As far as dreams go, one might say that the lucid Dreaming of the City is a bit of a letdown.  In our own dreams, which reside solely in our minds, we are supreme; we control all. Others react as we want them to, and not of their own volition. Those we love take us in their arms, and kiss us with a passion we will never know in the waking world.  Our nightmares are simply figments of our imagination, and vanish with the rising of the sun, never to return.

 

In a shared, lucid dream however, such is not to be.  The people of our desire push us aside in their own quests for power and glory.  The Nightmares of the City exist, and are still torturing souls, even while we ourselves are not dreaming.  The Dream does not let us meet new people and make friends; the Dream subjects us to meeting others who will use us in any way they see beneficial.

 

At least, so thought one dreamer.  Alone in a shadowed cove on Mt. Illapse, Mefis stood brooding, staring out the cove to the sunlit world beyond.  His face was a pale white, contrasting sharply with the rest of his dark black attire.  His eyes were pure pools of abyss with not even a sparkle or glint to distinguish his pupils.  A vertical line of black was traced across each eyelid, down to his cheek.  His short, black hair was spiked, and slicked back, highlighted with traces of silver.  The only marks of color on his person were two small, dark blue floating wisps of light, hovering mere inches off his shoulders.  Between the two points of light, his cape was suspended, floating just off his body.  The cape billowed out behind him, trailing down to his boots where it slowly faded away into smoky mist.  His jacket and pants were plain black leather, adorned with several small silver buckles.  His lips were turned up in a sneer as he stared ahead.

 

“We shall see, my beloved,” He finally said, running his tongue over his lips.  “’I’m sorry, Mefis,’ you said; you weren’t sorry.  ‘I must do this for others,’ you said; you aren’t doing it for others, you are doing it for yourself.  You had to play Ruler.  You had to try to make something of yourself.  Well.  Every house must go through its trials, and your Gathering will be no different.”

 

“Perhaps,” Mefis continued, with a sneer, “perhaps once I’ve shown you that one doesn’t need to be a Ruler to have power, perhaps then you will see the light, and come back to me."

 

Mefis walked out into the sunlight, and looked down the sheer drop on the side of the mountain.  From within the folds of his robe, he withdrew a faded black rose.  Pressing it to his lips, he kissed it gently, and then tossed it over the cliff, watching as it fell to the distance.

 

“Well, my love.  Here’s hoping.”

The room was aflutter with ribbons and banners as the crowd bustled around her.  Felia blushed self-consciously as Baila ran the fifth sash around her white lace dress.  Felia stood atop a small wooden stool, the dress hanging down behind her onto the floor.  A jeweled pendant in the shape of a cat’s head hung down between her breasts, the eyes sparkling brightly.  Her long black hair was tied up in a bun, decorated with small silver stars.

 

In contrast to the youthful beauty, old Baila cackled merrily as she hobbled in a circle around the chair, draping decorative sashes over the dress.  Sharp green eyes peered out from her wrinkled face, her grin so wide that her few missing teeth were quite apparent.  In her gnarled hand, she held a small, twisted oaken staff that clacked noisily against the floor as she hobbled around.  She was dressed in a simple shirt and skirt, made of a shimmery fabric that almost seemed to ripple in the wind.

 

“Mother!” Felia exclaimed, still blushing. “You’re making enough of a fuss that one would think I was getting married!  It’s just an Ascension to Rulership, not a wedding ceremony!”

 

Baila stopped, and clucked her tongue.

 

"But a wedding ceremony is what it is, Dearie.” Baila replied, her eyes sparkling.  “What is a wedding ceremony but promising to love and care for someone else for ever and ever, and swearing to put them before everyone else?  What’s an ascension, but doing the same thing for a house?”

 

“Mother, it’s not quite the same thing,” Felia said, rolling her eyes.

 

Baila cackled, and the clacking resumed as she began traipsing around Felia again.

 

“Perhaps not in your eyes, Dearie,” She muttered with a grin, “Perhaps not in your eyes.”

 

Felia sighed, and gave up, not wanting to argue with her mother.  In all truth, Baila was not Felia’s blood mother – such a thing was unheard of in the Dreaming.  Legend told that at one time, perhaps, Dreaming was so common that several members of a family would reach the Dreaming, but not so nowadays.

 

Felia had never known her parents.  She’d been raised by a foster family, and everyone had refused to speak about her parents at all, telling her only that something evil had befallen them.  She’d never considered her parents in the waking world to be her ‘mother and father’.  They were simply her guardians.

 

However, when Baila had taken her under her wing in the Dream, and shown her how to behave, how to learn, and how to grow, Felia had quickly grown to consider Baila her true ‘mother’. 

 

Finally, Baila stepped back, and placed her hand under her chin, looking appraisingly at Felia.  Felia watched apprehensively as Baila closed first one eye then, opened it and closed the other.  Finally, Baila opened her eyes, and placed both hands on her hips.

 

“It’s ready.” She announced with finality.  “Now, get your heinie out there.  Your public awaits!” she finished with a grin.