I have lost my way.
Dreams were like distant memories made from only things that were false. My righteous hate for this place was a candle that burned twice as bright and not very long at all. It taught me things like fear, to know it proper. My faith can't protect me from these feelings. Each time they took me I was lost at first, before I realized I was always in the labyrinth. Each time I see so many visions of far off places I'm not meant to be before I am seated at the tea table in my dark, sandy corner.
I am not alone.
Somewhere in the distant dream, a roaring sound washed over my senses and submerged me. All-consuming, my senses dulling as I felt him growing nearer. The Holy Man who would ask something of me. Then all was nearly silent again as he slowly pulled out the opposing chair, and sat down at the table with me. Truly he was dressed in illustrious yellow robes befitting his kingly status. What does he want, I wonder. But a nudging reminder braces me as I tense for his voice, that which will shatter my senses.
"Do you have a wish, Atharenaril?"
What a sublime sound I was not worthy of. The flashing of my first time seeing massive bells in a city flowed through me as my body faded briefly. Glory and awe inspired merely by their grandeur, their very presence coming with feelings not easily ignored lest it be by the cold and disconnected. I am not worthy. Thoughts choked at my throat, wanting out, as I struggled to rise up from the chair.
"Do not say you are lost...I can..." Though I could see him again, his voice was drowned out by waves of noise, buffeting and crashing into me. I could feel the noise consuming me, and I realized these thoughts were cutting off my air. He said one last thing that sounded nothing like him.
"I don't even know how you're still alive, Elf."
Then I woke up, kicking, screaming, and clutching at the metal collar around my neck as I struggled with a very alarmed fisherman who had just saved my life.
Dreams were like distant memories made from only things that were false. My righteous hate for this place was a candle that burned twice as bright and not very long at all. It taught me things like fear, to know it proper. My faith can't protect me from these feelings. Each time they took me I was lost at first, before I realized I was always in the labyrinth. Each time I see so many visions of far off places I'm not meant to be before I am seated at the tea table in my dark, sandy corner.
I am not alone.
Somewhere in the distant dream, a roaring sound washed over my senses and submerged me. All-consuming, my senses dulling as I felt him growing nearer. The Holy Man who would ask something of me. Then all was nearly silent again as he slowly pulled out the opposing chair, and sat down at the table with me. Truly he was dressed in illustrious yellow robes befitting his kingly status. What does he want, I wonder. But a nudging reminder braces me as I tense for his voice, that which will shatter my senses.
"Do you have a wish, Atharenaril?"
What a sublime sound I was not worthy of. The flashing of my first time seeing massive bells in a city flowed through me as my body faded briefly. Glory and awe inspired merely by their grandeur, their very presence coming with feelings not easily ignored lest it be by the cold and disconnected. I am not worthy. Thoughts choked at my throat, wanting out, as I struggled to rise up from the chair.
"Do not say you are lost...I can..." Though I could see him again, his voice was drowned out by waves of noise, buffeting and crashing into me. I could feel the noise consuming me, and I realized these thoughts were cutting off my air. He said one last thing that sounded nothing like him.
"I don't even know how you're still alive, Elf."
Then I woke up, kicking, screaming, and clutching at the metal collar around my neck as I struggled with a very alarmed fisherman who had just saved my life.