at the alarm clock, still loud. A crash, and the offending sound is gone. Emotionlessly, I glance at the wreckage – yep, I'll have to replace it. Neither the first nor the last one which has not survived my sour mood after awakening.

The day is spent in a restless daze, as the words ring through my head, clear and unforgettable and melodious. I have heard that people normally forget most of what they had dreamed of – that has never been the case with me. I walk with my head in clouds, reminiscing the wonders of the new world I'm to explore, drawn to my pencils like a moth to flame. I end up scribbling disjointed sketches on random scraps of paper, and earn an earful from my boss for it. I shrug it off a bit distractedly – I did deserve it, but I am not planning on dwelling. The realm from my imagination has me enthralled yet again.

I return home early, and try to do justice to the golden haired elfling I saw in my dreams, bringing life on canvas. What comes out is far from what I saw – the figure too bulky and proportions a bit skewed – but I managed to capture the curiosity in his eyes, so all in all it's not a terrible first attempt. I know I will try again, over and over until I get it right. My Crimson Knight had been portrayed at all crucial moments of his life, and some of the results brought back a bit of coin. Of course, my favourite moment, preserved, hangs over my bed – a child extending its hand to young dragon for the very first time. I hope that I will be able to experience similar elation with my elfling as well.

Finally, I feel like my hands are dying on me, so I put the brushes away and fix myself a quick meal. Afterwards, I lie down with my head in a textbook – soon, exams will begin, and I've yet to finish preparations. Once I feel my eyes involuntarily dropping, I put it away on the table next to the bed.

I open my eyes once again at the green glade surrounded by trees, and look around for the signs of the elfling. I sigh with regret once I fail to find him, but make my way through, depending on my gut feeling – if my dreams led me to him in the first place, surely I will encounter him again. The forest's flora is similar to Earth, pine-like trees spiking up, and some type of moss spreading on the ground. There's a barely visible trail leading through, and once I pick up the signs of it, my passage becomes much easier, as no longer do I have to follow the sun to ensure one direction.

I find a small hut, covered in leaves - a workshop, I find out once I peek through the window. Crates, strangely looking tools, and a loud clangs of someone working from the inside. I knock uneasily, and even though my hand goes through the wooden material, me being incorporeal here and all, the sound spreads normally, as if I had actually touched the wood. Strange, but I am glad for it, as I have no desire to intrude uninvited.

I'm astonished, and delighted, to see the little angel-like child open the door – and he seems overjoyed as well. He ushers me inside with an impatient wave of hand, and we begin a tentative conversation – full of holes and gestures and grimaces, but as my vocabulary starts to fill up, more and more complicated. I find out the workshop is his, and he shows me what he is working on – a device of some sort which I am unable to comprehend. I'm shocked to see him use something akin to magic to light the thing, and it begins to glow with an unusual shade of blue. Unless it's just very advanced technology – sometimes it's hard to tell. I have dreamed of worlds with one or the other, as well as those where both of them clashed, often warring.

My progress with the language has been considerable, but it leaves me partially frustrated as well. I cannot seem to produce the same musical notes while speaking as he does, no matter how hard I try.

The next weeks pass for me in similar manner, as I spend the nights with my dreams, and days trying to recreate the wonders of the new place I stumbled into. Of course, because work and University take precedence, my social life suffers. I praise my luck that it had all begun when Jeff was out of the country, and will be gone for a month yet. My boyfriend detests it when I stumble into one of my 'fucking trances' as he calls them. Hopefully, by the time he is back, I will be more accustomed to the new treasure I've discovered to not annoy him overmuch.

My friends, on the other hand, are already used to my eccentricities – those that remained as such, after all those years. Both Tim and Lydia give me space once I inform them excitedly that I found new inspiration, and await with impatience the stories I will tell them once the dream finishes. I'm grateful to have such understanding friends, though it helps, I suppose, that Tim was quite invested in the adventures of the Charming Rogue, as I dubbed another one of my other favourites, while Lydia adored the good deeds of the Girl with The Matches. I had given them some of the paintings to illustrate my stories, and I know for a fact both of them treasure the little worlds I share with them.

