[ Strung up in a spiderweb canopy above the carnival, lights in green-gold- and reds illuminate the night softly. Ferris wheel cars, also dressed in lights, rock gently with a passing balmy gust, as dingy carousel ponies rest silently in the corner of the video. Tents and caravans dot the carnivale ground.
(
Welcome to the Carnivale, my friends. )
We all live in dreams.
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Nah, there's reality. And there's dreams.
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[Dreams built themselves out of reality, could invade it too. So, truly, what was there to differentiate.]
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[There's nothing snappish in it, just sadness. They'd tortured her for those visions, they'd tortured Lucie and God only knows how many others: so that they would see beyond the living world, tell them the secrets of death.]
And they can bruise just as easily as a 'real' fist.
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You sure that's a dream-- a hallucination? Don't mean it's reality, either.
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If it does not cover our experiences, then 'reality' is an arbitrary term.
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Some of both. It is where we are, what does it matter.
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[She shakes her head, her expression tense.]
There is no reason to go back.
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[ Ben offers her a poker face at best. ]
But some of us- we got stuff to do.
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[It's all she can really say to show she understands that others may long for their lives more than she does.]
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She unwraps the bandages around one of her wrists, holding it up. She had woken in Promenade with most of the damage done to her healed, but the purple scars around her wrists have refused to heal.]
A captive.
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The folks here? They want you to stay. To forget. [ He presses his lips thin. ] Don't worry.
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