SilkiyTeaDream Journal
#1
A dream journal. Locked with cold ice and warm blood. It is submerged in a stream, contained within a bubble of air.

Name: Anira
Real Age: 10
Age In the Dream: 10
Dream Type: Nightmare
Subject: The Basin's Leaking
 
Drip, drip, drip.
 
“I tried making dinner tonight!” Greasy slop and burnt pork. Two bowl’s on the table. Anira looked at her mother. Her mother looked back, her stare empty and judgmental. Like it’s always been. Maybe it was a bit less cold than usual? Anira looked back at her ‘meal’, prodding at it quietly.
 
Looks like Garbage. Didn’t I teach ya better? Or dinnit you learn a damn thing?
 
Anira’s head jerked up. She stared at her mother, she hadn’t noticed her mouth move, and her mother’s lips were still pursed into a disappointed grimace. Her stare was unblinking, harsh, and cold. Anira had imagined the lack of bitterness on her first glance, she knew that now.
 
Drip, drip, drip.
 
The water was pooling along the floor, ankle deep. What a mess. Pristine and clear as wellspring could be. Anira stared at it, at her disheveled, sleepless expression. The reflection stained by the dirt and grim that was slowly overtaking the pristine, beautiful waters.
 
Get out. And get me some real food while ya are out and ‘bout.
 
Anira moved through the water and towards the doorway. She stops, when she hears her mother call for her once more.
 
And fix that damn cracked water basin. It’s gettin’ on my nerves.
 
Anira turned her head. The water basin sat still and quiet, not a single crack touched the wooden base. The water within smooth, with not a ripple in sight. Anira’s head turned back towards the door, she opened it and light flooded across the water. Her mother was silent, and Anira took a step outside. She wouldn’t be returning.

But the dripping continuously echoed in her ears.
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#2
Name: Anira
Real Age: 11
Age In the Dream: 5
Dream Type: A Warm Dream
Subject: Invisible
 
The crowd was bustling. Her steps were light. The sun was bright, and high above. She walked, from place to place. A snow-covered city, a city full of trees, a city surrounded by walls, a city with plentiful shops. She walked through them, lost and confused. Small, and frightened. “Can you help me find my dad?” She asked, but they would walk past her, shove her away. Because she wasn’t there, not to them.
 
She found herself in a place most dark. Giant wolves howled and enormous snakes hissed. None of them noticed her. None of them saw her. Except for one, with a beast like skull and glowing green eyes. Its lantern swung from side to side, slow and steady. The light dashing away the shadows as it approached. Her eyes clenched shut, her shoulders tightened in fear.
 
“Where are you from, Pup?” The voice was indecipherable. No gender could be placed upon it, that of the Dreamwalker echoing peacefully through her. Her eyes open, but she is not greeted by the glowing green spheres or the animal skulled head. Instead it was a pale, sickly figure. Well dressed, but dirty and grimy. Her ears were warm and mousey, her smile was genuine but mischievous.
 
“Do you know where my Dad is?” Anira asked, her eyes wide and cautious. “Yeah, Pup. C’mon now.” The Rat’s hand was clean and kind, and it held Anira’s hand carefully. Her voice holding emotion, life and certainty. No longer indecipherable and genderless.
 
Everything was uncertain. The future, the past and the present. But a warmth guided her, and for a night she saw her Father again. She listened to his stories, and his laughter. He met all of her new friends, and some she missed, like the Rat which guided her. And, for just a little while, everything felt… Right.
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#3
Name: Anira
Real Age: 12
Age In the Dream: 8
Dream Type: Nightmare
Subject: Why won't you call me Phil?

“Why does Ulfric get Ulfri? Why does Lumin get Lumi? And why don’t I, Philip, get Phil?” It didn’t sound like her friend. It didn’t sound like anything Philip would even ask and he sounded so much older, but it wore his smiling face. Somehow, Anira was younger, younger than the Prince that questioned her. “Why am I not Phil?” He asked again. Anira turned away wordlessly, and strolled towards the door, pushing it open to a brilliant blinding light, her eyes clenching shut.