Finally, after two months, though through my dreamworld I have an impression of years having passed, I am capable of holding an actual conversation with my elfling, though my accent is still terrible. He asks one day,

'What manner of spirit are you?'

'I am not certain' I reply truthfully, fighting off the urge to touch the fluffy golden hair surrounding the angelic face of the child. Pointless. I'm not sure I fully comprehend what is he asking about.

'You look strange' he informs me pitifully, taking a closer look at my nightgown, and suddenly I feel a bit self-conscious. It is only a boy, I berate myself, fighting off an urge to cover myself with something more substantial. I can't do it either way, as even if I found a way to pick it up, it would have fallen right through me. Wishes go a long way, here, however, as suddenly the illusion of my attire lengthens, allowing for more modesty.

'Do you have a name?' he inquiries, tilting his head.

My name is dreadfully long and unwieldy. I cannot comprehend why my parents felt it fit to bestow such a plain creature as myself with a grand name like Joanne, and typically, I shorten it to Anne, for mine and other's comfort. But this is my dream, and I can be whomever I want, so I think on the answer carefully.

'Call me Fean'Na' I reply finally, after my favourite character from a story – because why the hell not. I could be Fean'Na here, in this clear cut, fresh world, and it resembles the melodious ring of the language he taught me – slightly.

The boy nods sagely, unusually serious for his age.

'I'm June' he informs me. 'Come, Fean'Na.' The mischievous twinkle in his eyes disarms me. 'You shall be my assistant, from now on.'

I giggle at his commanding tone of voice, ill-fitting such a small being, but follow nonetheless, curious.

June of my dream is somewhat more special than I expected, working magic on many inventions, in spite of his apparent youth – a magic unlike anything I had ever seen, even in movies. I am becoming amazed with my own creativity, as I listen to his detailed explanations, nodding at the appropriate points, and urging him to go on.

He admits to being a poor student, as he always finds experimentations more interesting and at the same time… well, distracting.

Even as removed from his reality as I am, I know it is not the right outlook, so I lecture him on the importance of basics. It would allow him to better comprehend what he is actually experimenting with, I explain. At first he is not convinced, so I illustrate it with a simple example, drawing on the mechanics of the world I had observed – aside from the minor issue of magic, it does not differ drastically from Earth.

The ringing alarm brings me back yet again far too soon.

I am vaguely aware that the passage of time is far from linear between here and my real life – one time, when I visit him, he accuses me of not appearing for three years, and I gape with astonishment, because I had just seen him the night before, and why didn't he change at all during this period of time?

I am disbelieving when he claims to be over two hundred years old, already. My mind refuses to cope with the information, so I stick with my initial impression instead – he looks like a ten year old, behaves like one – thus he is ten, even if here it equals to two hundred.

The ability to interact with the dream throws me off-balance. I'm forgetting, for the first time during my entire life, that he is not real, and there are times when I seek to touch him, only to feel my fingers slipping through. One day, he cries sorrowfully, after having been scolded by his father. I desperately wish to console him – he reminds me of my own little brother just then, curled up and sobbing. But I can't, so I settle on telling him fantastic stories of my past dreams, and after a while he is engrossed in the tale of the Charming Rogue, who with his cunning and wiles had managed to steal the heart of the princess. The hurt of the unjust – as he claims – punishment is not gone, but it is no longer so close to the surface. Once the initial emotional outburst passes, I'm certain it will be easier to deal with.

