From the Depths of Dreams

Seek the places where light meets dark, there you will find tales of inexplicably intertwined realms both near and far.

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Re: From the Depths of Dreams

Post by Claire Gallows »

December Sixteenth

Fifty-seven

"Time in dreams is frozen. You can never get away from where you've been.”
-Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin

From one end of the spectrum to the other, she had gone from feeling so secure right back to being completely unsure of herself and full of despair. The scenery was different this time, a desolate wasteland accented by only the faintest signs of life. She found herself wandering aimlessly, or so it felt, seeming to pass by the same landmarks over and over and over again. She had heard the call to arms but now she had no way to reach them, whoever it was that had spoken to her as she slept. So for now she had to trudge along, from time to time losing her footing on unsteady ground, only to find herself doing it again and again and again, always in the same place. If she didn't know better, she thought she should have worn a rut into the earth beneath her feet. The sun beat down upon her back and she was only given reprieve from the heat with the occasional breeze that wafted by. A breeze she swore carried hints and voices and whispers, not quite loud enough to understand but just enough to linger in the back of her mind.

From one side to the other, ticking back and forth like a metronome. Would she ever feel sure of her task? Or was she bound to insecurity and an inability to save anyone, anything, or even herself?
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Re: From the Depths of Dreams

Post by Claire Gallows »

December Seventeenth

Fifty-six

“The answer is dreams. Dreaming on and on. Entering the world of dreams and never coming out. Living in dreams for the rest of time.”
-Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart

Pulse's time was coming to an end. The end of days was upon them and nobody could stop it. Despair infiltrated its way into the remaining inhabitants and as the years drew to a close, they slowly resigned themselves to their fate. With the Goddess Etro dead, who would guide them to the after life once they passed on? Who would care for their souls? They knew the time of the Savior was upon them, they knew it was only a matter of when. When would the foretold show their face? Despair turned to fear and when they let fear set in, Claire knew it wouldn't be long before they sought to act. She had already watched the cults systematically sacrifice and murder anyone who could possibly be her, how long before she was sent and they came for her?

She couldn't dwell on it, lest the dreams become nightmares. Instead, she set her sights on the end. The beautiful destruction of home and perhaps the peace that might come with it. It would be heartbreaking to see it go, but if the voices proved to be speaking the truth, she had no choice in the matter. At the very least she needed to do what she could, save those she may, shepherd as many of the lost as possible. Maybe one day, some day they could reborn into a world more worthy of their souls.
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Re: From the Depths of Dreams

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December Eighteenth

Fifty-five

“You have wakened not out of sleep, but into a prior dream, and that dream lies within another, and so on, to infinity, which is the number of grains of sand. The path that you are to take is endless, and you will die before you have truly awakened.”
― Jorge Luis Borges

When she awoke, she did so in an unfamiliar Inn in an even more unfamiliar city. The rumpled comforter over her frame implied a night of uneasy sleep and as she slowly dragged herself from the bed, she groaned softly. Her hands ran over clothing she'd not remembered seeing before and her brows knitted in consternation. It was like she had woken up in a different life. Rubbing her eyes, she eventually made her way out of the Inn to find herself utterly lost, or so she thought. Yet her feet carried her with sure steps, toward destinations yet unknown to her currently. But again, she found herself going in circles, perhaps that contributed to the surety of her steps. And soon she realized she was in but a dream, another dream in which she was forced to wander aimlessly, feeling as though she knew what needed to be done but not how to do it.

It was terribly frustrating and she found herself wishing she could wake up to whatever other life she lead. Whether it was real or whether it was just a dream as well, at least it wouldn't make her want to rip her hair out with each pass of familiar buildings and intersections, the same faces in the same places. What to do, what to do but aimlessly meander. Surely, she'd find her way before long.
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Re: From the Depths of Dreams

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December Nineteenth

Fifty-four

“I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul.”
-Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

“People always say the future will be better. They believe the hardships of the present fade with the passage of time. And so we hope, waiting for a future brighter than today. But Serah, remember this.. As you walk towards a brighter tomorrow, you have to look back to your past. The path you have walked to the here and now will give you the courage you need.” It was Claire's voice in her head this time, sounding over and over, the words overlapping and running over each other until they became an indistinguishable din of chatter.

