From the Depths of Dreams

[Claire Gallows]

December Thirty-first

Forty-two

“Ships at a distance have every man's wish on board. For some they come in with the tide. For others they sail forever on the same horizon, never out of sight, never landing until the Watcher turns his eyes away in resignation, his dreams mocked to death by Time. That is the life of men. Now, women forget all those things they don't want to remember, and remember everything they don't want to forget. The dream is the truth. Then they act and do things accordingly.”
― Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God

The young girl reminded her an awful lot of Serah. But more youthful and far more deceivingly jaded. She trailed behind Claire, mocking and tormenting her at every turn. Reminding her of her failures past, present, and future. Lumina had been called a demon child by some future version of Snow, the one Claire had saved from certain death a few nights prior in some other dream that addressed another portion of her time line that she had yet to experience, but all the same. The little demon did her best to rattle Claire's nerves at every opportunity. She did a damn fine job of it too, shaking Claire's confidence no matter where she went.

Lumina danced in and out of clouds of Chaos like it was nothing, using the element to come and go as she pleased. All the better to show up at the most inopportune times to taunt Claire whenever she needed such a thing the least. Making her feel like she was forgetting some large part of herself while never outwardly saying what it was. Just that she was failing in the process. If only she could remember, perhaps she could succeed.

[Claire Gallows]

January First

Forty-one

“In dreams begin responsibilities.”
-W.B. Yeats, Responsibilities

She woke up. In her bed. In Rhy'Din. Caelum Manor was eerily silent in the early morning. Usually by this point the first hints of activity would be present; the morning guard shift change out front, Cordellia in the kitchen making far too much food for the lady of the house who would inevitably decline, the beginning of training exercises in the center, the hustle and bustle of the compound outside of Rhy'Din. But she heard nothing. In fact, it was so quiet that she thought she could hear her heartbeat echoing around her. Rising, she padded barefoot down the upstairs hallway. Winding and weaving her way to the stairs and still, she heard not a single thing. No whispers of the staff as they busied themselves with housework, no quiet white noise from the radio in Noct's office, nothing. She called out for someone, anyone really but found no response forthcoming. No shuffle of steps as they hurried to get back to work. No warm greeting or intoxicatingly delicious smell coming from the kitchen. Nothing.

She fumbled for her phone, dialing out to Noct. It rang. And rang and rang and rang. Eventually it kicked over to voicemail and she left a desperate plea for him to call her back as soon as possible. In the cold of winter, her bare feet carried her outside and down the winding driveway to the edge of the property, finding the guard post there abandoned as well. Where had everyone gone? She wasn't living her nightmares now was she? All of these people, gone. Was it her fault? Was she responsible?

[Claire Gallows]

January Second

Forty

“We wrapped our dreams in words and patterned the words so that they would live forever, unforgettable.”
― Neil Gaiman, Fragile Things: short fictions and wonders

Claire watched as Serah sat hunched over the desk in the little out of the way Inn, taking her time as she scrawled in vibrant ink across the page of an open notebook. Her younger sister managed to seem both older beyond her years as well as so young and frail, it was unsettling really. Claire couldn't read the words that filled the paper. All she knew was that Serah seemed sad to be writing them. The elder Farron wanted to reach out to her sister, take her into her arms and tell her that all would be well before long but when she tried to do so she found herself pulled further away from her little sister, forced to watch her wither away before her very eyes. The more the words filled the pages, the more Serah faded away and with it, Claire's hope for a brighter tomorrow faded too.

Serah had to be more than a memory, Claire was sure of it. Determined. She could see Serah in her dreams at least, a Serah that said she was very much so alive, if a bit broken and worse for the wear. Once more Claire found herself blending the line between asleep and awake if only to see her sister a little longer. Alive.