The sting touched her eye, and they fluttered open. Flax essence carefully pressed against the skin around the corners. A black eye, swollen and bitter. Phil was tending to it, again. The small community had its own doctor. Phil “Bonesaw” Cawl, feared enough to be left alone by local thugs and street-runners, but with a reputation to help those he called ‘Kin’ with injuries. He’s been there for years, and years.

“Third time this week, Ani, and I don’t think you’re gettin’ into fights…” Anira shrugged silently at the words. The walls of the impoverished home which Phil treated as his clinic were dreadfully thin, and she could feel a cold breeze. The swelling around her eye was dying down now, thanks to the flax. “You can talk to me, Ani. Doctor Patient confidentiality, that’s what them wealthy folk back n’the day call-“

“Ya done, Bones.” The pungent stench of booze filled the room. Anira didn’t look up from where she sat. It was late, after all. So very late. “Ali, I’m worried ‘bout ya, and the kid-“ Phil began, but Anira’s mother interrupted. “I asked ya. If ya done, Bones. It ain’t your concern. You ain’t my old man.” Anira still did not look up, still. “You’ve been off your rocker since Mike went n’-“ Again, Phil spoke up. And again, Anira’s mother interrupted.

“If ya know whats good for ya, you’ll shut your fuckin’ mouth ‘fore you say something stupid. Old man. Anira. Go home.” Anira nodded her head as she slid off the tabletop. “Yes, mom.” She stepped outside, when the shouting began. She walked, when the blows started.

She was back home and in bed, staring at the ceiling. When she listened to the dragging sounds. She did not move and did not breath. When she heard a shovel hit dirt. The sky was dark, and her eyes were closed when she heard her mother curse…

“So, why won’t you call me Phil?” Anira’s eyes opened, staring down at her was Phil, but his voice sounded like Philip’s. “Because, Philip is still here… And Phil isn’t.”
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#4
Name: Anira
Real Age: 12
Age In the Dream: 12
Dream Type: Uncertain
Subject: Reunion

It always felt strange for Anira, being back in her old home in Sudbury. But the occasion was momentous! The girl playing with frost and snow, creating little crude figurines which lacked skill and finesse. Her voice a quiet hum while she tended to her side-project. Every so often, she would look towards the table. Demios, Misha, and her Father were playing some kind of card game, and judging by Misha’s grandiose smirk, she was winning. Her father was smiling and blissfully unaware, and Demios made small talk about a new fizzy pop brand! A lemon lime flavor!

Ulfric, Lumin, Philip, Tea and Elisha were conversing with one another. Tea made a shadowboxing sort of movement. Elisha looked tired and rolled his eyes! Ulfric was smirking, and giving Philip his ‘I’m going to Suplex you’ look, and Philip was talking about something soft and pleasant, because he was such a soft and pleasant boy! And all the while, the Dreamwalker was lurking in the shadows. Observing, much like Anira was.

It was a nice, little wish come true. A part of her felt like she knew it wasn’t real. Her father wasn’t alive after all. But before she had a chance to dwell on it, the sculpture in her hand spoke; "Why aren't you playing with all the other children?". Her gaze settled on it. It was a crude little thing, one of her Mother. Who was, of course, not invited to the festivities. Anira had allowed her here in spirit, and spirit only.

“I…” She began, only to furrow her brow and contemplate. Anira’s smile kept firm, it always did! But she already knew why. It was because she didn’t really belong there. She still felt invisible, even when the eyes looked in her direction. She felt like a shadow on the wall, that people would forget in time. She felt… Like it was better if she soaked it in! If she watched. Because anything else? Anything else could ruin everything. And Anira could already feel her mother’s cold, harsh gaze upon her.

“I don’t really belong there. I like seeing everyone happy, but I guess I still feel like… Like it’s better if I just watch! And don’t mess anything up.” The girl soon continued her etching, carefully beginning to give definition to the eyes. From crude, to perfection. Anira could see her own reflection in her mother’s horrid glower, could make out every wrinkle from the curved scowl on her lips.