“The power to influence the future...The power to alter destiny... Such an ability may, if one was not careful, change a person's fate for the worse. Such power was never meant for mortal man. There are none who possess the wisdom to wield it. Serah, you must seek out your own answers as you waver at the edge of despair.” No matter how hard she tried, Claire couldn't push the voice from her mind. With each passing word that reverberated within her mind, Serah's face accompanied it. Filled with sorrow and anguish, her sister's face was twisted with pain, the unbearable weight of so much hanging heavily on her conscience. How could Claire do that to her sister, how could she let her suffer so?

Eventually the voice, her own voice, faded. In its wake it left only Serah's face in the forefront of Claire's mind. No matter how much she tossed and turned and thrashed in her sleep, she couldn't vanquish the image. Time to tally another night lost to uncertainty and fear, unsettling and unrelenting.
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Re: From the Depths of Dreams

Post by Claire Gallows »

December 20th

Fifty-three

“While he lives, he must think; while he thinks, he must dream.”
-Isaac Asimov

She felt like she was suffocating again, unable to breathe whether she was asleep or awake. This time, she was dreaming and as she dreamt all she could think of was the air leaving her lungs like it was being squeezed out of her with a vice. Little did she know that in the waking world she thrashed violently in her sleep, much to the dismay of the man in bed beside her. He couldn't wake her, she couldn't wake herself, and as far as she was concerned he didn't exist to her. His strong arms wrapped around her to try to calm her, to halt the flailing of limbs or stop the choked sobbing sounds that issued from her lips, all of it to no avail as her dream life felt as though it may end. She could see herself in this dream, watching as though as simple bystander while the crowd stood around her. If she had felt like the breath was being stolen right from her lungs, she was right to do so once she beheld the sight before her. Hooded figures circled her like sharks, the hulking one in the middle clasping meaty hands tightly around her throat. Her lips were tinged blue and blood vessels had burst to stain the whites of her eyes crimson. Much like her waking life, she was thrashing and fighting like her life depended on it, her fingers curved like talons to claw at the grip he held on her. The more she kicked, the tighter he held and before long, the motions slowed, weakening with each passing moment that her nervous system was deprived precious oxygen. It wasn't until all signs of life left her that she finally stilled, cold in the grip of both her dream assailant as well as her fiance.

She had to admit...it was nice not having to think or dream or live, a trifecta of things she rather hated at the moment. It was a shame it would only last for the short term, at least in the waking world, a slow and even breath was taken in to re-inflate lungs that she had thought would remain empty after that dream death. The crowd in her mind slowly dispersed, leaving her body behind like discarded trash that had missed the garbage can. Meanwhile in the land of the living, she was slowly roused, aquamarines fluttering open beneath the weight of heavy lids. She didn't understand why her chest hurt so bad or why Noct was hugging her tightly like he feared she may disappear. But she was alive, and that was something.
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Re: From the Depths of Dreams

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December Twenty-first

Fifty-two

“At the bottom of her heart, however, she was waiting for something to happen. Like shipwrecked sailors, she turned despairing eyes upon the solitude of her life, seeking afar off some white sail in the mists of the horizon. She did not know what this chance would be, what wind would bring it her, towards what shore it would drive her, if it would be a shallop or a three-decker, laden with anguish or full of bliss to the portholes. But each morning, as she awoke, she hoped it would come that day; she listened to every sound, sprang up with a start, wondered that it did not come; then at sunset, always more saddened, she longed for the morrow.”
-Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary

The squawk of gulls and the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore. It was a beautiful sound to wake up. It meant she was home. Home as in proper home, none of these crazy locales she had found herself waking up in. It was Bodhum, it had to be. The early morning sun pried its way through mostly drawn blinds, infiltrating the dark of her room just enough to rouse her. A sleepy smile crossed her lips, content for once to remove herself from the comfort of the bed. The smile faltered though, when she slipped outside. Finding the sleepy village to be a veritable ghost town. No, no, no, this wasn't right. She pinched herself repeatedly, trying to wake herself from what had been such a pleasant dream at first. She wandered the desolate streets, searching for any sign of life but finding no such thing. All day she searched, high and low and in every nook and cranny, but it was as if the population of Bodhum had been whisked away in the dead of night.