[Claire Gallows]

January Third

Thirty-nine

“Why is it, my shadow-striding friend, that we don't fear dreams? We lose consciousness, lose control, things happen with no apparent logic and abiding by no apparent rules.... We don't fear dreams, but we do fear madness, and death terrifies us.”
-Brent Weeks, Shadow's Edge

The voice of God came to her once more and this time he took a physical form, that of Zack, her best friend and confidant. The closest thing she had to consistency in this terribly inconsistent place known as Rhy'Din. They walked side by side along the shores of Valhalla. Far from the throne. Far from the view of the rest of the changing world. She knew that Bhunivelze shouldn't be here, but strictly speaking, nor should Zack. Thankfully it made it easy enough to distinguish that this was another dream, sure to be confusing no matter what truths lie within her subconscious. Their armor clad forms, hers in the black steel armor of the goddess Etro and his, that of the primal god, Bhunivelze. It seemed foreign on his frame but she did not question it. The pair moved soundlessly over the sand, leaving no footsteps in their wake.

“You're coming along nicely in your progression.” It was Zack's voice but it most definitely was not his words. He sounded younger, more innocent even. She walked beside him, nodding faintly to his observation, though she didn't know quite what he meant.

“I'm still unsure of what you seek from me, m'lord.” Her tone held a formality reserved for those of a higher station. Most definitely a way she'd never spoke to Zack with.

“A mutually benefiting partnership is all. You're well on your way, my child.” He looked at her from the corner of his eye. She had the feeling that if he looked upon her fully she wouldn't like it in the least, so for now she was content to feel his gaze glancing off of her instead.

“How can I benefit you? I'm just a...a human.” She said hesitantly though he words lacked conviction. She didn't really feel human anymore. Though if she wasn't, what was she?

“In time, Claire. All in due time.”

[Claire Gallows]

January Fourth

Thirty-eight

“I bring you with reverent hands
The books of my numberless dreams.”
― W.B. Yeats

She couldn't take it anymore. Almost forty days of this...during much of which she had shut Odin out to keep him from prying. To keep him from making her doubt herself further. But finally, she needed council. And there was no other she could trust more. Or maybe her fears lay in the inevitable judgment that any of her friends or family would pass upon her should she divulge how much she was truly struggling. Claire doesn't struggle, you see. It's not in her code. She had taken steps in the past to ensure that any struggle was strictly internalized and that is the way it would stay. No matter how dark the circles around her eyes got. No matter how much she withdrew from the public eye. But now it was time for her to share her struggle with the one who knew her every inner working. Maybe, just maybe, he could offer insight.

“Odin...I think something's wrong with me.” She intoned to herself, keeping this a conversation with herself and herself alone.

“Why do you say that? Despite a bit of fatigue, you seem better than you've ever been.” Odin remarked, prompting quite the confusion for the woman.

“W-what?” She asked out loud before reminding herself to keep this mental. “What do you mean? I'm a mess...I haven't slept in a month. I'm seeing things that aren't real. My dreams are becoming reality...and not in the metaphoric achievement sense....” She trailed off despairingly, biting at her lip.

“Hmm. You're all clear on my side of things.” He seemed unconcerned. That was unlike Odin. Odin, the Worrier. Odin the Watchful. If she couldn't trust in Odin to give it to her straight, who could she trust?

[Claire Gallows]

January Fifth

Thirty-seven

“All that I did," she said, "everything I tried to do. All for nothing." Nothing is done entirely for nothing, said the fox of dreams. Nothing is wasted. You are older, and you have made decisions, and you are not the fox you were yesterday. Take what you have learned, and move on.”
― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman: The Dream Hunters

The city was burning and thick smoke filled the air, suffocating those who weren't lucky enough to perish in the flames. Life as she knew it was ending before her very eyes and she looked on with despair, unable to stop it. She had saved as many as she could, life after life taken by the edge of her blade in hopes of bringing them through this end of days and into a new era. The iron clad Savior had been brought to her knees and left to the mercy of the gods. She hadn't succeeded in her task and now she had little hope that Serah's soul would know peace. Claire had been the last stand, the final attempt at bringing about a new age, pure and clean, without suffering and pain, and her sister was meant to see it too. But no. And now she knelt before the God of Light. The God she was sure would pass judgment upon her for her transgressions and failures. Her hopes and her dreams and the last slivers of her vision for a better tomorrow were all going up in literal smoke. But Bhunivelze seemed to be at peace with this.

