Thursday, September 6, 2012

Day Two-Seventy-Nine: Kids Reveal the Darndest Plot Points

I had a dream, diary.

I just woke up from it, Dragomir limp in bed at my side. He's no different than before… doesn't even care that I've lit a candle to write this… but… if the dream is any indication… I may be able to change him. To bring him back to normal.

I went to sleep last night feeling frustrated. Very frustrated. I was still fired up over Gok's visit, and being shoved back into these shitty apartments has stoked my temper. I'm sick of the same bunch of nobles invading my privacy, the same snooty goblins shunning the way I look, the same thirty-five songs from Edmund's lute played over and over, the same… the same expression on Dragomir's face.




As I rolled around and tried to get comfortable with my giant belly, though - and gods grant me strength, it's huge - the frustration melted. Slowly, but noticeably. A faint warmth spread outward, from within to without, setting my limbs into a slight tingle that made any sleeping position good.

When I opened my eyes, I was in the white room again. Everything white, everything… balanced.

And I mean that literally. This time the room was filled with furniture and knickknacks, placed neatly against the walls in careful symmetry. Two of everything on both sides of the room, with my bed in the middle: two chests, two dressers, two weight scales, two tipping birds, two circular mirrors, two… two.

Oh, and I should probably mention that my belly was gone. So two feet that I hadn't seen in weeks, wriggling happily under a woollen coverlet.

Only one thing in the room wasn't symmetrical: the figure standing on one side, and not the other. He approached the bed slowly, bathed in gentle white light, and sat by my feet.

His voice massaged my ears. So gentle. "Hello, mother."

I couldn't say anything. My mouth wouldn't work. Even if it had, what do you say to your unborn son? A son who, despite still being in your stomach, is the size of a boy? (Hope that's not true when it comes time to give birth.)

He smiled. "It's okay. Just listen. I know you want him back… and you're close to a solution… but you're using the wrong medium. Return him to the basics."

I blinked, raised my arms and motioned for clarification.

He reached under the bed on both sides, pulling out two things: a stack of parchment and a bottle of ink, complete with quill. Then, setting them down on the bed, he reached down again… and came up with you, diary.

Pointing at you, he shook his head. Then he put you away again.

"Have patience. It may take some time. Set him down, give him the tools he needs, and then… wait. He will come back once he's answered something for himself."

I mouthed 'What'?

My son shrugged. "I'm not sure. Only he knows. Maybe he'll share the answer with you?"

He edged up the bed towards me, laying a hand on my forehead. Then he leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. "I'm coming soon, mother. It will only be a few more weeks until I'm born. Once that happens… please…"

He kissed me again, smiled, and glowed brighter than the sun. "… call me Grayson."

I sat up in bed, breathing hard. Belly back in place, room dark, people snoring in various unseen corners.

A dream.

But… not a dream. More like a vision.

It hasn't worked, so far. After breakfast I sat Dragomir down at a table in our apartments, told everyone to leave him alone, and put a pen, ink, and parchment in front of him. He hasn't moved from that spot, not even touched the pen, but it will work. I know it will.

My only question is…

Why hasn't this worked with you, diary?


1 comment:

  1. ...methinks...that the reason he won't write in the diary is because it reminds him of the castle...and of his daughter? PSSSH! I dunno! THROW HIM IN THE BOG AGAIN! That should jar his memory...maybe!