“Hmm…” The sculpture of her mother hummed for a moment. “I guess that’s fine. I’m sure they’d all really want you there, though. Is that what makes you happy? Or is it just what you feel is right?”

The noises around her, those happy conversations… Were smothered. Muted by a wall that wasn’t real. “I don’t know, Mother. You tell me.” She snapped, just once. When had she ever cared about Anira’s happiness? Why did it matter to her now? It made her bitter, it made her sour! It made her… She could feel the water dripping along her fingertips, but there was no water there.

Anira quickly scraped away the sculpture’s eyes with her thumb, and the noises begun to return again! “Sorry, I didn’t meant to sass! Uhm… I don’t know, would they, though? I get in the way all the time.” Anira heard her own voice from a distance, bouncing off the walls! A simple hello, listing off her friends names. Met with silence, or the background talking. “It’s what feels right.”

For a few minutes the figurine was silent, but of course she’d hear it speak in her mother’s condescending tone. “At least you know your place. Kid.” Anira worked furiously, her fingers scraping against ice, nails chipping away to form something different. Anything different. She saw the figurine’s lips move, heard something unwanted, something familiar.

When the Dreamwalker she had seen in the shadows, chose to pluck the sculpture from her hand. “Young human. There is something you are missing. Why can they not hear you.” Anira could only stare up at the Dreamwalker, a small “Huh…?” Being her first response, before Anira begun to repeat a part of what it had just said to her. “Something I’m missing? Oh.. Oh..” Without a distraction, Anira was forced to look towards the tabletop.

Anira was used to it. Being unseen, she didn’t feel sad when she spoke the words. Anira’s voice maintaining neutrality, when she felt bitter, jealous, and tired. “I’m invisible. Remember?” Silence followed what Anira said… But it was quickly overwhelmed by the festivities at the table. Everyone grew a bit louder, they looked so bright, so warm, so vivid from where Anira was standing. What was even stranger to Anira, was that the Dreamwalker looked less colorful than she usually remembered. Anira, felt less colorful than she remembered herself being too.

“You are not invisible.” Anira watched, her father and Misha looked up from their cards. Both offering a friendly wave towards her. A deep breath was drawn in, Anira had forced herself into many conversations, to be ‘seen’. But, Misha and her Dad saw her from the start. Both would turn back to their card game. “I can see you burning bright. Do you want to be seen?”

For a moment, Anira felt a bit sick. Sick with herself, sick with being selfish and greedy. She could hear her father’s voice, him talking about self sacrifice. How to be a better person. Anira found herself staring up at the Dreamwalker, at its sleek frightening bestial skull, at green eyes that felt omniscient and omnipotent. “I want everyone to be happy… But I would like to be seen too…” It felt disgusting to say for her, to admit that she wanted something besides everyone else’s joy.

The Dreamwalker would crush the messed up figurine, Anira flinching at it. Was it disappointed in her? “To bring happiness to others, first, you must bring it to yourself.” It looked towards the bustling table, silent before speaking after a moments pause. “It is cold here.” Anira joined too in staring at the table. “It is…!”

It was very cold and pale here. But, Anira would not get to dwell on it. The Dreamwalker’s massive paw-like hand nudged her forward. And for just a moment, Anira almost went towards the table. But she couldn’t just leave the Dreamwalker in the cold, could she? So instead she turned around and clasped her hands around one of its large clawed paw-like hands. It followed in her step while she guided it towards the table.

The rest of the night flew by in a blur to Anira. She introduced the Dreamwalker to her friends, her family. She started telling stories instead of listening to them. She felt like she was apart of something, and she felt happy. She felt like she… Didn’t want to wake up.

