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through these glass patterns

Chapter Text


1 - blue sunsets 


For those who dream of stranger worlds,

Amelia dreams of places she’s never been. 


She dreams of the cold plunge down into the dark rolling abyss of the ocean floor. She’s walking around the still mirror-like blue of brine lakes, watching the smokey fountains erupt from the cracks in the seafloor. 


Amelia dreams of a trident emerging from the void, held by a girl half it’s height. She dreams of crimson eyes swirling back into baby blue, and silver hair swaying gently through the ebb and flow of invisible currents. The girl grabs her hand, mouthing something in the water. 


She looks at Amelia like she’s a lost child. 


Then they were ascending, spearing through the ocean with the trident, propelled by the low swish of a battered tail. Amelia’s staring at the shapes on their skin, dancing shadows of refracted light seeping into the water. 


When they break the surface, the light feathers itself over the girl’s face in a warm orange glow. A razor-sharp grin greets her. Amelia feels like she’s floating, anchored by the hand intertwined with hers, with the sun melting into an ocean that seemed to stretch on forever. 



2 - of ashes and roses 


The next time Amelia dreams, she’s thinking about death (how morbid). 


But death takes on the form of a scythe wielding pink-head babe with ruby red eyes. The blade swings dangerously to her face, and a lock of blonde falls slowly to the ground. Death says something with a scowl, leaning in. 


A threat, supposedly. 


But death also smells like ashes and roses, and death’s looking at her like she doesn’t want her to leave. So, Amelia breaks into a smile. Maybe dying wasn’t so scary after all. 


For the rest of the dream, they sit together, shoulders bumping. There isn’t much to see because the space between life and death doesn’t have much. A reservoir of darkness, black as far as her vision could explore. Amelia wonders if death wears her loneliness like a crown. 


First, a hum. Soft words crescendoing into a song. Syllables skipping into familiar rhythms, pillowing plosives. Then Amelia sinks into the view of hair the shade of cherry blossoms, sinking into the sound of a song sung from memories a hundred years ago. 



3 - embering contrails 


How ironic it is then when Amelia falls back into another dream, it’s one about life. 


This time she’s riding on the wings of a fiery phoenix, smouldering contrails of ember drawn in the sky. The warmth from the plumes beneath her tickles, radiating on her skin. 


The fire bird croons when Amelia pushes her hands into her feathers, lowering her body and gripping for balance; pale skin a stark contrast against the fanning shades of emerald and tangerine. 


They soar like two glowing stars fluttering in the stratosphere, hearts lifted by winds fresh with high tide brine. 


The moment they land on a coast, Amelia skips off the bird and falls into sand. The phoenix bristles, feathers blazing up instantly into thin smoke and a familiar figure steps out from the cloud. She looks down at Amelia, beaming with a magical pull on her lips, excited words tumbling out.


When Amelia’s brought into a tight hug, the girl burns like the warmth of a fireplace welcoming her home. 



4 - komorebi


When Amelia dreams of stranger worlds, she often wonders how much of it is real. 


Because suddenly she’s tumbling down moss and rocks, feeling pain at every bump. Her arms flail for support, anything. And when she lands softly into a small verdant clearing, she sits up looking frazzled, finding herself lost amidst screens of bamboo. 


Snap , the quiet shuffle of feet. 


Amelia turns, immediately gazing up pale slim calves to snow silk robes. The girl stares back at her, expression obscured by bamboo, the purple flaps on her head twitching. Like the sunlight filtering through the trees, she stands there faintly and delicately. 


This time Amelia speaks first, calling the girl’s name. 


An appendage glides over, cautious. It gives Amelia’s sleeve a small tug. Pause. Then rides over the hem of her shirt, leaves two taps at the back of her neck, and plops itself over golden locks; gently ruffling out blonde for affectionate head pats. 


Amelia laughs when more tentacles started wrapping themselves around her. The girl steps out from the shadows, smiling with tears in her eyes. Later, Amelia finds herself kissing the tears away, holding her soft hands, spilling inky curtains over white robes. 


From dawn till dusk, on moss carpet, dreaming about green tea and plum blossoms.