“You did well. This will do. This will do rather well and from this shall rise a new world. Rise with me, Warrior Goddess.” He spoke to her, lifting her chin to get her to look up at him instead of the ground. She blinked back the burn of the tears that sat at her lash line, threatening to spill over. But, she had failed in her quest, how had she done well? What about Serah? What about her friends? She hadn't saved them. And then it hit her. They had never mattered in his master plan, simple pawns used to manipulate her to do his bidding. She turned her head to watch the flames rise to the skyline and slowly her gaze lifted skywards. What choice did she have in this matter? She had been used and now she was alone, her time of defying the gods had come to an end and she finally resigned herself to whatever fate he bestowed upon her.

[Claire Gallows]

January Sixth

Thirty-six

“In my dream I know I am falling. But there is no up or down, no walls or sides or ceilings, just the sensation of cold and darkness everywhere. I am so scared I could scream. But when I open my mouth, nothing happens. And I wonder if you fall forever and never touch down, is it really still falling? I think I will fall forever.”
-Lauren Oliver, Before I Fall

The Void was familiar. However, that didn't make it particularly comforting. She felt sluggish as she drifted through it, like moving through molasses in the middle of summer in Bodhum. Except there was no warmth here and the endless space seemed to stretch on forever, no end in sight. Her screams never came, or so she thought. In reality her high pitch yelps echoed throughout the house, rousing the staff and once more causing a sleepless night for her love. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't wake her, pulling her against him and trying to comfort her in such a way that she might settle down. It went on for hours. Every time he thought she was asleep again, the screaming would start. At least she didn't fight him like nights previous. Perhaps she didn't have the energy to do so. The fatigue had worn on her, showing in the deep circles around her eyes and the weight she had lost from her already slight frame. She had stopped training, too tired to drag herself through the brutal workouts she herself had designed. It was like she had resigned herself to wasting away before his very eyes, like she was content with letting herself disappear just like that.

He would fight for her. He always had and he always would. If only he knew what he was fighting against.

[Claire Gallows]

January Seventh

Thirty-five

“...Dreams come to tell us something about our lives that we are missing.”
-James Redfield, The Celestine Prophecy

This was nothing new. A memory, she was sure of it.

“See, a goddess needs to pray as well.” Noctis told her, stepping closer to her than before. They were the beach house and Claire had a feeling that she remembered this moment. A vacation of sorts not long after he'd come to Rhy'Din to find her.

“That's because there are different levels of gods and goddesses. Duhhhhhh. The lower ones look to the higher ones for strength.” She retorted.

“Saying that you are one of the lower ones?” He asked her. Why didn't she remember this conversation. One would think that with all she had experienced that she would remember a conversation like this.

“Indeed. Well, no...not really. You've of course got Bhunivelze and Mwynn...then the fal'Cie gods Pulse, Etro, and Lindzei on the second level. I don't count...though I came close.” She trailed off, poking her fingers together as she chewed on her lip. “Just as Etro took Mwynn's place, I was to take Etro's. But it seems you've saved me from that.”

“And just how did I save you?” His voice quieted as he looked down at her, keeping her safe in his embrace.

“Had it not been for me falling in love with you...and whatever happened to send me here...it was my path to follow in Etro's proverbial footsteps. A fate worse than death but a fate I was fully prepared to accept until I found you.” She remembered now. It had been a conversation she'd not wanted to have, explaining that to him. How could she have forgotten. Maybe he was the key in this after all. Maybe he would save her once more. The gods have been defied before, what was once more.