The page with the written dream ends abruptly. A single sentence beneath it.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but I remember waking up.
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#5
Name: Anira
Real Age: 13
Age In The Dream: ???
Dream Type: Uncertain
Subject: Pieces…
 
Anira was surrounded by mirrors, none of them reflected herself. The girl stood still, she couldn’t see any light, she could not see any shadows. It was only her, and the mirrors. Each one held a reflection of someone she knew. From the Dreamwalker, to her Father, Misha and Demios. To Elisha and Tea. To Ulfric, Lumin and Philip. Even her lesser seen friends, Fen, Serena, Gwen…
 
They all looked so peaceful in the mirrors. Sleeping soundly, baring small smiles. Something calm, that kept her breathing light and careful. She didn’t want to wake them up, she never did.
 
A heavy beating filled her ears, emitting from her chest. A dim red glow filling the shadowy surrounding of mirrors. One of the mirrors reflected her, and she could see what it was. A heart-shaped crystal that pulsed in tandem with the beat of her heart. Slow and steady. Anira’s eyes looked towards the other mirrors, those of her sleeping friends.
 
The girl’s hand moved swiftly. A finger pressed against the crystal shaped heart. Then? She would make a firm pinch. A fragment broken off and placed against the mirror. When she did so, her fingers would become translucent for a brief few seconds. A writhing mass of darkness wriggled and writhed like a patch of worms in the spot she chipped off. The person in the mirror had that portion of crystal glowing dimly at their shoulder.
 
And so, she went. Mirror by mirror. Chipping off another piece, and another, and another. Until she got to the last mirror. The last one was one of her first friends, wasn’t it? The one she had met with Elisha. The disheveled red hair, the fake demon horn headband. Anira raised her hand to her chest, where that beating crystal once rested. But when she pinched at it, her fingers met a writhing mass of sticky, foul darkness.
 
A moment was taken to look down at the dark swirling hole. It had overtaken where the crystal beating heart had once been. When Anira looked back up, she saw him again. His face was contorted in rage, his eyes looked animalistic, his features that of a feral tiger backed into a corner. The boy’s arm arced back, only to slam forward.
 
The mirror shattered, the fragments dug into her skin, tore into her flesh, ripped apart her bones, and all she could do?

Was bleed, and vanish.

Much like the last dream, this one ends abruptly, with another sentence beneath it.

I woke to her blood on his hands, because I failed to help him.
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#6
Name: Anira
Real Age: 14
Age In The Dream: 14
Dream Type: Uncertain
Subject: Cold

There was a sharp pain in Anira's chest. Her eyes cracked open, the lids felt heavy. Caked in frost, and ice. She could feel the color drained from her. How cold it was, even the fur from the beast-potion did little to halt the biting frost. Far, far away. She saw the golden light of her home. The sounds of laughter, charm, joy. It was not just a few of her friends, it was all of them. And everything sounded so crisp. So full. So alive! Anira took a single step forward, when a familiar voice speaks from behind her. "It's cold here." The girl teetered in her step. Reaching out behind her to reenact an older dream. To pull the Dreamwalker with her and towards the warmth that was so distant.

What she touched? Was colder than anything she had ever felt. It was so, so cold that it sucked the breath out of her. Anira yanked her hand away and turned about to face it. There it sat. Crouched over in a humbled pose. The Dreamwalker's lantern barely glowed, the amount of ice that hung onto it made the creature look less like itself, and more like a sculpture of it. There was no green glow from within its eyes. Anira stared, for the longest time. "I'm not going to leave you here." Her voice sounded coarse, it felt like she had been screaming for hours, and hours...

There was no reply. Just the silent frosted visage of the thing that guided her dreams. Anira sat besides it, folding her legs beneath her in a criss-cross style. It was quiet here, it was cold here. Time progressed, and the night sky grew darker. The blizzard grew thicker, until the distant lights of her home was just this... Tiny, tiny speck that she could barely see. "To bring happiness to others, first, you must bring it to yourself." Even the Dreamwalker's voice felt distant. But, it was right there, Anira could see it, unmoving and always watching. But, Anira could not smile for once, she was always smiling. Always happy. Always, and forever.

