The Ninth Morning

My morning started with me lying facedown on the floor.

The hardwood was cool against my cheek. It would have almost felt nice, if it wasn't because my wrist was throbbing in pain from breaking the fall from my bed. It took me a few minutes to gather my bearings.

My alarm hadn't gone off yet. The light coming through my window was the pale light of the really early morning hours. I pushed myself up with my good hand, ready to climb right back into bed, but stopped when I looked down and saw what I was wearing.

My cotton pajamas had been replaced by layers and layers of... Silk? No. The fabric felt too soft and airy, though it did have a shine to it that resembled silk well enough. The texture was so pleasant that I could sleep in it as comfortably as I could in my pajamas, but this outfit was no oversized t-shirt.

I scrambled to my feet, drowsiness and pain evaporating away in the face of curiosity. Standing up, I looked down at a long white dress that seemed ripped out of a fairy tale.

The skirt flared wide, like that of old-timey ballroom gowns. It looked like it should have been heavy, but the fabric was so light that even the numerous layers practically floated around my legs.

The bodice had the look of a corset, flush against my skin, but it was far from restrictive. There were no wires or laces. The thin fabric clung to my chest and waist as if by magic.

The bodice and skirt were embellished with flowers -not floral prints or even embroideries. There were dozens of actual daisies, poppies, bluebells, dandelions, iris and even orchids. The flowers' colors were bright and the petals unblemished. I plucked one coral-pink orchid to examine it up close. There were little dew drops on the petals, and a delicate sweet scent rose from the flower.

I looked at my bed next: the sheets were tousled and wrinkled, like they were every morning. I plopped down on the bed in a flurry of skirts and petals. I stared at the blank wall.

I regretted the fact that I had no mirror. I hadn't had time to buy one yet for the new house. I didn't plan on buying anything new until I finished unpacking boxes- and I wasn't even halfway done with that.

I had felt out of place in the house before. There were no decorations, my bed and an old sofa were the all the furniture I had, and most of my belongings were stuffed into unlabeled boxes and the occasional garbage bag. But this was the first time that I felt out place and out of time.

I sat in a daze for so long that the light streaming through the window grew bright and hot. There were birds singing outside, loud enough to be annoying. I turned to look toward the window. It was open.

I finally stood up and walked around the bed, to the opposite wall where the open window offered a clear view of the trees outside.

I remembered closing that window last night. It was a French style window, so its panels swung out wide. I shut it to avoid bugs flying into the room, or worse. Part of the house's charm was that it had several acres of woods out back. As much as I loved that, I did not want to wake up and find that a fox had climbed in through the window.

Could a flowery gown have flown in through the window? Maybe a performer lived nearby and was drying laundry? I supposed I could have put on the dress in my sleep.

I tried to remember what I had been dreaming about before falling off the bed. I could't recall any images, but I did get the vague memory of feeling nervous, or anxious maybe. It was the sensation of my heart beating fast in my chest.

I could have spent all day pondering how I came to be wearing the dress, but I was forced to put those thoughts to rest when my phone's alarm jarred me back to the present.

I took off the dress, leaving piles of flower petals on the floor in the process, folded it up as nicely as I could and shoved it in a mostly empty closet.

I all but forgot about the whole thing for the rest of the day. The weirdness of it all seemed to fade in the mundanity of a day spent in an office, typing emails and making phone calls. That night, however, I made sure to shut the window properly before going to bed.

I woke up in a dress the next morning.

It was a different dress, though it was made of the same soft fabric, and covered in flowers as well. This one was an apricot color, and most of the flowers were pink thistle. Before I spent too long examining this dress, I shut my eyes and tried to remember what I had been dreaming about.

Again, I remembered a sensation more than anything else: a nervous excitement. I grasped at the feeling, trying to return to its source. I got an image – a glimpse really- of stars, twinkling in the gaps between leaves on twisting branches. Try as I might, that was as far as I got in my memory. I looked toward the window, and found it open yet again.

The day that followed was as uneventful as the day before, but I did not forget the strangeness of the morning as easily. I couldn’t dismiss the event as easily now that it had happened twice.

On the third morning, I woke up in a periwinkle dress, covered in blue flowers. I recalled starlight, and a smell like rain on leaves. The window, that I had shut the night before, was open.

On the fourth evening, the open window was no longer a surprise. I hadn’t bothered to close it at all. The dress was pink and the flowers purple. I had dreamt of moist earth, and a memory of a sound; a flute, I thought, or some other wind instrument.

Another four nights passed. Three new dresses graced me each morning. The hardwood floors in my room were covered in a rainbow of flower petals and my closet was half full with extravagant gowns. The flowers never seemed to wilt: even the first dress looked as fresh as it had when I first wore it.