With a heavy heart she found her way back toward 'home', but this wasn't home. Not in the least. Not like she thought anyways. This crazy, twisted, convoluted, and utterly abandoned nightmare realm. Nope. Her eyes full shut once more as the sun set on the horizon.
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Re: From the Depths of Dreams

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December Twenty-second

Fifty-one

“Dreams, if they're any good, are always a little bit crazy. ”
― Ray Charles

It was amazing what a simple thing like a sleeping potion could do to aid her rest. And for once her dreams were neither confusing nor overwhelmingly disturbing. This was something she was quite alright with, content to get something resembling a good night's rest. There were no twisted locales, no brutal deaths, no lost sisters, and no hopelessness. It was a welcome reprieve after the last three weeks' worth of unrest.

Tonight she was back in Lucis and it was though she had never left. Never come to the backwater world of Rhy'Din. Though this conversely also meant she didn't have her sister back either. Going through the mundane daily motions of her life in Lucis, it was nice. Familiar. Comfortable. But on the other side, she found her dream self's thoughts frequently turning toward Serah and her inability to communicate with her sister. It was like she couldn't win no matter where she went. Even in her dreams she couldn't win and it was utterly maddening.
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Re: From the Depths of Dreams

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December Twenty-third

Fifty

“In my dreams, I never have an age.”
-Madeleine L'Engle

Seconds became minutes. Minutes became hours. Hours became days and days became weeks. Weeks turned to months and soon months to years. Years became decades and soon even centuries. It was a blur of time that simultaneously flew and crawled, both fluid and solid, ever changing but ever constant. She lost track quickly of how much time had passed. It was easy to do after all, since she hadn't changed any, herself. Much the same as the day she had taken the crystalline form upon Etro's throne, as her time there came to a close, she found herself wondering just how long she had been there. The world had changed drastically, time had moved on, seasons had changed. It was all rather confusing really.

Perhaps she needed more time to puzzle it out. Ironic, wasn't it? Funny thing, time.
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Re: From the Depths of Dreams

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December Twenty-fourth

Forty-nine

“Dreams are illustrations...from the book your soul is writing about you.”
-Marsha Norman

One day, the light touched her. She knew what it was. It was God himself, speaking to her. He told her what she had to do. She was chosen, to rescue lost souls and guide them pass the end of this world and into the next. She became the Savior. The only one with any hope of prolonging humanity's stay upon Nova Chrysalia. The Savior's time was upon them, now it was only a matter of seeing when she would arrive.

“The gates are opened and Chaos has flooded through, consuming the world and everything in it Not even God can stop it. That's where you come in, Light. You're the last piece of the puzzle. You have to rescue as many as you can from this world and lead them to the new one.” Hope, young Hope, so much younger than last she knew him. She didn't understand it. But he knew what she needed to do and she trusted him with everything she had. She could do this. That's all she had to keep telling herself. She could do this. She could save them. In whatever strange, convoluted way God wanted her to. She would do it.
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Re: From the Depths of Dreams

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December Twenty-fifth

Forty-eight

“Our life is composed greatly from dreams, from the unconscious, and they must be brought into connection with action. They must be woven together.”
-Anaïs Nin

The blur between sleep and awake was just getting downright ridiculous. She knew there were ludicrous things in Rhy'Din but when she started seeing things from Pulse, she knew she had to be dreaming. The mechanical fal'Cie gods were things she saw in passing, prompting many a double take to stop and stare. Rubbing at her eyes, she tilted her head to watch one pass, leaving no footprints upon freshly fallen snow, no distinctive crunch of metal meeting cobblestone under foot. She was convinced she was going insane, that her subconscious had finally come to the surface and she was utterly crazy. Though that was probably the case regardless, it wasn't something she was prepared to face. Everywhere she turned, she found hints of her so called dream life, subtle and straight forward both, it made her more and more inclined to just stay inside, lest she run the risk of seeing something someone else didn't. The last thing she needed was for someone to call her out on her questionable sanity.

