The Shattering of a Dream
Green. The forest was so vibrant and lush. Spring’s caress somehow reached even here in the great city of ice. But... How? That wasn’t right! It wasn’t even remotely possible! Where were the Spires of Frost reaching high into the clouds? Or the grand cathedral of pure white quartz with its many followers? In fact, Diraimeir did not even recognize where he was in the slightest. There simply was nothing familiar about what was around him. He’d never seen such an enchanting array of colors nor had he ever had the honor of knowing the smell of the soft sweetness of new buds. Lilac and honeysuckle.
Surely, this was some place his own people did not and could not often wander. The sun shone down warm upon his face, a known danger to any nymph of the ice. Nevertheless, here he was, basking in the sphere’s radiance. Onward the Illitar moved through the foreign, vastly untamed forest. Diraimeir began to tediously pick his way through the narrow overgrown path in front of him.
This out of the ordinary place was, in fact, home to the Goddess’s realm. A haven of her blessed woodland creatures. Beautiful life songs were a delicate symphony abuzz around him. The performers of which carried on without so much as a care toward Diraimeir’s passing. Gya’a be praised!
His perception had already been feigning or maybe even felt a little disjointed, but this? This place was just so wondrously calm and peaceful. Like it was a dream from which he had no desire to wake. Aimlessly, the small nymph wandered, letting his feet lead him idly on wherever they willed him to go. So stuck in this feeling was Diraimeir that when all the sounds of the forest fell away, he hardly realized it was gone. By that time, no life seemed to be present. Rather, the hollow façade of happiness remained imprinted upon him like an echo. If he had been more aware of himself, he’d have said that perhaps time itself stood as still as death. Yet Diraimeir was not afforded any such luxury. He still felt compelled to walk towards a small clearing just ahead. There, in its center, sat a small circular reflection pool waiting for the likes of him to disturb its surface.
Small but deep, the pool could have passed for a spring. Upon peering into it, something about the water within was off. It puzzled the nymph. The water was as still as glass, nearly silver in color but faded in to deep inky black in its middle. It teased the heavens; the sun could never hope to reach all the way to the bottom of it. This was not a refection pool at all. It was an open faced ethereal well. Only the stars, holding a most spectral glow, sparkled within its depths as tiny fireflies.
As Diraimeir stared down at his reflection, it began to twist and distort within the water like ripple before it settled once more. Now, his appearance resembled a familiar face, but it was certainly not his own! Where his soft, pale, purplish-gray skin and a shock of choppy white hair should have been instead stood a replacement. The person staring back at him had smooth copper-like skin coupled with a mop of unkempt chestnut brown hair, hanging just above the shoulders. Green eyes stared up at his normally icy blue hues. Those reflections were held in a much more feminine form then his own. Now, Diraimeir was not muscular or overly manly by any means. He was quite short, even for an Illitar. He was not thin, nor was he fat. His body, while pleasant, was nothing spectacular. Even with a rather fair face, he was clearly a man.
This other creature copied his every movement. Unnerved, he stared down at his hands. He was not in his own body! It was nothing but a vessel and he had no control of his own. Diraimeir wished to retreat, but he could not will this body off the course that it was so intent on taking. With ever growing clarity, he realized that he was simply on the inside, watching something important happen. The vehicle holding his soul stepped over the ledge of the pool and thus began to sink. Diraimeir felt panic swell in his chest like a brick as he faded into a tangibly inky black.
This darkness was not what black really should have been. It swirled with patches of ever-fading colors. The pitch didn’t last long. Soon, soft aqua light emanated from somewhere underneath him. Diraimeir’s calm immediately returned in a wave of numbness. It had not occurred to the nymph to fight for breath though he surly felt the cold slickness of passing through well water. There was no need for it. The water thinned into air as he sunk deeper.
When Diraimeir’s feet found solid ground, it was as though he had never been submerged in the first place. Here he was, standing in the center of a wide cavernous series of paths. They lead off in every direction imaginable, ending at the mouths of other entrances and sunken ruins. High above him hung an upside-down lake with waves crashing over the stalactite covered ceiling. He craned his neck back in awe as a rain of salted sea spray fell about him in a fine, refreshing mist. All around the cavern was silent, save for the sound of breakwater.
No sooner than he briefly surveyed the ceiling had he chosen a path and he was off again. Diraimeir climbed upwards until that road became much more even. He took note of green and blue lights flickering in the windows of many of the ruins as he past them by. He was even able to pick out movement. That wasn’t right either! Diraimeir felt that this deep dark place, with its musk and dank, was so hard to get to that it simply should not be capable of sustaining life. Then again, his world had always been so small. He knew nothing about things that lay far beyond the Cidridian boarder. Hell, he hardly knew anything about anything outside of Illustrae at all!
