OOC - Dream
She was running. They were behind her. They were vague, shadowy forms, with faces that were only half-glimpsed for a moment, a crowd of people she knew and was amused by, was sometimes fond of. Once some had loved her. Sometimes they still cared. But most simply wanted her caged. Ambition, one murky voice said, was not for women. And too much ambition wasn’t good for anyone of any gender.
She was running. On her feet were boots, heeled, and she wore a red trenchcoat over pants and a shirt. There was a hat on her head. The streets changed as she moved, architecture shifting from ancient to modern and back, different colors, different shapes. Domes, squares, tents, spires, cement, stone, glass. A ruined city stood out, broken buildings holding broken people.
She was running. Some people were no longer chasing, but were running alongside her. Blonde hair, a wicked grin. Two half-moon-shaped heads. White spiked hair and a lazy, unimpressed gaze. Something… pink, with moving facial features. Dark hair and two earnest eyes, pupils somehow spinning behind orange-tinted goggles.
She was running. From, to, back and forth. Through the hallways of cathedrals and up narrow staircases on the inside of statues, sometimes carrying things and sometimes unencumbered. Across bridges to an island filled with crystal statues.
She was running, and then she stopped. Or perhaps she’d found where the run had begun, a simple painting on a simple wall, framed, protected, supposedly secure. The Mona Lisa. It was within her reach, the enigmatic smile mirroring what she felt on her own face. She had found where she would stand. She had found a direction in which to run.
Then she was running back, past a giant golden bridge, past a tall and impressive building, back to where a fire burned and a small girl fled, back until there was nowhere left to run.
She was running. On her feet were boots, heeled, and she wore a red trenchcoat over pants and a shirt. There was a hat on her head. The streets changed as she moved, architecture shifting from ancient to modern and back, different colors, different shapes. Domes, squares, tents, spires, cement, stone, glass. A ruined city stood out, broken buildings holding broken people.
She was running. Some people were no longer chasing, but were running alongside her. Blonde hair, a wicked grin. Two half-moon-shaped heads. White spiked hair and a lazy, unimpressed gaze. Something… pink, with moving facial features. Dark hair and two earnest eyes, pupils somehow spinning behind orange-tinted goggles.
She was running. From, to, back and forth. Through the hallways of cathedrals and up narrow staircases on the inside of statues, sometimes carrying things and sometimes unencumbered. Across bridges to an island filled with crystal statues.
She was running, and then she stopped. Or perhaps she’d found where the run had begun, a simple painting on a simple wall, framed, protected, supposedly secure. The Mona Lisa. It was within her reach, the enigmatic smile mirroring what she felt on her own face. She had found where she would stand. She had found a direction in which to run.
Then she was running back, past a giant golden bridge, past a tall and impressive building, back to where a fire burned and a small girl fled, back until there was nowhere left to run.