Gods only knew she was questioning it plenty herself. But it would all be over soon, she was convinced. It had to be, she couldn't keep going on like this.
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Re: From the Depths of Dreams

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December Twenty-sixth

Forty-seven

“I want to keep my dreams, even bad ones, because without them, I might have nothing all night long.”
-Joseph Heller

A cold sweat greeted Claire as she awoke, eyes snapping open in the pitch black of her bedroom. She was clinging tightly to the pillow reserved for the usual inhabitant of the other side of the bed, this night empty. The comforter on his side was pristine, standing in stark contrast to the rumpled tangle of sheets and blanket that had entwined her legs and torso. Slowly she unwound herself, the exercise in patience serving well to aid her in calming down. Chilled fingertips slid between herself and the blanket, lifting it off of her until she could straighten it out. Once it somewhat matched the militarily precise tuck of the half of the bed, she laid back, head sinking into the downy softness of her pillow. Closing her eyes even though she knew it would bring the nightmare to the forefront of her mind once more.

The power of the Chaos, strong enough to swallow even a god. She couldn't expect Serah to find her. But how could her thoughts and feelings reach her sister? She had always believed that they were reaching her, even after death, but to be honest, she didn't really know. That left the question; if she threw herself into the sea of Chaos and called for Serah until her voice disappeared, would her words still reach her sister's wandering soul?
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Re: From the Depths of Dreams

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December Twenty-seventh

Forty-six

“Dreams come from the past, not from the future. Dreams shouldn't control you--you should control them. ”
-Haruki Murakami, Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman: 24 Stories

This feeling of powerlessness was utterly ridiculous and she decided she no longer wanted to deal with it. Each and every night she was dropped into another nightmare, another labyrinth of confusion and helplessness. Tonight, the city of excess greeted her with open arms. She knew not its name, though it seemed to be at the tip of her tongue. But here she was. And this time? This time it wasn't her life on the line but that of her sister's estranged love. She and Snow had never gotten along particularly well, but as she watched him gasping out his last breaths, she felt compelled to help him. Held back by the crowd, a mixture of faces both familiar and unknown, she found herself quickly losing hope of halting his impending death.

Until.

Until she decided that enough was enough and that she was having no more of this lack of control. This was her life, dream or otherwise, and she would be damned if she would see someone, even someone like Snow, go down this way. No matter the hands that held her back, she pressed forward until she broke free from those that tried to restrain her. And with a swift and righteous fury, she struck down those trying to kill the man, coming to his aid just in the nick of time. Had she reached a turning point in this odyssey of nightmares?
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Re: From the Depths of Dreams

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December Twenty-eighth

Forty-five

“What if you slept? And what if, in your sleep, you went to heaven and there plucked a strange and beautiful flower? And what if,when you awoke,you had the flower in your hand? Ah, what then?”
-Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Complete Poems

The armored boots that adorned her feet carried her noiselessly across the beach, the sea of Chaos lapping at her steps, reaching for her as if to drag her away to its roiling depths. She didn't give it that satisfaction, though she was curious as to where along her timeline she had ended up. She felt as though she had been here. Well, of course she had, this was Valhalla. She had patrolled this path many a time, walking along desolate shores and the abandoned grandeur of the city of the Goddess Etro. Not much grew here, in fact, nothing did. So when she came across the hyacinth sprouting from the granules of sand, to say that she was caught off guard was definitely an understatement. She knelt beside it, gloved fingers gently brushing against the pink and white petals. It was a touch of beauty amongst the bleak despair of Valhalla and she found herself wrapping her fingertips around the stem. Pulling gently at first and finding the plant was resolute in its footing. Pulling harder, she did so until the roots gave in and released their hold on the powdery sand below.

