The Fear of Letting Go

Dream

One night, I dreamed myself into a strange, moonlit city. It was almost familiar, but not quite, like a memory with the color palette changed. I was running in a forest at first, but then, the forest was gone, and there was pavement under my feet, the shadows from trees suddenly tall buildings and alleys.

I skidded to a stop and a black door opened. A man in black and red, ribbons hanging from strange armor on his shoulders, stepped through. He was made of points. Pointy ears, pointy chin, a sharp smile revealing pointy teeth, large horns and a crown of black crystals pointing to the sky. He beckoned to me with pointy claws, and though fear swam in my belly, my feet moved towards him.

His grin widened and I shuddered but couldn't stop. I couldn't see his eyes as his crown rested low across his brow, but I could see his mouth. It should have been terrifying, all those sharp teeth, the menacing curl of his lips. Part of me was scared, but that part seemed far away, lost behind the curiosity that fueled every step. It was just a dream, after all. What was the harm in playing along?

As I got closer, the pointy man stretched his arm out along the door, pointing to where the amber light spilled out into the street. He tilted his head towards the doorway, horns casting long shadows. Up close, his smile was even more unnerving, but I followed, staring at the lean, sinewy muscles in his arms, and the black claws that rested against the dark door.

Before I reached the end of his fingers, he stepped forward, arm dropping around my shoulders and pulling me along. I glanced back at the closing door and opened my mouth to protest, but he gripped my shoulder and the scrape of his claws snapped my attention back to what was in front of me. A hallway lit with candles in black sconces seemed to stretch on forever. As we passed, I noticed that each sconce was an intricately detailed carving of a hand. They were unsettlingly lifelike and no two were the same.

Before a question could form in my mind, the man was pushing open a new door and ushering me in. A round room with a solitary chair waited. The only light came from a lattice in the ceiling that let in the powerfully bright moonlight. I moved towards the chair, wanting to be free from the shadows that hugged the walls. There was no telling what was waiting in the dark, and the light felt like the only safe place. The chair was stark, all angles and straight lines, with a glossy shine.

"Please, take a seat," the man spoke, if he even was a man. His voice was much smoother than I expected, sounding rich and luxurious. I sat, tucking my hands between my knees, wishing I'd thought to put on real pajamas instead of just my cozy tshirt, but I hadn't anticipated a dream like this. Strange to know that I was dreaming, too, but curiosity kept me floating along. Here, as in life, I was willing to let stronger, more knowledgeable people take the lead, though a prickling of fear and pride danced at the edge of my awareness.

He stood at the edge of the dimness, letting the light and shadow dance across him. He looked both official and casual. The leather armor at his shoulders was elegant and the dangling straps revealed his bare chest. I tried to keep my face neutral as I admired the dip of his hip bones. Was he half dressed or did his job require such provocative clothing?

"Now then, my honored guest, tell me," he said, crossing his arms. "What brings a human to the Land of Ishness?"

The words set off a variety of alarms in my head, but I was distracted by the way this new posture emphasized the strength in his lean muscles. I thought about running my fingers along each and every line and divot before I shook myself back to the moment.

"Human?" I asked, trying to chase my thoughts back into order.

"Well, perhaps it's rude of me to assume, but you certainly don't seem like a native."