Dreaming of Sunlight in Twilight

“Slow down, my wild little sunshine! You’ve left a whole trail of fire over here!” 

A warm and motherly voice warns her to slow down as she runs out the door and toward a field of flowering trees on a summery day. Yes, she was chastising the way her daughter tore through life (and the house) like there existed a finish line at the end of it all. Quite often, her vibrant spirit was often likened to a wildfire. The way it burned uncontrollably bright and as hot as could be when left unchecked. The way her temper could be quick to peter out and by the end of it all, leaving nothing in its path. This essence describing her encompassed all things the youthful girl did. Her interest in any matter, in people, had been quick to ignite and flickered out even faster. While passionate about everything and everyone, she was also devoted to nothing and no one at all.

That raging wildfire in her soul kept her endlessly moving forward. Always willing her toward some aimless goal, never stopping long enough to see the ashes fall.

“Sunshine?”

The word came bubbling out from her lips, garbled and muted as if submerged underwater. Everything was hazy, her limbs fire. A pair of arms encircled her form, lifting her from the depths she had been sinking into. It was then she felt the sweltering summer heat dampening the air and a sky so brilliantly blinding, she had to shield her eyes from the sight. The magical particles in the air shimmered in golds so vibrant, they colored the air the same.

Suddenly, a cooling shadow had been cast over her, and she felt herself being cradled in a set of familiar, strong arms. This being was tall and almost faceless, his outlines marked by golden scales and a tail identical to hers. No matter how hard she tried to squint through the haze and blinding light, she could barely even make out the stranger's nebulous features. The only parts that stood out were his strikingly aquamarine eyes and jet black hair that made up his strangely familiar face.

“Rie! How many times have I told you not to take your naps in the springs?"

A deep, exasperated sigh left the strange figure. "You’ve got her temperament, you know.”

  “Oh, but don’t tell her I said that. Now come here, little rascal.” The male voice looked down at her endearingly and laughed, scooping her up into his arms.

Realizing she had felt this way once was eerily comforting and yet so unfamiliar. This indescribable feeling bubbled up inside of her as the aura of warmth encircled the young woman's form and brought her up. Never once did she question why the sound of her name was so different. Nothing could ruin this place that is enveloped in comfort and joy, not even the sound of the name of a stranger. When she frolics through the dreamy spring where the lavender-colored petals fall from the trees, the Raen thinks about never leaving the misty, sunny springs. This is her home, it must be. It is all-encompassing, a haven. Rie wants to stay. Alatariel never wants to go. Feigning innocence truly is bliss, except-

“Who am I?” 

Once the question flitters through her mind, she is warm and happy no longer. Instead, she is suddenly plunged into darkness. Falling right back into the ice-cold abyss that felt like the marble tiled floor in her old family home that she unexpectedly remembers. 

Now she feels exceedingly weak. No fire or light, and what is left of her soul is a barely burning ember. Her lips are dry, cracked, and taste like iron and salt. Her eyes are no longer squinting closed to shield them from everlasting light. Now, they are struggling to stay open in the pitch-black dark. Everything is shaded in a grimy crimson hue, and the smell of smoke and copper is filling her lungs. The magic in the air is no longer gold and resplendent, but stygian and heavy.  There is no longer any warmth from the rays of the sun or a temperate chill from a river. It is blazing and freezing, alone in the dark abyss. It hurts so much, she wants to die.

This place is familiar too.

All Alatariel can hear is the sound of two voices, practically indistinct from one another. Anger from one, cruel laughter from the other. A chill runs down her spine, a pain so deep it ignites a spark in that weakened, wounded ember.

Do something, anything. The young woman is optimistic and full of hope, even when surrounded by the unending dark.

So she wills herself to gaze upward, blinking through the sticky blood coating her eyelashes. Gods, she wished she had never tried. Why did she fight so hard to look? The pain is virtually splitting her head into two, and her reward is a frightening pair of unblinking, bloodshot aquamarine eyes. A face that had once been covered by a gentle, cloudy mist of light is beaten, monstrously contorted beyond recognition. Now the only recognizable features on that face are the once shining golden horns shattered into fragments on the icy marble floor.

The sight is so grotesque, so horrifyingly upsetting, all Alata can do is scream. Before she knows it, her lungs sharply fill themselves with unrelenting air until it escapes her lips. The soundless air shatters her dream turned nightmare so loudly, she jolts upright from the plush bed. 

That's right. It had all been a painful dream. No, maybe it was a memory. There is no sound, no one in the room with her. No one is around to hear her pain or ease it away as she silently sobs, choking on gasps and salty tears. This violent nightmare has her shivering and shaking from head to toe. The room is filled with frigid air, empty like the icy marble floor in the nightmare. Yet, the glittering specks of dusky magical particles in the air bouncing off the tempered glass windows made it hard to tell if night had come and gone or if it had only been a few passing minutes. 

Here she is, the essence of memories she cannot remember; taking their form as hazy, sparkling dreams filled with radiant light and nightmares of an aphotic hell. This wildfire is a brilliant flame that has left behind an enormous shadow.

 In the end, Alatariel is left alone in the gloomy dark of this cold, barren room with the same question:

  “Who am I?”