||Don't Go Breaking My Heart
The bridge between the waking and dreaming world, the ancients believed that it was here the gods would speak of the future, reveal glimpses of things to be. While I have lain here, in my own meditative state which is centred on the bride I've seen no great truths of recieved a prophocey. At this point I hardly expect to.
My mother always said that I was born in dreams, the first and last time she walked the bridge was during my birth. Perhaps. She has told me many things during the centuries and few have I ever believed implicitly.
These days of been a haze of dreaming, cobwebs in the fore of my mind. It has been as it ever was, peace without interference or alteration. In a way, I have gotten all that I have been wishing for. 'Tis a wonder that I do not feel more joy. Perhaps it is merely the trance-fog, the cool mist which clings and keeps all but deep quiet and serenity at bay. Yes, that may be it...
Gods be damned who do I think I decieve? Certainly not myself... no, I am not meant for this world of half sights and uniform gray. Perhaps, perhaps I was born in dreams, and the fairy tale of the Realm. But I have long seperated myself from that. I am no Elven Prince, the threads of my destiny crossed with anothers, I took their's and they took mine. What is in dreams that is not in the waking world? My sweet peace? Days turn to the phantom touch of wind, centuries crumble into endless nights and ashen thoughts, millenia will dawn and then fade away into night. There is my peace, the continuous march of uninterupted time.
Where was it that my heart left me? Was it in Venice all those years ago? Is that when I fell into my love affair with shadows? I have seen the world and wandered into awoken dreams beyond a dreamer's illusioned imaginanings. So in Bordertown, yes, I found peace that so eluded me in the Realm. It is a strange thing, but here I am more the elf than ever I was in my homeland. Maybe it is that I have no pressure to make me rebel, but can this really be all that there is? Seems that I have walked along way in dreams merely to slumber with more questions.
Am I just a shadow, a wisp of fantasy cling to the sweet haze of sleep?
Orlando dropped the quill and blew lightly on the heavy vellum. Regarding the words etched out in streaks of night the elf sighed softly and turned his gaze to the stars shinning from his window. Laden with sweet perfumes and opulent silks his bower called, urging him to abadon the bridge for true sleep. Reisgned and with no other outlet he rose and curled into the warm nest. At last reaching the other side, mind truely lost to dreaming, the quest sounded from the bridge.
Is this really all that I am?