A Dream

[winterblood 11181]

 

 

A high elven woman sat alone in her laboratory.  Her legs stretched out in front of her and a mortar sat in her lap, resting in her hand which cupped it.  The other held the pestle, it was grinding, churning, and crushing a red herb.  The herb’s color seemed almost black in the lab’s lighting, only a single torch kept it lit and it was rather dim.  The gentle orange and red light filled the room in a gentle, flickering glow.  It brought color and life to the room of cold, gray walls decorated with various sorts of alchemical notes and shelves of powders, oils, concoctions, and dried herbs; and cold, gray floors with only a brown carpet in the corner to decorate it.

The elf sat on the stone floor, slowly grinding up the herb.  Her blue-gray eyes were half closed, eyelids feeling heavy and craving slumber.  Everytime she blinked, it was a struggle to open her eyes again and to keep her head from lolling to the side.  I’ve been like this before, the elf thought to herself, releasing the pestle to keep her hand from getting cramped and stretched it.  Her fingers curled inward before flexing outward a few times.  The elf’s tired eyes stared emptily down at her hand, her head leaning back against the table she was slumped up against.  Her eyes slowly fluttered shut and she saw a narrow tower of stone standing on a northern mountain side on a sunny day.  Her lab ceased to exist.  She was standing now, cold and still alone.

A slim path of stone and gravel lead through flowers which sparsely decorated the grassy slope and toward the secluded building.  She followed it, a blank expression showing on her features.  When the elf neared the entrance she stopped, looking at what was displayed before it.  There were several clay pots of various sorts of lush flowers, their scents loomed around the entrance.  It was soothing to smell.  A sign was hung up by the door with the words, “GO AWAY” carved boldly into it.  The elf moved forward, grasping the knob to the door and turning it open.  It creaked softly and the elf stepped over an aurum threshold as she walked into the tower.  The door closed.

What the elf saw was a little room with a high ceiling.  On the wall opposite of the door was a ladder, it reached up to a trapdoor leading to the roof which only held crates.  On the wall left of the doorway,  there were shelves climbing upward too.  They were filled with several sorts of jars, herbs, tools, and colorful potions with labels put onto their glass containers.  To her right were stairs leading into the basement.  Before her was a small wooden table, holding only a potted azure bluet.  She rose her gaze to the banner hanging above it, it’s once red and black color of a burnt, oaken tree of the Blackwood Company were now an ashen red and dark gray.

As the elf studied the banner with a stoic look draped over her visage, a muffled movement was heard behind her, on the raised platform where she had kept her brewing stand, blanket, and journal.  She turned to see the source of the sound and saw… herself.  It was her from the past, decades ago.  Her past self looked to be carefully plucking small, white flowers off of a silvery vine and setting them into a wooden bowl next to her.  She was seated on the floor with her legs crossed and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.  Herself from the past looked even more exhausted and terrible than she did as her present self.  Her eyes looked glazed and heavy, bags showing beneath them.  She looked like a mess.

The intruding elf studied her for several long moments, watching her as she did her work silently.  Her gaze then shifted off of the woman, looking over what was around her: A pillow, a half drunken bottle of wine, a few alchemical tools, bottles, vials, roots, and a worn journal.  The elf with the herb didn’t seem to take any sort of notice to the other.

The front door was suddenly flung open, bringing in the darkness of night which drowned out all daylight.  Only a torch in the room kept the room lit.  When the intruding elf looked toward the door, she saw herself again - the one seated had disappeared.  Her former self was hunched over, breathing uncontrollably, leaning against the doorframe, and clutching her right side.  She wore a sword belt with a sheath, but carried no sword with her.  The elf was sobbing, wincing as she struggled to step into the home.  It pained the intruding one to see, making her subconsciously touch her upper right arm which carried a terrible, curling, and jagged scar beneath her sleeve.  The intruding elf stood still, watching as her injured self from the past collapsed and fell down the steps.  She watched, moving slowly behind her as she dragged herself into the basement, frowning.  She watched herself cry out in pain and in grief when she could barely reach her potions of mending, dropping a few of the glass bottles onto the floor which shattered.  The intruding elf did nothing but observe.

