Post by Sarah Williams on Sept 4, 2020 11:29:25 GMT
We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.”― William Shakespeare, The Tempest
(Inspirational Song: t.co/W8iRiPvHFK )
After that startling conversation with the man that looked like the Goblin King but wasn’t, Sarah felt something change inside of her. The hope and strength that she lost when she ran from home to protect her family seemed to bloom again. There was a warmth in her chest that hadn’t been there for a long time. Maybe there was a way out of this hellish situation.
Going back to the woman’s shelter, she decided to get some sleep. Between her fears of what was hunting her and the worry over the safety of her family, sleep wasn’t always restful at the best of times. Then there was the lack of dreams. Not being able to dream wore on her. It felt like a piece of herself was trapped in a box. Fighting to get out. She just didn’t know how to unlock it.
Suddenly, she was on stage, surrounded by performers in masks and beautiful costumes. The music was soft and soothing. It calmed whatever fear she might have felt. She had always felt comfortable on the stage, even in her dreams.
A tall man in a hooded black cloak came to the front of the stage. The other performers parted for him without a word. His face was in shadows, she could see that his clothes were old fashion. White poet shirt with black breeches and boots. His hands were encased in gloves but she could still see a grace to them when he gestured to the audience.
Turning to look out to the audience, she could see only empty seats. Of course, she learned during her run through the Labyrinth that nothing was as it seems, especially when it came to dreams. A lesson well leaned indeed.
She looked at him again when she heard him speak,
“And, after all, what is a lie? 'Tis but
The truth in masquerade; and I defy
Historians, heroes, lawyers, priests, to put
A fact without some leaven of a lie.
The very shadow of true Truth would shut
Up annals, revelations, poesy,
And prophecy—except it should be dated
Some years before the incidents related.”
It was from Bryon’s Don Juan. It wasn’t one of her favorites. The whole poem seemed cruel in nature. Of course, from what she knew of Bryon, he tended to be cruel in nature to those around him. Made her wonder if he had met a certain king.
The performers moved. Twirling so that she lost sight of the man in the cloak. Their movements also caused her to be center stage. Something she didn’t want. Looking around, she saw that the group was watching her expectantly. Waiting for her to do or say something. Unfortunately, she didn’t know what that was supposed to be. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t even know what her role was in this dream. Panic was starting to rise, causing her to tremble.
Gloved hands gripped her shoulders as the hood of the black cloak brushed her cheek. This wasn’t the same figure that had been tormenting her dreams but someone else. Someone that strangely made her feel safe. Not completely though. There was an edge of tension between them, but fear was not the reason. It was more because of the unknown. She learned to be wary of the unknown. That ripe fruit could have poison at the core.
He spoke in a hushed whisper closed to her cheek, “Say your right words. You have them. Use them.”
In that moment the dream shattered like a crystal, causing her to bolt awake. It took a few moments for her to catch her breath and calm her raising heart. The man in the dream sounded like the Goblin King, but that was impossible. He was never in her dreams since she beat the Labyrinth. Only the thing that seemed to delight in hunting her. Draining her of her hopes and dreams. The new tone of her dream made her cautiously optimistic.
Glancing around, she saw that it was morning. This place had been a sanctuary for months as she hid from the horrors that seemed determined to shatter her. Yesterday’s conversation and the dream made it clear that she couldn’t keep hiding here. She needed to move on, even if it made her feel sad. She wondered if she would ever find her own place in this world. Somewhere that would welcome her and make her feel as though she belonged. Until she found that place, she would wander.
After packing up her things and saying goodbye to the women that had helped her feel safe for a little bit, she found herself wandering the streets, trying to figure out what was the next step. Sarah never really planned. Always had faith that her feet would lead her to where she needed to go. They hadn’t let her down so far.
She didn’t know how far she walked before she came up to a caravan of trucks and patchwork tents. As she explored the area more, she realized that it was a traveling theater. She didn’t know that they still existed. It was a delightful discovery. Happily, she started exploring.
After about thirty minutes she found herself standing on a stage. Looking around in awe. She didn’t question why no one stopped her or asked her what she was doing. They seemed to act as though curious people wander around their sets all the time. Maybe they did? She would be the first to admit that she didn’t know this particular world well.
Remembering a poem by Christina Rosetti seemed strangely fitting in the world entitled ‘The Goblin Market.’ She had been shocked when she first read it. Almost fearful as she saw the parallels to her own experience in the Labyrinth.
The words passed her lips as though the stage called them forth,
“Evening by evening
Among the brookside rushes,
Laura bow’d her head to hear,
Lizzie veil’d her blushes:
Crouching close together
In the cooling weather,
With clasping arms and cautioning lips,
With tingling cheeks and finger tips.
‘Lie close,’ Laura said,
Pricking up her golden head:
‘We must not look at goblin men,
We must not buy their fruits:
Who knows upon what soil they fed
Their hungry thirsty roots?’
‘Come buy,’ call the goblins
Hobbling down the glen. “
Yes. She knew this story very well. It was only the ending that was giving her trouble because she knew that she was neither Laura nor Lizzie but a part not written. Maybe one day she would write her own place. Not now though. Right now, she had to find a place where she was safe until she could figure out what she needed to do to stop whatever was going on with her.
Sighing, “I wish…..”
