Scene 28 - Far Promise ~ Dream Shore (ZeaLitY)
[OOC: Written while listening to the Radical Dreamers song 'Epilogue.']
Far away from the bustle of the main continents, on an isle solely devoted to relaxation -- naught seen by the busy sorcerers who relished in the social glory of Zeal, or the countless scientists who sped at an unnerving pace toward some unknown end -- a beautiful girl sat, content and wishful on an evening cloudy and cool. The shifting breezes brought hints of rain, never relinquishing their secret mists openly, while the moon illuminated the clouds from high a deep crimson, which vaguely reflected on the verdant grasses that covered each enchanted inch of the Zealian landscapes. These silver winds dispersed around her, cradling her every strand of hair, and uplifting her spirit by caressing her skin, awash in the soft, sleek, sparkling dewy drops yielded from the nightly drizzle. A magical night of repose, she felt distanced from the busy world that sought to imprison her -- free to rub her cheek against the eternal sky, whose infinity she understood so closely, yet was powerless to grasp and become.
The stars recognized her wistful feelings, deepened by sorrowful tones, and the rain began to make a marked presence on the land, immersing the darkened greenery in sweet bathing, accentuated by the silvery lunar auras which filtered above. At once, she recognized the eterne in this scene, and, even as the rain began to wet her hair and sculpt her to an imperfect form -- though more beautiful than the perfection the beauticians on the continent dreamt of -- she withdrew a writing utensil from within her robe, and a small tablet. Her blue eyes reflecting the descent of the airy showers, she began to write, and did not cease until her composition was complete. She then read what had been excruciatingly teemed from her passionate, yet muted mind, for writing poetry was especially difficult when grasped from true inspiration --
Drops of cold rain etch and fall on my face,
The glowing moon long shrouded by crimson
Clouds of darkling mist, descending nightly;
The cool breeze pushes me in weary grace,
As I, with eyes closed, continue to run --
Dash, not controlling my own destiny,
As the crying blue drizzle falls knightly --
Arrayed in black glory; in twilight glace,
Surrounding, in chilling sheets arisen,
My cry for him -- his bright visage sightly --
For the coal of my heart cannot be drenched;
Nor as the azure torrents sadly storm,
I cannot bow to rain, and be entrenched --
For I am there, deep within his bosom.
As one releases a dove into the wild blue to soar evermore, her eyes closed, releasing her tired psyche into a world of dreams by her own creation, the physical world, with its rainy touches, assisting her journey into the magnificent, dashing, unknown beyond, on viewless wings. In fact, the man she was pining for, and had no more thought but to be with until the end of time -- he was not upon the Zealian continents, nor in the heavens, as some enchantresses desired to yield themselves to Montlasalle -- no, he did not exist; he was merely the future -- what was to be, if her dream was to be realized. He was the shining man who with she would achieve perfect union; though imperfect, their striving, understanding, and unquenchable love would elevate them to a celestial plane of happiness and dreaming. But she had not met him yet, and was now, more than ever, engaged in the tossing and tumbling of the hurried, heartless world around her, which sought to employ her as a cog in its gargantuan machinery. She could only passively resist, and, being dragged from her vagaries and hopes, turn upwards to the sky, and with a dear glance, let it know that she had not given up yet.
She turned, and departed the cliff, holding her hand to her heart, wishing that the coming sleep would carry her to peaceful and loving demesnes.
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