[Claire Gallows]

January Eighth

Thirty-four

“All human beings are also dream beings. Dreaming ties all mankind together.”
-Jack Kerouac

There was something unsettling about standing in the middle of the street with her hand through Noel's face. Yes, through. There she was on Alchemy Lane, heading for The Alchemist's Fire when she saw him. Noel shouldn't have been here, no, there was no feasible reason he could have come here. And boy did he not look happy to see her. Within moments he had rushed her and in her attempt to stave him off, she had sent a surprisingly well aimed fist for his face. Only problem...it went right through him. They both seemed surprised at this fact, Claire standing there with her arm extended, able to wiggle her fingers and see them behind his head, Noel looking utterly dumbfounded until he moved to one side. He swiped at her again and again and again, each pass sliding right through her. She compared it to walking through a spirit, each motion leaving goosegumps in its wake.

Finally, she laughed. And with that, continued on her business. If her dreams could bring him here, what else could they do? Who else could they conjure? Not that it mattered anyways, if they were but a dream, bound to looking and interacting but never touching. Maybe that's how she saw Serah here. Maybe she imagined each hug and every time they had touched. Maybe, maybe. That was a valid explanation, right? Sure it was.

[Claire Gallows]

January Ninth

Thirty-three

“I'm living a dream I never want to wake up from.”
-Cristiano Ronaldo

Spring time in Nova Chrysalia. Well, she assumed it was Nova Chrysalia. Mostly because it sort of resembled Pulse mixed with Valhalla and the whispers in previous dreams had spoke of this place. The expansive country side was open and clear and most of all it was free of the mechanical gods that dominated their lives previously. Blossoming trees billowed in wind warmed by the early coming of summer. She stood on the hilltop looking out over the land, the creation of the God of Light. This is what came after. Or so she thought. It was the first time in years she felt at peace. Her duties remained but she had come to terms with them. There was suffering and there was pain but in such a minimal way that was normal for humanity. It was living. Really truly living.

What more could be wanted? Her friends, her loved ones, maybe even her sister, could be happy here. That's all she had really wanted in the long run. And now she had it. It was hers at last.

[Claire Gallows]

January Tenth

Thirty-two

“I am living in a nightmare, from which from time to time I wake in sleep.”
-Ursula K. Le Guin

Boots met sand and toes flexed instinctively, missing the feeling of the white powder under bare feet. The usual sound of gulls was absent and the only noticeable sound came from waves lapping against the beach. A look over her shoulder to make sure she wasn't alone, before heading up the beach toward the village. There were two others with her though in her dream she couldn't pinpoint who they were. Nothing like dreaming something that had originally felt like a dream anyways and she had to remind herself to stay on alert. The rebuilt town was almost a replica of its name sake, and though she'd spent so little time there, she quickly oriented herself. Boots soon left sand in favor of pavement. The cement was cracked and the beginnings of weeds were poking through. It was quieter than what she would have thought and her eyes searched the sky to try to estimate the time. Some sort of a twilight...dawn or dusk, she wasn't sure. She shuddered, it was reminiscent of Valhalla in the Unseen Realm. This realization had her moving cautiously and she kept a hand near the gunblade, at the ready. She hadn't seen a soul, human or otherwise since they arrived. It wasn't quite right. But other than the quiet and emptiness, it didn't seem horribly amiss. The beach front cafe she was searching for was within view. And then came the arrows. Their aim was true and somehow, just somehow, they managed to penetrate any and all defenses, her companions brought to their knees by none other than the one who looked like her own sister. Claire watched as the Mage and the Spartan were taken down, unable to do anything to save them.

This wasn't right. This wasn't how it went in reality, it couldn't have been. Claire fell soon after and with it New Bodhum and any hope for returning to Rhy'Din with her sister.

[Claire Gallows]

January Eleventh

Thirty One

“Dreams, you know, are what you wake up from.”
-Raymond Carver, Cathedral

There seemed to be nowhere she could go to escape the never ending nightmares and bizarre dreams. They haunted her. Every waking moment. Every sleeping moment. It would be comical if it weren't so terrifying. At times, all she could do was laugh while wondering if she would ever truly wake up from this mess. It reflected in how she treated those around her, laughing off her friends' concerns, brushing off genuine issues in favor of whimsy and impulsiveness. It was a terrible mixture, really, counterproductive and isolating. Her real life had blurred completely, mixing with that of her dreams until there was no discernible difference between the two. The confusion that came with it now seemed to be permanently ingrained, finding herself questioning herself and those around her at every turn. The strange looks she received for the things she said had her withdrawing into herself, wishing to avoid them if possible even if it meant silence on her part. It was easier that way really.