The elf on the floor slowly curled up, her whole form shuddering as she continued to sob.  Her cries were slowly replaced with silence and when the observing elf blinked, she was gone and so was the mess created.  She was alone again, but not for long.  

The next room there was herself again, sitting at a table with her head buried into her hands.  An empty wooden cup and a half emptied bottle of wine sat on the table she rested her elbows on.  Her shoulders lightly bounced up and down as she quietly wept, the observing elf noticed as she stepped more into the room.  A look of pity showed on her face as she just stood there for a moment, watching her past self.  The crying elf’s head slowly rose, her cheeks were flushed red from all of the wine she had drunk and were wet from her tears streaming from her half shut eyes.  She reached for the bottle, her fingers curling around the neck of it to lift it and pour its crimson contents into the wooden cup, filling it.  Her movements were sluggish, causing her to spill some of the wine onto the table.

The elf who observed looked away and to her right.  There she saw more stairs which swirled down more into the depths of her tower.  She slowly walked down them, her hand sliding along the cold wall.  It grew darker, the air was heavier, and it grew silent for a moment once more.  When she reached the bottom, she saw a dark room lit only by a single candle of wax.  The light from the room above barely came into the room which had a few crates and a small bed.  The bed looked to be covered in dust, seeming to have rarely been used.  When the elf blinked she saw herself again, laying curled up on the bed and quietly crying to herself.  She was clutching her right side again and was turned toward the wall.  Small vials of burn remedies laid on the nightstand beside the bed, some looked to have fallen onto the floor and rolled beneath the bed beside… a taller glass bottle hidden beneath it.  The observer’s head tilted as she studied the bottle of dark glass, its label was only a large “X”. The poison, she recalled, her eyes beginning to sting with forming tears.  The observing elf quickly turned her head away from the poison hidden beneath the bed and moved to the continuing stairs leading into the darker sections of her past home.

There were hardly any torches, only candles which did little good to light the way.  The elf quietly walked through the twisting steps and dark rooms until she reached one lit by a torch with a fading flame.  When she walked into it, her foot lightly kicked an empty wine bottle, disturbing the silence.  The bottle rolled along the stone floor until it met a flower pot housing a withering red rose.  The room she stood in lead into a small library.  Candles were set everywhere in the room, filling it with their gentle, warm glow.

The elf walked more into the study, slowly looking about at all of the books filling the shelves.  She slowly turned toward a desk which sat in the room, towers of stacked books stood upon it with disorganized papers and even more bottles of wine.  One looked to be empty and just about ready to roll off of the desk.  In the large, wooden chair sat herself again, slumped against one of the arms.  She was asleep.  The observing elf turned away from her to look about the library once more.  The tall shelves held hundreds of dusty books, scrolls, and map.  The candles’ wax was dripping onto the stone floor and the large, old, and faded flag of The Blackwood Company collected dust.  Behind it was a doorway leading into the final room of her basement.

The observer’s hand slowly reached out to pull back the flag draping over the entrance, peering into the room.  Herself was there again, bent over a bleeding corpse of a pig, collecting its blood in a glass container.  Her back was to her and she was not alone.  An elderly looking human stood by her, watching her as she did her work.  When the observer noticed him, a small gasp came from her and she tensed up.  The man’s gaze slowly lifted from her past self and to her in the room’s entrance.  He could see her.

Before much else could happen, the elf woke up from her dream with a little jolt.  She was back in her laboratory, alone and on the floor.  The herb she was crushing had been spilled out from the mortar and onto the ground by her legs.  She drowsily picked up the mess and continued on with brewing her potions, her eyes still feeling heavy.

[Daisy 9739]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

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