UNDER HEAVEN. OVER HELL.

Once Upon A Bad Dream

The woods themselves breathed here. The bristle of leaves came half from the wind, and half from within themselves. As if they were truly alive. You ventured further, holding your arms closer, wrapping them around you. The weather may be nicer than back at the house, but it was still chilly here.

Above was a thick canopy. One where only a few rays of light streamed through. A mosaic of green filtered light. Your feet moved of their own accord once you got up. Your jaw unhinged and mouth open while your eyes drifted skyward.

Up ahead was something long, thin and black as night. A flickering flame of sorts at its very top.

"A lamppost?" You thought aloud, fingers skimming over its cold metal while you circled it slowly. A foolish thought had slipped into your head. One of being in St James's park or something of the sort. For where else would there be a lamppost in the middle of a woodland. Yes. You were in a dream. In St James's park. Any moment now you'd wake up.

Any moment now...

"–Are you lost, my friend?"

Yes! Finally, someone to help you! But your smile dropped the moment you laid eyes upon them.

They were a he . And he was dressed in the most peculiar clothing you'd seen, mounted atop a horse of brown fur and a lustrous mane. Brown leather boots laced up his calves, pale jodhpur like things for trousers that bulged over the top of his boots, and a tunic of deep wine red over chainmail armour, golden lion embroidered upon his chest. Silver pauldrons gleaming in the sun, broad shoulders, sharp jawline under the smattering of a close shaven beard. Deep brown eyes and thick chestnut hair, the top half swept hastily into a bun atop the back of his head. Yet there was something familiar about him. An image cast in your mind by words read not long ago, or even of a dream maybe.

This was not the man to help you.

"Nope. I'm just on my way back home, actually." You said quickly, delivering your curt words with an even more curt and tight lipped smile. A puff of air escaped his nose in what you would name humour. The cheek of it.

"I'll admit, in all my years I've never seen someone dressed in such attire as yourself." he chuckled humorously, swinging his leg over the back of his steed and jumping graciously to the grass. His words were strange, eloquent and well spoken, yet with a casual nature. Like he had left some baggage back home before coming out for whatever reason he was here now.

"You mean... pyjamas ?"

"That's what you call them?"

Your hands soon found your hips, mimicking the stance of a parent whom a fib had been relaid to. Disbelief. "Yeah...now if you'll be so polite as to be on your merry way, I'm trying to get home."

You turned on your heel, taking a few paces from the lamppost in the direction you came from. He spoke again;

"Where might home be?" If you heard his voice once more you swore to whatever force up there that you'd start hitting something. But, while your temper had a tendency to lash out, you kept your cool with a deep breath in– hold...two...three...four. And exhale.

"Back through a fucking wadrobe apparently." It was said in a quick muttering jest. Nothing more than a snarky joke aimed at yourself. But for some reason unbeknownst to you he seemed just as confused as you. But for all the wrong reasons.

"War Drobe?"

"Yes!" you snarked, "it's a big wooden box, with doors on, that you hang clothes in." Your sarcasm was lost on him, falling on deaf ears evidently.