She would wake up before long. There wasn't any other option, really. At least that much was clear. A breaking point would come eventually. If only she could pinpoint when exactly. Oh but that would be too easy, now wouldn't it?

[Claire Gallows]

January Thirteenth

Twenty-nine

“We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.”
-William Shakespeare, The Tempest

A month and a half with little sleep had certainly worn on her. At this point, she was accustomed to the semi-awake state she seemed to occupy at all hours, the blending of reality and her dreams. But the sleep. She was no longer perplexed by the appearances of people and places that she previously thought were nonexistent in this realm. The sleep was something she desperately needed, feeling as though she was wearing away at the edges. Her dreams became her thoughts, consuming every moment for her. They no longer needed sleep in order to come to her and therefore sleep fell to the wayside. She was past running on empty, exhausting even whatever fumes of energy she had left. And now she trudged through day to day life like she was moving through molasses. Every aspect of her life was affected.

Who knew sleep was such an important thing? The woman who was content running on caffeine and four hours of sleep a night was reduced to a bumbling mess that even an adrenaline shot to the heart probably couldn't have even helped. She was learning. Even if she might be beyond repair.

[Claire Gallows]

January Fourteenth

Twenty-eight

“The dreams we are chasing and the reality that is chasing us are always parallel; they never meet.”
-Ai Yazawa

It had been pointed out to her multiple times that she seemed rather confused on what was real and what wasn't. What was fact and what was fiction. The blank and befuddled looks she gave people should have explained a lot, that she truly believed what she was saying. It didn't come from the sleep deprivation but instead from the honest to god belief that what she was experiencing was truth. Now, before we get too far under that statement, let it be known that she had some inkling that there was something wrong. This came, of course, from the rare spots of clarity that she experienced, the crushing realization that she was not okay and the despair that came with not knowing how to fix it. Those certain spots where she was lucid enough to understand that she was cracking from some unseen force, some ungodly amount of pressure squeezing out every ounce of sanity she so desperately clung to. She had no way to firmly separate the real from the fantasy, no process to keep them distinguishable from one another. Her dreams and her waking life were circling each other, twirling a whirlwind of disaster around her and giving her nowhere to turn. They were meant to be separate. Dreams, both those of her sleep and those from her hopes; and her reality.

In those precious, precious moments of perspicuity, she found herself trying to careful extract one from the other. It was a daunting task. One she shouldn't take on alone. One she couldn't take on alone. But facing that face would be admitting the weakness that was plaguing her. It would force her to accept help. Not only accept it but solicit it. Reach out and let herself be vulnerable enough to admit she couldn't do this on her own.

[Claire Gallows]

January Fifteenth

Twenty-seven

“About dreams. It is usually taken for granted that you dream of something that has made a particularly strong impression on you during the day, but it seems to me it´s just the contrary. Often it´s something you paid no attention to at the time -- a vague thought that you didn´t bother to think out to the end, words spoken without feeling and which passed unnoticed -- these are the things that return at night, clothed in flesh and blood, and they become the subjects of dreams, as if to make up for having been ignored during waking hours.”
-Boris Pasternak, Doctor Zhivago

There was something to be said about deja vu. Nobody gave it nearly enough credit. Claire was among them too, unsurprisingly. But maybe she should have paid it more attention, thought about it a little more. Maybe it would have kept her from the trouble of trying to figure this one out. Strangely familiar but she just couldn't put her finger on it. People and places and feelings that she didn't typically associate with what she saw before her. She was normally so observant too. Maybe she was losing her touch, her edge. For someone who spent so long watching everything from Valhalla, decades and centuries it seemed, she now felt as though she couldn't process even the most mundane of day to day details. In turn, everything held this air of familiarity without overt answers.

Deja vu didn't get nearly enough credit.