Project 2 Draft

The [[wind->Poem C]] assaults the tree, its branches colliding with the [[window]]. The rain thunders against the roof; both blanketed by the [[music]] drifting through the room. Contrasting the [[perilous abyss]] of outside the room glows; flittered by fairylights.(click-replace:"fairylights")[[[fairies->Poem B]]] Its warmth an invitation for relaxation; the [[opposite]] of the outside. Sinking into the bed (click-replace:"bed")[plush comfort of the bed] you feel the heaviness of your body, the [[weight->Poem D]] of your otherwise light eyelids and sleep grabs ahold of your prone form.

Fairie that is your only claim to the title. you know nothing of Earth Magique, or the language of the Moone, or how the trees pulse with life. You have never danced amongst the lantern flies during the Moone festival. Instead, you live alone, unknowing of the warmth of the sun or the thrill of adventure. Rather, you have forgotten. And no matter how hard you try, you can never remember what it means to be a Fairie; what it feels like to be free. So it should come as no surprise that the tingle you feel in your wing when it rains, is actually the call of your ancestors to tend to the [[lands->Poem E]].

A seed endlessly floating in the wind with no destination in sight. It lands on the lush grass some random land; nestling itself in the ground where it rests. After some time it grows out of the earth and lives amongst the short stalks of sod. There is nothing but the meadows surrounding the young sapling. There are no obligations, no pain, no fear, no hatred, just [[nothingness->Poem F]].

The nightmares are so heavy and realistic you sometimes think they aren’t ‘mares at all, But memories of the darkest moments in your life. The specificity of the nightmares makes you fear sleeping, but even more, you fear [[waking up->Poem G]].

The branches smack so violently it is a wonder the window hasn't [[shattered->Poem A]] under the pressure.

Just what exactly sits outside of this room? Just thinking about it [[hurts->Poem A]]. [[LEAVE->Poem A]] [[Open the window]]

Or does it simply distract from the darkness encircling the room, itching to get [[in->Poem A]]? Maybe you should go [[out->Open the window]] and face it

The meditation chimes calm the restlessness within you. So much so, that the room seems to sway alongside the [[music->Poem A]].

When you stick your head out of the window you only see darkness ahead of you. There are no starrs in the skies. No lights from airplanes or helicopters. You can't even catch sight of the moon. The more you search the more you find yourself asking [[questions]].

If the branches were smacking the window, [[why]] are there no branches hitting you in the face?

The more you listen to the outside the less the rain sounds like rain. It sounds [[artifical]], like it was recorded in a studio.

At this point, something is clearly wrong with the room you're in. The sounds of rain and music are no longer familiar and relaxing, they are now foreign and unsettling. [[Go back inside?]] [[Reach your hand out the window?]]

But when you go back inside there are no lights in your room and a [[figure->new person]] stands next to the bed.

When you reach out the window your hand touches a wall. Startled, you fall back into the room. Your back, instead of hitting the floor, slams into [[someone's legs->new person]].

In your disoreintation. You don't notice them grabbing ahold of you from behind. It isn't until their hands cover your nose and mouth that you begin to struggle. Yet your valiant efforts prove futile against the strength of your captor. Your vision blurs. Your body slumps. And you float into [[nothingness]].

In your travel of the land you happen upon a Fairie, one so beautiful you are in disbelief. As the two of you grow closer your magique grows stronger. Your adventure never stops, not when you exchange vows and dwell in a cottage nestled between a crick and vivacious forest. Not even when your magique, aged and fatigued, begins to fade. Exploring love is the journey of a [[lifetime->Poem H]].

From nothing, the seedling matures into a beautiful tree. Instead of being faced with blades of grass it can now see the creatures of the land. It bathes underneath the sunlight and soaks in its warmth. The rain nourishes the roots which supply food for the branches and leaves. As the flowers bloom, a new beast can be seen in the [[distance->Poem I]].

When you wake, the nightmare becomes reality. At this point, reality and fantasy converge. How can you be expected to function? If the light flickers, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. That night you dream of a shadow touching the lights. Yet your reality is not separate from your [[dreams->Poem J]].

On your last day with your last breath, you relish in your love. At peace with your life and connected with the [[Earth]].

The distance brings about the two-leggeds: a creature never seen by the tree or the critters that chitter in its ear. A sense of foreboding grabs hold of the tree and its friends. The closer they get to the tree the less it thinks about nothing. All that remains of the tree is a stump and dead [[roots]].

Reality seeps into dreams bleeding into reality. You no longer feel safe in your home, fearing the next thing your mind makes up. When you go to sleep (or maybe wake up) something dark and heavy stands above you. Its hand grips your shoulder and your mouth opens into a [[scream]].

Your eyes, soaked with tears, still close from [[exhaustion.->con 3]] (text-colour:red)[[[Or maybe it was the tea?->con 3]]]

You are so deeply moved by the dream, you fear you'll never be able to fall back asleep. You drink from your [[mug]] as you usually do, hoping to quell your panic and quench your thirst. You do the deep breathing exercise your [[therapist]] taught [[you->con 2]].

''(text-colour:red)[(text-style:"fade-in-out")[...forever]]''

You wake up in a room with fairylights dancing along the walls and tears in your [[eyes->con 1]].

You wake up in a room with the wind howling and tears soaked into your [[pillow->con 1]].

You wake up screaming, your face coated in your tears and covered in cold sweat that has drenched your [[clothes->con 1]].

When was the last time you even went? ...10 years ago? . . . . . . . . . . . .........[[longer?->con 1]]

Your mug is filled with tea tonight, though you've never been a fan of [[tea->con 1]].

''(text-colour:navy)[(align:"=><=")+(box:"X")[(text-style:"blink")[THE END]]]''