Isolde
The dreams always start off the same; I find myself frozen in time, in the very fabric of it, incapable of movement or sound. A chilling breeze envelopes me in its embrace and before I can truly grasp the dream for what it is, before I can deem it to be distinct from reality, she appears before me.
I have never seen her before. And yet I know her. Every dawn, before these lucid dreams turn into nightmares, she appears, more than a human being, not quite an apparition. Ethereal as ever, her silk, sheer cloth, the colour of clouds, wet with the morning dew, clings desperately to the alluring curve of her waist. A woman who cannot be appeased simply with love, a woman who must be worshipped, reverred even.
And then blood begins to stain her porcelain skin. At first it drips out of her nose, evoking concern and nothing more. Then her eyes turn blood shot, the crevinces start bleeding and before I know it, the trance is broken replacing my erstwhile admiration with something much more sinister. I try to cry out, scream even, but my voice eludes me. As if to mock my desperation, the woman begins to claw at her arms, drawing more blood, and more blood, and some more....Until her dress is dyed an angry red, until she is nothing but flesh and bones. The skin hangs off her flesh desperately. Flies surround her, their constant buzzing setting into motion, a haunting melody, a tune that will ring in my ears long after I have woken up.
A woman who could have, a moment ago, rivalled the goddesses gets reduced to a grotesque monstrosity...all while I stare, desolate and mute.
And when I finally wake up, each time, the world around me shifts just a little more. A shift so slight and so fickle, that it might as well be a figment of my imagination.
Sometimes, the winds slow down to a comically awkward pace. Sometimes, the dimensions of my room change. Everyday I set out to measure my room, almost like a ritual. I walk along the length of it, praying for it to be as many feet as it was yesterday. It never quite is.
And the people around me-the maids, the gardener and even Mother....sometimes, it feels like the soul is being sucked out of there body. Bit by bit.
These dreams(or should I call them nightmares...)began to plague me about a month ago. At first I put it down to stress, or a bad meal....now though, it's hard to deny it. Something is wrong....very, very wrong. The Space and time around me wraps, dreams bleed into reality and I am left gasping for my sanity.
In this utter chaos that drowns my mind, the only constant is Amaryllis. My dear Amaryllis. My only friend, only confidante.
Countless times I have started with the intention to bare my heart to her, only to falter at the end, earning nothing but an incredulous look. She is concerned, no doubt. I see it in her eyes. Those magnetic, golden eyes. They betray little of her emotions....but at the same time, hold a clarity befitting a saintess of her prowess.
In any case, how does one put into words the apprehension of impending doom, the tightening around one's chest.
So I stay mum.
For I am Isolde, princess of Lyonesse. I would rather be mauled by the claws of an egregious future than be cast aside as a lunatic sob-story.
By the time the familiar knock emanates from the opposite side of the huge, mahogany door, I have calmed myself down and my bloodshot eyes have been tamed with splashes of cold water.
"Amaryllis, you know you don't need to knock."
"May I enter princess?"
I scoff at her persistence to be formal and proper. I open the door and pull her into an embrace.
"Do we really have to repeat this ritual every morning, my dear?!!"
"We absolutely must", she quitely says as she breaks free from my embrace.
Amaryllis, the great saintess.Two worlds apart and yet no one understands me like she does.
"Princess, were you riddled with nightmares again?"
I see, the cold water didn't really do its job.
My face transforms into a grimace as I remember the woman of my dreams. In the beginning, I wondered who she was, I wondered why my heart beat in recognition, tugging at an odd sense of familiarity. As if I knew her. In some other life, in another timeline..... But now, I have decided that it's all futile. In the course of an entire month, I have failed to uncover any clue at all.
And now the day that I dread the most has dawned in upon me,
"Princess, steel your heart. In about a week's time, you are to be bethroted to Prince Darius...."