The spring exam session is like a lightning on a sunny day, shocking and terrifying and unexpected. It is then that I realize my dreams of the world June calls Thedas have lasted three months already, and from the looks of it, will take a long time still, as he has yet to achieve anything of note. I doubt I'll be able to accompany him his entire life, as with the Crimson Knight, since he bragged about his near immortality, which I'm clearly not. I sadden at the thought of losing the sight of him one day, but soon shake it off – my livid imagination is a gift, whatever glimpses it allows me to catch. With some heroes, I had been able to witness only one specific deed, before my dreams took me off elsewhere, but it had always been worth witnessing.

Nonetheless, the they are a distraction, one a student as lazy as me during the semester cannot afford to have during the crucial month. I always cram up the learning at the last possible moment, so with regret, I turn to the already tried method, and take sleeping pills. The artificial sleep, for some, is a place of nightmares – for me it means being cut off from my explorations, a fate which, if I had been caught in it infinitely, would have surely crippled me. I detest it.

Jeff likes when I'm on the pill.

'I'm finally having you for myself' he says, eyeing me as I reach out for the package. My hand freezes as I send him a shocked glance, before asking with blatant ridicule,

'You suspect me of cheating on you with my imaginary constructs?'

'That's not what I meant!' Jeff exclaims in irritation, and I straighten, feeling my spine stiffening, startled by his anger. We have our fights, certainly, but usually he is more reasonable. With a huff, I snatch the tablet, and take a gulp of water to wash it down, before glaring at him expectantly. I await explanation.

'There are times when I think you are more interested in life of strangers than ours' he admits sighing dejectedly, and my irritation with him evaporates, as I feel a wave of guilt at causing him so much distress.

'And this time, in particular, you have gone far deeper than ever before.'

I remain quiet, as I cannot, in good conscience, deny the truth of his words. I make a promise to myself to reassure him of my devotion to him, and to us, more often. My grades take a slight downturn, but it is a small price to pay for salvaging our relationship. What I regret the most is that I had not realized it was necessary. As I snuggle next to him, I make him swear he will not keep his hurts hidden from me anymore.

But something in me weeps at his lack of understanding. I love the man, and it saddens me that he cannot accept me for what I am, a dreamer lost in her fantasy and a painter expressing her journeys. There will come a day when I will have to decide between him and my soul's desire, and deep inside, I know the choice has already been made.

Considering the nature of the projects I have to catch up with, it takes well over a month before I can return to my dreaming. I am a bit nervous when putting my head on the pillow without the medications. I had warned June, of course, that my visits would stop – even if he is only a figment of my imagination, it felt unfair to do otherwise. I do not think he understood my reasoning, as he threw a hurtful fit at the news, and then was sullen for the remainder of my last visit. I do not know if he would even want to see me again, for years must have passed, and I was merely a flicker in his life. Moreover, I am uncertain whether the fantasy will even take me back to Thedas in the first place. It is the unfortunate risk of pills – sometimes, I am unable to find my way back to the dream.

This time, at least, my worries prove wrong, and I find myself at the same glade I always seem to wind up on. But is it the same place? It is surrounded by strange, polished boulders, glimmering with a silvery runes June once showed me, and for a moment I feel the strange jolt of energy passing through me – the first physical interaction I have with this world, aside from breathing, which is more of a habit than actual need.

I am left a bit shaken by the experience, and as I regather myself, suddenly, a loud voice filled with joy assaults me.

'Fean'Na!'

I turn around, and gape at the sight. No longer a child, but a teen at the prime of his youth, then. The golden hue of his hair and blue of his eyes remain unchanged, but he had gained in height and weight, able to meet my eyes squarely instead of straining his neck to look up. I smile a little uncertainly, unsure how to address this very much changed June.

'You left me alone for a long, long time' he whines not unlike his younger self, and suddenly, it is no longer so strange, as I flitter my fingers over his matured yet still childlike features, bemused. We sit down on the grass, even though the stones surrounding us make me feel cornered. Creepy.

