I had this… dream last night… and I totally want to write a book about it.
It can be a future project, but I wanted to share parts of the dream with you.
I was running, holding onto a key. As my feet carried me over the bumpy forest trail, my mind reminded me of one thought over and over again.
I had to get there first.
I exited the forest, pushing myself into a sprint as the sun slipped over the horizon. Everything plunged into darkness as I leapt up the stone stairs. I pushed the wooden doors open, entering the stone fortress.
It had long been abandoned, but shivers crawled across my skin at the damp air and the dark corners.
I couldn’t help but shriek as the candles all ignited at the same time. It had happened when I was here before, but it still managed to frighten me.
I hurried to a doorway hidden behind the staircase, hurrying down the roughly cut stairs. As I came closer to the bottom, I could see gold glinting off of coins that had fallen on the stairs.
When I reached the bottom, I hurried forward, slipping as my feet hit the piles of gold and treasure.
My golden key felt heavy as my eyes caught on a cloaked figure.
He was standing in the middle of the room, by the pedestal, searching around him for something. He roared when he couldn’t find it, anger and frustration rolling off of him in waves.
And then he saw me.
“You. I hate you!” The cry carried throughout the chamber and my eyes flew to the small chest. It was nestled in a smaller one, laid on the pedestal.
And I had the key to lock it.
“Where is my key?” His eyes were flames, scorching me.
I had made a big mistake, bringing it here.
And then opening my mouth. “It’s still unlocked.”
I closed my eyes. What had I just done?
His mouth spread into a frightening grin, pointed teeth showing. “Well, well. Thank you, very-“
“You honestly didn’t even check to see if it was unlocked?” I asked, hurrying closer.
I was too far away. He was too angry.
He snatched the smaller chest, his long fingernails scraping across the wooden exterior of the box.
He glanced at me as he opened it, the familiar words flying out of his mouth in a half chant, half whisper. His voice was strong. Ominous.
“I call forth
The power of this chest
From the north
The beasts will be blessed
To roam henceforth
Inside and out, in zest”
“No, no no no no,” the words suddenly spilt from my mouth as my chest constricted. “Please, no. Take it back.”
“I didn’t the first time, did I?” He asked, replacing the chest. It was now open and thumping as if had a heartbeat. “This time I will take you away from here, too. No need for your little rebellion.”
“It’s not mine and it’s not a rebellion.” I protest, glaring up at him as he hauls me upright. “It’s Damien’s and it’s survival.”
At his son’s name, his nails dig deeper into my flesh even as his face slips under the mask. “Don’t mention his name.”
I pat his arm. “Don’t worry. He’s ashamed of you too.”
That earned me a smack across the face.
“How dare you?”
I couldn’t help but grin, tasting blood in the corner of my mouth. “Sorry, Papa.”
Using his moment of shock, I twisted out of his hold and started running. My side was cramping and my breathing was irregular, but I flew up those stairs.
He was close at my heels. “He married you? Why would he do that?”
I laughed, but it was cut off as I heard the shrieks coming from outside. I stopped in the large foyer, staring in horror at the massive, horned beast shaking his prey. I couldn’t make out what was in his mouth- it was all blood and carnage.
I placed a hand on my stomach, leaning forward.
“Ah, there’s my baby.” Damien’s father hurried to the beast, stroking its side and climbing onto its back. The beast enjoyed the attention.
“Until later,” he called as the beast loped outside.
I quietly made my way to the door, peeking out. All kinds of beasts were lurking about, staring out of the trees, the moonlight glinting off of irises and fangs and claws and scales.
Trepidation filled me. This had happened before, but the animals seemed more numerous than before.
I couldn’t go back down to the treasure room- it would be a dead end.
I slipped the rusty sword out of the scabbard at my hip, rustling the skirt of my dress. And then I snuck into the night.
Oh, and let me clarify; I wasn’t really the MC. It’s like I was someone else. And I don’t know a Damien.
There was more to it, but where’s the fun in sharing everything? (It was blood and guts, mostly. No happy ending.)
On that happy note, I bid you a good day.
< 3 klara