1.0 The City Dreams

by Matt P.

People lay dreaming all around the world, those parts swathed in darkness and cradled in the gentle touch of night. One city was no different, but very different, its denizens the same but very different as well. It was the city at the edge of reality, the city of corners and overlaps. The Border.

The mayor dreamed of comings and goings while he rested in the arms of the woman who was not his wife; the woman who was not his wife had a very different dream that did not include the mayor. It never did.

The overlooked warrior, the angel in the night, dreamed of a cause. She looked for a cause every night, and unknowingly every day. She would find it, she believed, and she was right.

Two women did not dream, for they had no use for dreams. For they were dreams. They saw one another, although each would have been surprised by how the other gazed upon them. They stood in the field and the swamp, the sky and the dark of night itself, and waited.

“It will be time soon.” Said one. She was the Queen kissed by Frost, the frozen lady, the raven beneath the icy lake. Her hair was white as the first dance of falling snow and seemed to take its grace as it wafted in the breeze.

“I am eager.” Said the other. She was the Queen licked by Flame, the burning lady, the red light of war in the soldier’s breast. Her hair was orange gold as the crackling fire where the logs are consumed, and it flared about her as if seeking more fuel.

“You are always eager.” Replied the first, the raven in the winter wood. “It will be hard on these people.”

“You are always so restrained.” Replied the second, the Word of Light and Lust. “They will grow better for it.”

Neither spoke more, as the argument was old as the world around them and never resolved.

“Still.” Spoke the fiery lady to the moonlit one. “We’re still on for coffee at nine, right?”