'June, I told you before that your concept of time eludes me' I explain myself lightly. I had long come to terms that this world somehow differs from my previous dreams, but still, the concept of alternate realities boggles my mind far too much to allow for in-depth contemplation. 'How long islong?'

He huffs with irritation.

'Well over hundred years had passed since I last saw you' he informs me accusingly, and yet again, the number is far too large to wrap my mind around it. So I don't. He waits for any response, but as I have none, he shrugs and abandons the topic.

'I had grown!' The pride in his voice makes me laugh, as he takes on a peculiar tone. He is fishing for compliments, and I can't resist baiting him a little.

'I can see that' I keep my tone teasingly neutral, and he pouts.

'I'm joking' I snort at his expression. 'You had blossomed beyond my expectations, child.'

He has a conflicted expression, beaming at the praise and slightly offended at the reminder of his youth. But I'm not lying, he is growing out of child-like angelic features, turning into strikingly handsome young man. His voice had also deepened slightly, losing some of its previous sweetness, far more suitable for the man he will one day become.

He spends time with me recounting his endeavours of the past years. I listen with apt fascination, as he describes the process of creating a go-between reality, a shortcut between distances. He admits to starting on it from the moment I described the teleportation, as I saw it, from one of my past adventures. I praise his creativity, and start retelling a story from my home, as I went to see my parents.

'Do not leave again' suddenly leaves June's mouth, and I stop mid-sentence, surprised, and saddened by the desperation in his voice.

'I cannot promise you that' I reply as gently as possible, trying to get a hold of his hand reassuringly, but of course, failing. My fingers hover above his hand, but neither of us feels anything.

His eyes grow cold, as he drawls,

'I see.'

So unlike the June I knew before!

He looks at me in a strangely calculating manner, and I feel a sudden chill running up my spine. Unable to hold his frosty gaze anymore, I turn to look at the setting sun, and the reddish skies.

'But I promise you, I will do my best to return.' I murmur finally. He mulls over that, before mollifying slightly.

It is with a heavy heart that I wake up. I hurt June, I can see that much, though by no fault of my own.

Jeff is also far from pleased with me, as he glances at the untouched pill left by the plate, and then back at me. He rises his eyebrow, and I shrug uncomfortably – I'm not going to deny a part of myself for his satisfaction. Jeff grits his teeth, straining the stress lines on his face, and with a disdainful glare he leaves the bedroom without a word.

The day turns out to be disastrous, as I nearly lose my job, a result of a customer complaint. I'm told it's my last chance, and brace myself to look for an alternative as a backup.

It is nearly summer, but here, by the sea, the breeze remains cold and harsh. Shaking off the unpleasant cold, I take a quick shower before setting out to paint. My previous depictions of June found quite a lot of support, so I can imagine how much more commotion this grown-up look of his will cause. And I like preserving moments from beyond on my canvas.

The pang resounding from the corridor informs me that Jeff is home, and indeed, soon he passes by my workroom on his way to bedroom. I ignore him in favour of the image in front of me, the atmosphere between us still strained after morning. I am so engrossed, I do not realize he had entered the room until he stands over my shoulder and I can literally taste the displeasure he oozes, looking at my work.

'There's no human that's this perfect' Jeff comments derisively, as I try, and fail, to capture the expressiveness of June's eyes.

'June's no human' I counter evenly, before taking a step away from my painting, and eyeing it critically. 'And I'm unable to do him justice.'

He rolls his eyes at that, and I proceed to ignore him, washing the paint off my fingers with a dissolvent. Jeff sighs heavily, before leaving my sanctuary, and I hear the door behind him close. I lift my hand critically to the light of the lamp, and sure enough, my nails are breaking and splitting. Too much of acetone, I suppose. I spent a while trying to help their sorry state, before giving up, and cutting them off.

By the time I get to bed, my boyfriend is long asleep. Just as well, I am in no mood for serious conversation after today.

I fluff my pillow, lie down, and breathe evenly, as darkness envelops me.