Anira rocked back and fourth in the growing snowstorm. It was piling up. Inch by inch. Threatening to envelop her in an icy and unrelenting embrace. "What if I can't be happy?" It had taken what felt like hours to ask that question. And by that time? She had already succumbed to the darkness of the snow.

Another sentence, beneath another dream.

I have so many friends. But I feel so alone.
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#7
Name: Anira
Real Age: 14
Age In The Dream: 14
Dream Type: Nightmare
Subject: Me.


Anira rapidly blinked her eyes. The day was warm, sunlight was beaming down across her face, and she was laying in the grass. When did she wake up? She really could not remember! But she slowly rose to her feet. Brushing away the dirt from her leather tunic and any blades of grass that ended up hugging her boots. Anira looked around and noticed that she wasn’t alone! Nearby, Ulfric was talking to Emily, looking exasperated with the younger noble. Tea and Elisha were dancing, actual dancing! Syl was nearby scribbling away in his daydream journal, sometimes he would look up at her and wave…
 
Fenai, Gwen, and Serene were in their usual little group, chatting about something or another! Philip was besides Twilly, and smiling oh so bright. While Elaine looked like she was being mischievous and about to prank her brother… Misha was giving Ancelin a solid punch on the shoulder, jostling the cigarette that hung from the rabbit’s mouth! Even Trik was there, talking to Stavros about 'money-coin-things'. Demios was besides his daughter, whom Anira had only seen in passing. They both looked happy, like a family. The environment was warm, the faces were friendly. Anira stepped forward to go join everyone! Why wouldn’t she?

“You don’t belong there, you know that.” The voice stopped her in her tracks. A cold, ice-covered hand pressed against her shoulder. “You don’t know that.” Anira said, not turning back while she stared at everyone else. They were so close, she could just step forward and forget about everything else. “Well! I like to think I do, since I’m you and all.” That, that made her turn around to face it.
 
What stared back at her was a sculpture of ice. It held her own face but lacked the wolf-like traits from the carnal potion. Its eyes were crystal clear and empty, and its smile was persistent. Anira felt her own smile twitch, threatening to fade. Behind that sculpture of herself? Was a raging blizzard. How could she have missed it? The frigid cold kissed her cheeks and made her flinch. Anira stumbled back and stared with widening eyes. The Sculpture’s voice was the same as Anira’s. There was no malice, or hatred in it. There was nothing in the ice-made eyes of crystal-clear frost.
 
“You’d just be a bother. Always interrupting them. Don’t you think?” The sculpture tilted its head, and Anira shook her own. “I don’t.. I don’t think that.” She tried to deny it, clasping and squeezing her hands together. “No, you don’t think that. You know that. Silly!” The Sculptured chimed, its eyes mimicking her shut-eyes smile. Before opening them again. Anira could not find her words, it felt like she was choking on them. “They’re busy. Ulfric? He’s becoming a Knight. Demios is a father, Misha has a city to help run. Fenai has to take care of his sister and Gwen. Elaine and Philip are Princes and Princesses. We could keep going, but why repeat what you and I. What we. already know.”
 
Anira took a step backwards. The sculpture of herself, took a step forward. Anira tried to think of something to say! Something to rebuttal it. But when she opened her mouth to speak? She could suddenly taste the coppery blood-like tang in the air. The smell overwhelming her nostrils. Her hands pressed against her face, trying to throw that pungent stench away, but when she pulled her hands back? The snowstorm was closer, the ice and frost touched with a deep crimson. Standing besides the sculpture of herself, was what she could only describe as a blood-clot shaped in her outline. It had no eyes, but it had a smiling mouth. Its tone, much like the sculpture’s was still calm.
 
“We’re, what did Emily call it? A commoner. Right? Fit to serve. We’ve always been beneath them! We’re here, as long as they feel like we’re useful.” The ice sculpture nodded when the blood-clot spoke. Anira gagging at the sight of it and taking another step back. “You’re, what? Nothing. Really! It’s okay to accept that too. I mean look at you? Like really! Look at us!” The clot laughed, the sculpture giggle. Anira felt her stomach twist, her smile had faded.
 