It was a touch of sunshine in perpetual twilight. A bit of hope, the silver lining in her journey. Perhaps she could take it with her and give it life somewhere new. Somewhere it could thrive, somewhere that wasn't here. Yes, that would do nicely she hoped.
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Re: From the Depths of Dreams

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December Twenty-ninth

Forty-four

“But they say if you dream a thing more than once, it's sure to come true.”
― Walt Disney Company, 12 Princess Stories

She felt like she was suffocating again, unable to breathe whether she was asleep or awake. This time, she was dreaming and as she dreamt all she could think of was the air leaving her lungs like it was being squeezed out of her with a vice. Little did she know that in the waking world she thrashed violently in her sleep, much to the dismay of the man in bed beside her. He couldn't wake her, she couldn't wake herself, and as far as she was concerned he didn't exist to her. His strong arms wrapped around her to try to calm her, to halt the flailing of limbs or stop the choked sobbing sounds that issued from her lips, all of it to no avail as her dream life felt as though it may end. She could see herself in this dream, watching as though as simple bystander while the crowd stood around her. If she had felt like the breath was being stolen right from her lungs, she was right to do so once she beheld the sight before her. Hooded figures circled her like sharks, the hulking one in the middle clasping meaty hands tightly around her throat. Her lips were tinged blue and blood vessels had burst to stain the whites of her eyes crimson. Much like her waking life, she was thrashing and fighting like her life depended on it, her fingers curved like talons to claw at the grip he held on her. The more she kicked, the tighter he held and before long, the motions slowed, weakening with each passing moment that her nervous system was deprived precious oxygen. It wasn't until all signs of life left her that she finally stilled, cold in the grip of both her dream assailant as well as her fiance.

She had to admit...it was nice not having to think or dream or live, a trifecta of things she rather hated at the moment. It was a shame it would only last for the short term, at least in the waking world, a slow and even breath was taken in to re-inflate lungs that she had thought would remain empty after that dream death. The crowd in her mind slowly dispersed, leaving her body behind like discarded trash that had missed the garbage can. Meanwhile in the land of the living, she was slowly roused, aquamarines fluttering open beneath the weight of heavy lids. She didn't understand why her chest hurt so bad or why Noct was hugging her tightly like he feared she may disappear. But she was alive, and that was something.

Wait a minute, hasn't she been here before?
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Re: From the Depths of Dreams

Post by Claire Gallows »

December Thirtieth

Forty-three

“So many of our dreams at first seem impossible, then they seem improbable, and then, when we summon the will, they soon become inevitable.”
― Christopher Reeve

The longer she slept, the longer she could dream. And the longer she could dream, the more she could accomplish in the strange lands of her mind. Little mattered to her as she pushed toward her goal. She had to save Serah's soul, that was end game right there. She didn't think beyond that, what she would do once that was accomplished. The harder she pressed on in her dreams, the more she seemed to expend herself in her waking life. Run down, it was like she never slept beyond a few winks here and there. Any proper time spent sleeping was truly spent exerting herself harder than she ever had in her life, slaying all that stood in her way. The collection of souls grew with each death and her debt to the gods paid a little bit at a time. It didn't matter that Bhunivelze had seemed to give her an impossible task, so little time and so much to do, she was going to get it done. She was going to get his influence out of her life. And ultimately, she was going to save Serah's soul. Fighting off monsters and foes and the other creations of Chaos gave her a focus and that focus saved her from the despair she felt each and every time she thought about her sister's soul drifting aimlessly in the never ending aether.

If there was a will, there would be a way, and this time...she was ready to pour every last ounce of willpower she had into this task, even if it would be her last.
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