“Save your love / And take mine from me”

Twelfth of Perforous, Receding Moon, Third Cycle, 612 

It feels foolish to even begin this endeavor. Even now, no small part of me chides; it tells me I am pursuing the foolish whims of a foolish girl child. The fact that I am to something so overly sentimental as record my dreams here only strengthens these convictions. The whole thing feels juvenile and naïve, but I need to organize my thoughts, what I know. Is what I see from time to time in the realm of sleep truly prophetic? Or do I simply need it to be? It feels real and I’ve been told time and time again that magic is more feeling than any stuffy old book will ever let on. So for now, I’ll press forward.

It is difficult to say when I first dreamt of her. She has been a part of me long enough that my earliest memories of her are hazy and indistinct; the very nature of dreaming only further obfuscates the issue. As far back as my early teens, there were dreams in which I had someone, someone important. I was young then, just discovering the notion of sex and sexuality. I had neither girls nor boys my own age to interact with and discover that side of myself. But I dreamt a lot about kissing—I’m fairly certain kissing other girls, maybe just one other girl. I think that’s how I first came to understand that part of myself. It’s hazy, though. The case may be that, in those days, the dreams were less coherent than they are now, but almost certainly my own memories of them have faded with time. 

During the years immediately following my abandonment, I think the dreams faded for a time. Either that or I have completely lost any memory of them ever occurring. It was a stressful time, lingering in Illis' tower, hoping she’d come back. But I know that, shortly after I set off on my own, dreams of her came back. Or, perhaps, started in earnest. The onset of my adulthood is the earliest point in my life I can say for certain that I dreamt of her. I still can’t say what the very first was like. But I soon came to understand that they were always about the same person. That these were more than simple fantasies constructed by my unconscious mind. They were always hazy and fragmented, but surprisingly coherent. Always about the same person, with a consistent internal logic and set of rules not unlike those which govern the waking world. 

For a time, I saw them simply as a blessing. Life was difficult; I didn’t have anyone, but when I went to sleep, I could be with her. Two weeks ago I dreamt of the two of us, together, lounging in my cabin. I was showing her this crystal: pretty, oddly shaped and a nice unique shade of red, but otherwise unremarkable. Yesterday, while selling herbs in the market, I saw that crystal for sale. It was identical. I checked with the seller; she confirmed it had never been on display in her stall before, so I couldn’t have simply dreamed about something which caught my eye in the waking world. Needless to say, I bought it. Writing this, I’m still a little shaken, confused. But if these dreams are somehow connected with reality, I’ll do anything to make them come to pass.

Before yesterday I felt adrift. Like I had no real goal or purpose in life, just living day to day. I practiced my magic, sold herbs at the market, ate the necessary amount of food to fuel my body and get through the day in the hopes that maybe when I slept I could dream of happier times. But I know what I need to do now. I don’t know how, but I’m going to find her. I won’t stop, won’t rest until I do.

- - -

Seventh of Lun, Rising Moon, Third Cycle, 612

Last night was different. In past entries, I’ve written at length about how she feels. I’ve described taking her to bed, making love to her, then wrapping her in my arms and drifting off peacefully with her resting against my chest. Lately, I’ve felt especially lonely. Had a setback in my work, she feels so far away. It’s been quite a while since my last dream, perhaps I’ve just been feeling especially needy. But this time, things were different than usual. She was different. The details are fuzzy; neither of us spoke or left the bed. We were more or less a tangled mass of limbs the whole time, but she made me feel small. That hasn’t happened before. It was nice though.

- - -

Twenty-first of Sal’lim, Still Moon, Third Cycle, 613

This is all wrong. It’s not her. What’s even the point?

- - -

Twenty-ninth of Sal’lim, Empty Moon, Third Cycle, 613

I dreamt of her several days ago. Didn’t have time to write about it. Been too busy. I probably wouldn’t be cataloguing last night’s, either, if it weren’t so odd. Look at me, describing it so clinically. I’ve never dreamt of Madelyn. Or, rather I had never dreamt of Madelyn. That changed last night. It was the same as any other dream of her, only, it wasn’t her. It was Madelyn. Part of me wants to be angry at her. In fact, for the first few hours of walking today I was. I probably still am. She didn’t notice, hasn’t noticed. I don’t think so, anyway. I’ve hidden it well, feel guilty for feeling the way I do. But this is just another thing that she’s taking over. I can’t lose the dreams. They’re all I have of her.

What’s worst of all, was how nice the dream was. It was basically the same as the others, only clearer, crisper, more real, and, of course, about the wrong girl. That didn’t stop it from being wonderful, though. It feels like I’m betraying her to admit that, but it was wonderful. Most of the dream I spent just watching her sleep. And I was so happy she was there with me, that I didn’t lose her through all this. She woke up, and I kissed her, then that was it. 

I spent the morning masking the churning emotional gale I was caught in, afraid to snap at her, because I always do and she doesn’t deserve that. It wasn’t her fault my idiot brain chose to replace the most important thing in the world to me. Then I had a thought. It struck me so hard I needed to ask her for a break then and there. I needed to write it down. So here goes, what if she is Madelyn? In many ways it would make sense, even if it feels unlikely. When I try to remember how she looks in the dream, I don’t ever picture someone who looks like Madelyn, all wiry muscle and towering bone structure. That isn’t to say Madelyn isn’t beautiful, that’s obviously the case, but she has always felt more, shall I say, traditionally feminine?

I find myself hoping it isn’t the case. Not because Madelyn isn’t good enough for me; if I’m being honest, it’s quite the opposite. I haven’t been good to Madelyn. I’m quick to anger, eager to push her away at each and every opportunity. Honestly, even now I can’t help but think it’s very likely that by the time all this is over I’ll have driven her off entirely. I only pray that, when the time comes and the spell is cast, I’ll have learned from my mistakes, and I’ll be better to her than I ever was to Madelyn.

SapphicSounds

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