“Why would a princess be your friend? Why would a prince be your friend? Why would a retainer to a Myllenoris noble, be your friend! Hell! Why would the Myllenoris noble, or a Rhyonish royal, be. Your. Friend. You’re kind of dense, aren’t you?” The clot tilted its head right, away from the sculpture. The sculpture tilted its head left, away from the clot. Both were inquiring to someone that did not answer, who did not want to answer. Every step forward that the duo took, Anira took another step back. Her breathing was anxious and hastened. Her eyes seeking for an escape. To just, get away from it. Her thoughts were malicious, but they always smiled. Always smiled.
 
“Stop laughing at me!” It was shouted out, Anira taking a step forward. “You’re wrong. My friends like me. They wouldn’t be my friends if they didn’t.” Another step forward. The duo that had tormented her took steps back when she approached. Both looked frightened of her, both looked for a way to escape. “And I don’t… I don’t need this, or either of you. Anymore!” The blood boiled around Anira’s clawed hand, dripping into a harsh thin shape, the ice froze across her clawed fingertips.
 
No more. She would have no more of her own brain, telling her lies. Telling her things she knew could not be true. With that, she prepared to strike them down. But when her claws came to bare upon the duo of blood and ice?
 
Two hands caught her wrists, keeping her in place. She could hear that which haunted her. Hunted her. That which never left her alone.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

 
Anira’s eyes widened, and she stared at herself. Clammy blue and swollen lips, eyes hidden behind drenched ginger hair that was messy and wild. The flesh bloated through skin, a water-logged corpse left to drown in a pool. Both hands kept her claws at bay, and soon she would yank her arms away and stumble from it. The dripping filled her ears, beautiful, clean waters flowed around her ankles. The rushing of waves! Accompanied by a gurgling, choked scream. And then? Silence. Silence which did not last.
 
The duo approached, with the third leading them. All of them were smiling. Only one spoke. “They don’t know who you really are.” Anira scrambled back, her wrists felt heavy. Her claws felt dull and useless. Her magic? Smothered and gone. She was truly and utterly defenseless. “If they did, do you think any of them would accept you, hmm?” Anira’s feral eyes clenched shut. “Please stop.” She begged in a quiet, little whisper.
 
“Stop? Stop! She says! Girls! She said stop! How can we stop? We’re just you. How you really feel. How you really think. Remember? You told Barrac. You liked how it felt to fight. Just like how you loved how it felt to sink your teeth into Trik's throat! Why, you even liked it when he panicked and choked on his own blood! You’ve liked a lot of things you shouldn’t. Huh? You have friends in Osrona. Myllenoris. Nysea. I bet if you went to Theria, or the Darkwoods. You’d make friends there too.” The trio laughed, and for once? The voices sounded malicious, instead of chipper. Emotional instead of calm and logical. “You make a Razuka look clean. You’re the dirtiest rat of the bunch! What are you going to do, hmm? Pick every side, when it suits you? You’re not a good friend. Anira. You’re just selfish, stupid, and you make everything worse. Not better.”
 
The trio step forward, Anira stepped back. Her foot kicked against an edge. The earth crumbled beneath one foot. One more step? And she would fall. But she was in a panic. She did not want to hear it anymore, she was tired of hearing it, of how it made her feel. “Nobody would accept you if they really knew you.” Anira took a final step back, and when she fell? Her ears were filled with the sound of laughter, and the roaring rush of water…
 
Beneath this dream is a series of scratches and scribbles. Words and sentences rewritten repeatedly. They lack punctuation, and grammar. Only one is legible.
 
am i broken?
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#8
I've been having too many nightmares, and not enough warm dreams. I think the Dreamwalker might have forsaken me? Or maybe it was just never real to begin with... Maybe I'll continue writing my dreams down someday. But for now? They're all dead, and I have outgrown this childish journal...

The dream journal has changed locations. Now? It resides in a Sudbury home. Locked away in one of the chests. And for now? Anira's dreams remain silent.
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