[text: -handwritten. Using Forge as tablet and wand as stylus. Handwriting, scrawled, is an echo from what's gone, semi-translatable glyphs of an inaccessible land: he's still half-asleep. But tries to capture that last clinging moment of a
dream]
of the dawn from ^come the dawn
they float away
breathe again
float away
the Door opens again someday
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Hullo, my name's Remus. [doesn't ask if she's feeling all right, though clearly concerned at her appearance; unless his voice is always so exceptionally kind] You are…?
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Four? [ Man, that goes beyond coincidence. ] I-I'm Freya. ... It's...nice to meet you, Remus.
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…Well, Freya, I promise to look into this. In the meantime, I don't think there's much cause to worry. Dreams already tend to be… less private that one would assume, around here.
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I'm not really worried. I always have nightmares... they're just... usually different from the one I had. Nothing looked familiar, I mean.
Do...all dreams get ....recorded like that then?
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But yes, sometimes they are. You'll know them when you see them. [or experience them]
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I think I already... I mean, I think a dream I had, was recorded once. Not long ago - it, seemed that people were able to see what I dreamed. [ To her great shame. ]
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I - - have you been here in this place, long?
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[hesitates; doesn't address what he suspects from her question -- that she's hoping to go home -- since he can offer neither material help, nor a solid dissuasion from holding on to such thoughts]
Where is home, for you?
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... nowhere. [ She draws back, glancing away. ] My home is gone. [ Or actually, she was no longer welcome. ]
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I'm so sorry.
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... thank you. [ It's awkwardly given. She's still not used to strangers being genuinely compassionate - and even now she was a little suspicious, but. ]
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At last,]
There's a young woman here from the same world as myself. She comes from an earlier point in our shared timeline than I do. It's… bewildering. I want to help and support her in settling in here, adapting to life in Anatole, but part of me can't let go what I know of her future, wondering if I should instead be trying to help her get back to it.
I, on the other hand, reached the end of my story there. I'm not going back.
…I think, that between her and me, in this instance I feel like the fortunate one. I can focus solely on the present.
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