This sunken metropolis was full of decay… And the smell of death. So, what purpose did the lights serve? Diraimeir drew closer to the center of the seemingly abandoned city. He saw shadowed forms moving, mimicking the normal signs of life soundlessly. Again, the nymph noted that his presence was not recognized. Almost like he, himself, was nothing more than a shadow.
The trail weaved between old buildings and shops tirelessly, eventually coming to an end on the highest flat in entire complex of caverns before splitting off in several more directions. The spot in which he stood actually made a fairly decent vantage point where he could see the full layout of the city. A bigger picture was immediately stamped into Diraimeir’s mind. Of this goddess forsaken place in the splendor of its hay-day. From here, he could see the roads snake downward, countlessly branching off like tree’s limbs as they lead on to important places and beyond. In front of him rose a great citadel, several lesser temples, and at least one large courtyard that housed a localized bath. It was enough to take his breath away. He could see it now as a living hub with many weak, colorful lanterns lighting up the main thoroughfares. Looking above the landscape, Diraimeir saw large holes in the cavern ceiling where entrances through were visible via blue shafts of light and he felt a sense of familiarity.
When Diraimeir set off again, his feet instinctively turned down one of the smaller, unremarkable paths to his left. It widened shortly after it began, and his body stayed rather reassuringly on what he could consider to be a high road with many mansions lining its course. Then it veered off and to the west of a dome, carved into the very rock of the cavern wall for a mile and a half before the walkway spiraled down to a series of once-ornate bridges leading into the Citadel’s massive complex. Running water could be heard, hidden away far below them. Diraimeir thought maybe this might also be an echo of what once existed considering how high up he was. The rock below the road could have very well been carved out by a great flow once upon a time but the air here seems more stagnant then the rest of the cave he had navigated. It gave Diraimeir the sense that only pools of standing water waited out of sight existed now a days. Initially he recalled a similar place, but the thought fled with a waft of equally invasive bog stench that nearly caused his stomach to overturn. The Citadel grounds were offensive to all of his senses, with not even a glimmer of a shadow left to lead the way. Diraimeir’s feet agreed not to take him close enough to the edges of any of the bridges to get a decent look below, though he already had an inkling of the rot that existed down there.
Upon the bridge, the sight of massive towers of ochre biotite, encrusted with stilpnomelane (a beautiful, lavender colored crystalline stone), rose towards the ceiling. The connection of the spire to the cave’s ceiling held it up right where other structures no longer could stand. Only one entrance into the building was visible and it was lit eerily by a series of illuminated purple tanzanite lamps which were hanging down along either side of a petite staircase connecting the walk to a shallow veranda.
Diraimeir’s body sighed in soft relief. He felt each step farther in make his body grow lighter. Even the massive stone doors of the sanctuary, upon his push to open, were surely lighter than they had any right to have been. He was able to do so nonetheless with an increasing sense of purpose. Excitement started to fill him, adrenaline rising to nauseating levels. His other self… This person he was in… He was here to serve some wondrous purpose that he could begin to fathom. Worry seeped through the excitement though as he entered. Diraimeir didn’t understand.
Passing faded tapestry, which were just barely clinging to the walls, Diraimeir moved down a wide, dark hall. Each step was marked by an ethereal echo, almost like an alarm. Each breath seemed like a sigh that floated on forward, managing to sing out in the great room at the corridor’s end. Past this and beyond were rows upon rows of small platforms. One could only assume that the space had been a gallery of some sort though it was now void of pottery or statues. His body swiveled sharply to the left, stopping in front of a peculiar looking portrait. At first glance it had appeared to be of a dark haired, fae-faced beauty. But as Diraimeir neared it, the image distorted into a tangle of flora-less trees with gnarled branches twisting out to snag any road weary traveler away from a lonely road. Though it disturbed him deeply, the Illitar brushed a damp door cloth aside and stepped up into the wall. A passage containing steep spiral stairs jutted up unevenly behind the old cloth. If he had control of his movements, he would wonder if he was even able to keep his balance during the rickety ascent.
The climb ended upon a meager landing just wide enough to stand on. Standing before him now was a tarnished silver door of wrought plants in the form of ivy and flowers, the likes of which Diraimeir had never seen before. It was both exquisite and magnificent, surely hiding a treasure behind it! This door too was opened easily albeit with a gut-wrenching screech.
Inside was a bed chamber belonging to someone who clearly held vast wealth. Even in the dank, it was grand. Things in this room had been the best preserved of the entire structure. At least from what he had seen thus far. Large granite pavers with pure white quartz inlay some of the same floral designs that were depicted on the door. Four large pieces of furniture decorated the space. A vanity and cushion lay closest to where he stood, followed by a large wardrobe and a soft looking bench on either side of the room’s only window. Perhaps the most interesting of the pieces though was the large canopied bed directly across from the doorway. Why was the bed the most interesting? Someone or something was clearly laying in it. All of a sudden it hit him. He could smell blood!
