Dreams on the Wall
"A child's dreams are among the most vivid kind. A child's dreams broken are among the darkest of falls."
His journal hadn't been touched in many days.
He refused to touch its pages for fear of temptation. It was too great a temptation to open that journal and lose himself in the memories.
It was too great a temptation to do as he had said he would.
"If not, I will go dream."
He'd said that half-knowing the full meaning wouldn't be grasped but he hadn't doubted the knowledge of the human that had stood before him then either. It was however, a last resort and most of him railed against it.
What kind of thing would it be, to remain within dreams for the rest of time?
He knew the answer -- he'd tried it once before.
And he refused to go that route yet.
He was restless though and it turned him into the proverbial pacing tiger, crawling about within the little room but never voicing a sound.
Eventually, his mind took another turn and he crawled like a blue gecko up onto the nearest wall he'd not taken to attacking. It might've surprised him were he in another mindset but in this one, hardly anything does. With the unsheathing of one talon, the imp diligently scratched into the wall.
It was not a chaotic, unformed attack of rage this time. The scratches were slow, methodical and precise and soon enough, an image began to take shape.
-------------------
It was well after sunset when he was back on the cell bed. It was about then that he found another message and a little gift alongside it.
Honestly, he was surprised.
And, after reading the newest message, he found a strange, distant warmth inside of himself.
Cinder again.
Renne was surprised enough to allow a smile.
After reading Cinder's message another four times and sampling the cookies -- which were quite good by the way -- Renne pulled out his pen, ink and managed to find more paper.
He found the strength in himself to reply without breaking down into tears.
As he put his words down in two separate notes -- one for Cinder and one for 'Nathan -- he let his mind go over the etchings on the wall behind him.
They were etchings of a dream.
A story. And a nightmare.
-----------------------
-They were figures drawn on a white wall.
They were the scratched drawings of history and dreams. Silver stood like the sentinel he was on the far left, holding his prized lute. He had a look that suggested a military commander who could both be firm and bear a merry smile.
Pendrell stood near the top corner with his eyes watching and arms slightly outstretched. His figure was drawn in so it seemed like a pair of wings were spreading behind his back. The wings were grand, but faded.
The wings were like the years since his death.
Somewhere below, lines swirled near the floor to mimic both flames and the waves of the ocean. Rings and spheres floated above as stars and planets.
To the left and below Pendrell stood Osprey, Ryven and Artesia. Below them, clawed mercilessly out stood Amadeus and another who bore no name.
Names are not fit for betrayers.
As such, these two did not bear their names beneath them.
From here, the images grew in intensity but became simpler, less intricate.
Two versions of Renne stood side-by-side. One was very humanoid. It stood upright, straight-backed and almost proud. The other was crouched and looked nothing like he did back then.
Many more figures stood, sat, flew or swam on this wall. The wall bore everything from kingdoms crumbling amidst war and humble nights of just people talking or enjoying one another's company.
Cinder sat beside a campfire with a smile.
Solia had her head in profile staring off across an ocean.
Mordred Ravenwood had his back turned as he journeyed to somewhere distant.
Johnathan was there on the wall, bent over a book.
And then there were two places that heralded the finale.
The Dirk and Dagger Tavern stood but with flames around it and wings stretching out of the fire. It spoke silently of something almost-reached.
The Maritime stood deeply etched into the wall with its doors open and the rays of warm light pouring from inside.
And through the etched-open doors stood a family.
They were standing, sitting, laughing, crying, living and loving.
Still, they were all just figures on the wall.-
"A child's dreams are among the most vivid kind. A child's dreams broken are among the darkest of falls."
His journal hadn't been touched in many days.
He refused to touch its pages for fear of temptation. It was too great a temptation to open that journal and lose himself in the memories.
It was too great a temptation to do as he had said he would.
"If not, I will go dream."
He'd said that half-knowing the full meaning wouldn't be grasped but he hadn't doubted the knowledge of the human that had stood before him then either. It was however, a last resort and most of him railed against it.
What kind of thing would it be, to remain within dreams for the rest of time?
He knew the answer -- he'd tried it once before.
And he refused to go that route yet.
He was restless though and it turned him into the proverbial pacing tiger, crawling about within the little room but never voicing a sound.
Eventually, his mind took another turn and he crawled like a blue gecko up onto the nearest wall he'd not taken to attacking. It might've surprised him were he in another mindset but in this one, hardly anything does. With the unsheathing of one talon, the imp diligently scratched into the wall.
It was not a chaotic, unformed attack of rage this time. The scratches were slow, methodical and precise and soon enough, an image began to take shape.
-------------------
It was well after sunset when he was back on the cell bed. It was about then that he found another message and a little gift alongside it.
Honestly, he was surprised.
And, after reading the newest message, he found a strange, distant warmth inside of himself.
Cinder again.
Renne was surprised enough to allow a smile.
After reading Cinder's message another four times and sampling the cookies -- which were quite good by the way -- Renne pulled out his pen, ink and managed to find more paper.
He found the strength in himself to reply without breaking down into tears.
As he put his words down in two separate notes -- one for Cinder and one for 'Nathan -- he let his mind go over the etchings on the wall behind him.
They were etchings of a dream.
A story. And a nightmare.
-----------------------
-They were figures drawn on a white wall.
They were the scratched drawings of history and dreams. Silver stood like the sentinel he was on the far left, holding his prized lute. He had a look that suggested a military commander who could both be firm and bear a merry smile.
Pendrell stood near the top corner with his eyes watching and arms slightly outstretched. His figure was drawn in so it seemed like a pair of wings were spreading behind his back. The wings were grand, but faded.
The wings were like the years since his death.
Somewhere below, lines swirled near the floor to mimic both flames and the waves of the ocean. Rings and spheres floated above as stars and planets.
To the left and below Pendrell stood Osprey, Ryven and Artesia. Below them, clawed mercilessly out stood Amadeus and another who bore no name.
Names are not fit for betrayers.
As such, these two did not bear their names beneath them.
From here, the images grew in intensity but became simpler, less intricate.
Two versions of Renne stood side-by-side. One was very humanoid. It stood upright, straight-backed and almost proud. The other was crouched and looked nothing like he did back then.
Many more figures stood, sat, flew or swam on this wall. The wall bore everything from kingdoms crumbling amidst war and humble nights of just people talking or enjoying one another's company.
Cinder sat beside a campfire with a smile.
Solia had her head in profile staring off across an ocean.
Mordred Ravenwood had his back turned as he journeyed to somewhere distant.
Johnathan was there on the wall, bent over a book.
And then there were two places that heralded the finale.
The Dirk and Dagger Tavern stood but with flames around it and wings stretching out of the fire. It spoke silently of something almost-reached.
The Maritime stood deeply etched into the wall with its doors open and the rays of warm light pouring from inside.
And through the etched-open doors stood a family.
They were standing, sitting, laughing, crying, living and loving.
Still, they were all just figures on the wall.-