Room for Dreamers

The old mirror was rusted and brown after sitting in the crumbling house for centuries. Even as the stone walls and chimney slowly fell apart, the mirror stood. The house had once been home to artists and authors, and the mirror had glowed majestically whenever they walked by. This had not seemed strange to them, however, for they were dreamers, living in a time where magic could be found anywhere imagination could reach. Unfortunately, people changed, and life’s magic was lost with the dreamers. Now all that was left of those magical times was the mirror, sitting among the rubble of the old house.

Hundreds of miles away, a young girl named Eleanor woke with a start.

Eleanor lived in a sleepy little town with her mother, father, and grandparents, who were all shoemakers. Eleanor was expected to carry on the family business one day, but her dream was to travel the world. She told this to her mother once, but was answered with a smack across the face as her mother told her, 

“There is no room for dreamers in this town!” Eleanor picked up her broom and never mentioned it again.

Ten years later, on her eighteenth birthday, Eleanor’s parents woke up to find her room empty with the only trace of her being a small black sketchbook on the bed. When they opened it, they found it was full of drawings of faraway places. As Eleanor’s parents were puzzling over the sketchbook, a single sheet of paper fell out onto the floor. It read,

Dear Mother and Father,

I’ve gone to find the dreamers. I hope you can forgive me.

Love,

Eleanor

Meanwhile, Eleanor made her way across the countryside carrying a bag containing only a change of clothes, a blanket, and a single page of her sketchbook. Drawn on the paper was her destination: A crumbling house built around the mirror that was haunting her dreams. Even though she had no idea where to look, Eleanor was determined to find it.

For weeks, Eleanor traveled all around the country looking for the mirror, but was unsuccessful. One night, as she curled up under her blanket in the branches of a willow tree, she felt herself slipping away into another dream about the mirror.

She was back. In the time full of dreamers. The mirror, standing in the center of her vision, was a bright gold color and looked new. Glowing, colorful waves spread across the surface as the artists passed in front of it. Eleanor couldn’t make out the faces in the mirror, until one particular person stopped in front of it… her.

Eleanor sat bolt upright, shocked. How can it be? I’m alive now, aren’t I? It didn’t make any sense. The Time of Dreamers, as Eleanor had taken to calling it, had taken place hundreds of years ago. She couldn’t have been in two times at once. Could she?

Eventually, Eleanor gave up on deciphering her dream and continued on her journey. One afternoon, after a long day of climbing hills and wading through streams, she heard it. A wisp of a voice, calling her. Eleanor’s heart rose. Could this be it? She followed the voice over a field of boulders and down into a valley. The voice got louder the farther she walked. It sounded vaguely familiar, but Eleanor could not remember where she’d heard it before. The voice broke into a chorus of many when she entered a grove of trees, and Eleanor broke into a run. When she shot out of the trees, however, she skidded to a halt. She was back… in the village. She spun around and saw a large group of figures calling her name into the trees. Eleanor was devastated. The voice wasn’t magical, it was a search party! Oh no, she thought. If they catch me, I’m done for!

“Hello,” said a voice behind Eleanor, and she jumped. When she turned around, a little old woman with a cane stood peering at her through round spectacles.

“Oh… hello,” replied Eleanor.

“It has been looking for you,” said the old woman, still staring, unblinking, at Eleanor.

“What?”

“It knows you’re out there.” The old woman looked around and whispered, “When I am gone, you will be the only one left from our time! Use your powers wisely!” Then, looking as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders, she turned and walked away.

That night, the old woman died in her sleep.

Eleanor was sitting in a cozy armchair by a crackling fire, watching as the artists filled their canvases with color. They waved their brushes over the cloth and colorful mist spiraled out onto the canvases. Eleanor’s gaze drifted around the room before resting on a familiar object… an ornate gold mirror.

Eleanor woke up to a light mist settling on her shoulders and had an immediate flashback to the previous night’s dream. Where was she? Or the more important question: when was she? Eleanor climbed out the window of the empty guest room she had snuck into last night and slipped away into the forest. She had just gotten settled on a rock and unwrapped a loaf of stolen bread from its cloth when she noticed the footsteps. They were appearing in a line, the ones at the end slowly fading away, but Eleanor could see no one there. It was as if an invisible person was passing her and covering up their tracks as they went. As she was very hungry and worn out from the past few weeks of travelling, Eleanor decided to ignore the footsteps and stay on the nice, flat rock. That was, until she saw the mist… It appeared, seemingly from out of nowhere, and drifted in front of her face. Eleanor shot up from the rock and raced towards the disappearing trail of footsteps, the mist enveloping her body and blurring her vision. Suddenly, the mist cleared and Eleanor gasped. She was standing in front of the crumbling house, the footsteps leading her towards what used to be the door. Eleanor paused to catch her breath, then jogged after the footsteps and cloud of mist. When she ran over the threshold of the door, she slammed into some sort of invisible force field. Eleanor looked up, confused, the mist was slowly forming itself into words. A few minutes later, the colorful letters in the sky read “Dream”. Eleanor knew what she had to do. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and imagined a world full of magic, free to anyone who dreamed. There was a poof, and Eleanor’s eyes popped back open. She watched as each of the floating letters exploded into a cloud of mist. When she tried walking into the house, she was permitted to pass through the magical force field. Eleanor found the mirror at once. Its glass was a cloudy grey, the frame rusted, but when she stopped in front of it, the whole thing exploded with color. She felt a strange urge to touch it and placed one hand on the colorful surface. The second her hand touched the mirror, she started spinning rapidly and closed her eyes. When she opened them, Eleanor blinked. She was standing in the same house, except it wasn’t crumbling anymore. Life had been restored to the place. She turned back to the mirror, which had a message written on its surface.

You are in the Time of Magic.

Live well,

M.

Somehow, Eleanor knew what had happened. The mirror had sent her back to the Time of Magic for a better life, one with other dreamers! As she ran out the door, eager to experience everything this world had to offer, Eleanor picked up a paintbrush and twirled it in the air, causing colorful mist to form the word Dream.