1.2 The High Priestess Dreams

by Matt P.

The High Priestess, the hidden and unknown light who was not yet seen in the day, lay in slumber. She dreamed, and yet she did not dream; she saw, and yet she did not see. She did not understand, but she did not understand in a way that she knew meant that one day she would understand. And wish she had not.

A cemetery baptized in rain, always in rain. Gray in sky, in stone, in spirit and in thought—pervasive grayness all about. But she stands as a specter of white, of hope and thought and dream. She stood out, and she was envied. But she was also unseen by so many, and that broke her heart.

A man walked through the crowds, unseen. He wore black and white, and his eyes were shrouded in darkness. He gently parted the rain like gauzy curtains, stepping through without concern. She couldn’t tell if it was because the rain wouldn’t dare to bother him or if it was because he was no longer subject to things of this world.

She stepped over and took his hand, leading him to one of the graves. The headstone had no name, only a date. She saw it now but knew she would not remember it upon waking. She took the hand she held and leaned down, placing it on the dirt there.

“Inside?” He asked, his voice an indistinct but familiar rumble.

“Only from inside can you reach the outside. Only by going down can you come up.” She told him seriously, the words resonating with parts of her that were far more ancient than the youth of her form.

“Only through darkness can the light be found.” He agreed with a sigh, as he knelt down and climbed effortlessly into the grave. She watched him go, her heart shattering like a crystal glass dropped to the uncaring ground.

The High Priestess, the hidden and unknown light, awoke into the light of the sun that welcomed her like a sister. Moments later she was roused again by the familiar knock on her door, and she pulled herself out to seek the first shower.