I was ready to fall asleep and wake up dressed in flowers by the ninth night, but something changed then. I didn’t fall asleep. I was wide awake when they came through my window.

I heard the sound of rustling leaves first, then tapping on the window glass. I tossed off my blanket and got up, looking down to confirm that I was still wearing pajamas, before going to the window. There were three visitors outside, easily visible in the bright moonlight: a fox, a deer, and a bear. They all looked right at me, eyes bright.

The bear, who was the largest and fluffiest of the three, was on all fours. Something pale rested on his back, in stark contrast to the dark fur. It was a dress.

This one was a pale silver-blue; the color mimicked the moon's glow so well that it almost seemed made up of moonlight. The flowers on it were violet, blue, and white.

The fox began to pace around the bear's front paws, looking at me expectantly. The deer bobbed its head at me. I felt my heart begin to beat more quickly, but I didn't feel nervous or afraid (despite the very large bear outside my window). I was excited.

I grabbed the sides of the window frame and pulled myself up and through. I hopped outside, feet landing lightly on cool grass.

The spring air was pleasantly cool.

I stood hesitantly, until the deer gently nudged me toward the bear. The bear lowered his head reverently as I approached and grabbed the dress. I slipped out of my pajamas and into the gown, which fit as perfectly as all the others had.

As soon as I was dressed, my three visitors turned around and started walking toward the line of trees. I followed them into the forest.

The skirt reached to my ankles in front and trailed longer in the back. The fabric moved like mist over grass and roots, never getting caught or feeling like it dragged against the ground. Moonbeams pierced the canopy of leaves above us, painting the path silver.

I didn't know what path we were following, but I walked with a sure step. I hadn't had a chance to explore these woods during the day, but the trail felt familiar. The smell of wet bark, the rustling leaves and the soft fabric of the dress caressing my skin, struck me with a feeling of déjà vu so strong it made my eyes water.

The memories of my dreams from the past eight nights came forth just beneath the surface of recollection: it felt like they were contained in a rising bubble, a mere touch away from bursting and releasing everything.

The bear, deer, and fox led me to a clearing among the trees. I passed underneath a pair of bent trees whose branches had entwined in such a way that they formed a wooden threshold. I stepped through it and arrived at a magical feast.

The moment I crossed the threshold, the bubble burst and my memories came flooding back.

I was in a wide field covered in flowers. I recognized some of the flowers: they had adorned my dresses for the past nine days. The field was brightly lit. The trees on the field were spaced apart, so the moon and stars glowed here without much interruption, but that wasn’t the only reason it was so bright. Spheres made of glass hung on long strings attached to the trees’ branches. Inside each glass, a golden light twinkled: like a hundred miniature suns. 

There were two long tables set on either side of the field. A banquet of fruit and cakes decorated the tables among flowers scattered on the golden mantels. There were fine glass goblets set on the table. Though no one stood by them, the goblets were all full with a shimmering liquid that I couldn’t have identified.

The breathtakingly beautiful display was fit for a royal feast. And yet, all of it paled in comparison to the one other person who stood in the field.

He stood directly across me, dressed in a coat and tails that appeared to me made of the same, airy fabric as my dress. No flowers decorated his suit, but the silvery blue fabric shimmered -practically glowed- as if it was covered in minuscule crystals that caught the light and reflected it back with every movement. His hair was long and silver, his face smooth and the features sharp. He was smiling, the way a little boy would smile if he had gotten away with something. Mischievous.

My heart thrummed like a hummingbird.

I had been coming to this feast night after night. I had met that creature every night. I had danced with him, my feet bare and my dresses flowing around me as we twirled over the wildflowers. He had held my hand in his, had held me by the waist and whispered in my ear.

He stepped toward me. He stopped when he was close enough that I could see his eyes: like opals, iridescent hues twinkling. Just as he had every night before now, he held a hand toward me. I obliged by taking it and letting him place a feather-light kiss on fingers. His smile widened. And, just as he had every night, he asked me to dance. Again, I said yes.

I never knew where it came from, but music filled the air. He led me in a dance I had never learned, but somehow I never missed a step. He spun me and pulled me close, my dress floating gracefully in a dance almost its own.

Hours could have gone by- I wasn’t counting. Not tonight, or any of the nights before it. I could have happily kept going, dancing until dawn, but we always stopped before morning came.

He let go of my waist, but held onto my hand, bringing it up to his lips for one more kiss. He looked at me, and I knew what he was going to ask. He would ask the same thing he asked every night.

“Will you stay?”

Every night, I had answered the same thing. Every night, I had crossed the threshold that led back to my house. I would wake up with nothing but a dress, and a faded dream. Every night, I had told him ‘no’.

Tonight, I leaned forward and gave him a kiss. On the ninth night, I chose to stay.