just a dream?
(This story is inspired by an ancient legend and may not be historically accurate.)
Long ago, in a land neighboring the Roman Empire, there was a kingdom called Persia. At the time of the first encounters between Rome and Persia, the Parthian dynasty ruled the land. After countless clashes between Persia and Rome, the Parthian rule had grown weak and fragile.
Amid this turmoil, one of the Parthian princesses had a dream—one that could change the fate of both the Parthian dynasty and the kingdom of Persia forever.
Mitra listened dizzily and feverishly to her mother and the seamstress. They were searching for a dress worthy of her—bright, vivid colors embroidered with intricate designs. She had just reached the age of maturity, and it was time for her to be introduced to the noble families and princes, so she could find a husband befitting her rank and status.
Mitra was a Parthian princess—not too close to power, yet not too distant; not too poor, yet not extraordinarily wealthy or influential. She was beautiful and charming, but on that day, she felt listless, as if the ground beneath her no longer existed. Her head felt heavy, and her mind wandered elsewhere.
The night before, she had dreamt unsettling dreams and had not slept properly. Mitra did not know whether these dreams were merely chaotic and meaningless, or whether they were glimpses of a near-future yet to come.
In the Persian tradition, dreams were considered sacred and often foretold the future. Still, Mitra could not tell if her own dreams belonged to this sacred category—or if they were simply the ramblings of a troubled mind.
Mitra’s mother’s voice called from behind, asking which color she preferred—deep blue or radiant red. “This yellow robe is lovely too,” she added. But Mitra’s thoughts were elsewhere. She glanced briefly at the colorful garments, each sewn according to the latest fashions of the Parthian court. In a soft voice, she offered a few fleeting opinions, and her mother, too delighted and busy to notice her daughter’s unease, instructed the seamstress to begin sewing several more dresses.
The day passed, yet the mysterious dream of the previous night—and the one before that—continued to haunt her. Mitra could not tell whether they were meaningless images of a restless mind or glimpses of a future that was already quietly unfolding.
And that night, as she closed her eyes once more, the dream returned, more vivid and urgent than ever.
