Sleeping Roses

The Masters of the Rose Castle

Kilan did sleep - he didn't know how with the worry sitting on his chest like an anvil but he did sleep. Well, two nights on the run then knocking one's self out was probably a good way to make anyone sleep.

He dreamt as well. That was rare, he rarely dreamt - his friends always said he was downright boring because of it, that he had no imagination: rude.

But he dreamt this time.

He was standing in a huge hall. Pillars were on either side of him and roses climbed the stone. Sunlight streamed in from either side of him and yet at the same time, he was sure there were no windows.

Dreams could be very strange.

In front of him was a staircase that curled upwards out of sight.

He looked at it, confused. He knew this scene, and at the same time, he knew he didn't. Now how was that possible?

A voice drifted through the air, no words that is, it was singing - a tune he didn't know. Pure and crystal clear like... well like crystal, like diamond.

It was coming from up beyond the stairs.

He slowly walked forwards and something caught his hand.

He jolted in surprise, drawing away from the surprise and turned. His eyes widened.

He had caught his hand on a thorn. What a horrific looking creation. It was three feet long, sprouting from the marbled ground as easily as if it were pushing up from freshly turned soil. Holding his hand close to his chest, he backed away, staring, onto to stop short and spin around.

There were thorns growing behind him, grinding out of the walls. Then the briars started to rip up on the ground, the entire hall shaking around him - the singing continuing regardless.

The briars ripped out around him, forcing him back, away from the stairs, curling upwards, covering the roses - though never piecing or harming any of the flowers.

Once the destruction settled, Kilan was pinned back against the back wall, unable to move, thorns surrounding him from all sides and he no longer liked the dream, this wasn't how people described dreaming.

Laughter filled the air, drowning out the singing that faded away.

His eyes snapped open and he realised he was really hearing the laughter in his conscious reality as well as in the dream.

But, while the laughter in the dream had been female, this laughter was male. Soft and amused, drifting up from somewhere beyond his room.

He sat up.

The room was dark now and he couldn't sense any of the servants around - though that feeling of the place being not-quite-right remained. Looking around, he spotted clothes neatly left out on a dressing table nearby.

Slipping from bed, he changed into the trousers and was shocked by how perfectly they fit. The same held for the shirt and waist coat, everything was made of such a fine quality he was almost too wary to wear it, he had never worn clothes like these before.

He turned, pulling at the collar of his shirt and stopped. There was a coat, sitting on a mannequin, in one of the side rooms, facing him. Golden buttons closed the coat down the chest but then it opened out at the hips and flared away into a floor length tail. The collar was open at the neck and the sleeves were tight. It was made of solid heavy deep blue velvet and Kilan didn't even venture near it.

He couldn't wear that.

Instead he walked to the door and opened it, peering through before slipping out and sweeping down the hall, following the sound of the laughter. The hallways were disconcerting in the dark, despite the moonlight and multiple lit torches that kept the shadows at bay.