Dreams of Que Sera

By: Alexandrite Posted on: November 30, 2007 Once, in a snowy mountain hamlet called Caer Witrin, a little girl dreamed of a regal swan queen presiding over her lake court. The swan's feathers were blacker than a starless new moon night, and the little girl woke afterwards with rippling skin.

"Mama!" Sera screamed with all the air in her tiny but powerful lungs. "Mama!"

Her mother entered the dark room, holding a cup of steaming milk. "Sssh, Sera, go back to sleep. Dream well."

"I'm scared," said Sera as she trembled. She glanced down at her hands and glimpsed, before blinking, an overlay of ebony feathers. "If I sleep, I'll dream again."

"What is there in dreams to fear? They are good," soothed her mother. But Sera shook her head frantically.

"No! If I sleep, the swan will come again." Plump teardrops wobbled at the corner of Sera's eye. "If I sleep, the swan will take me away, far away. I don't want to leave, Mama."

Her mother's voice became firm. "Be reasonable, Sera. Dreams are of your mind only, peaceful visitors from the realm of Our Lady Valnurana." At this, she paused to bow her head, clasp her hands before her waist, and mutter a quick prayer. Sera's mother was a devout follower of the Lady of Sleep and Dreams. The faith was not common in their village, where the Goddess of Beauty enjoyed much popularity, but Sera had been raised differently.

"Now, sleep."

Once, in a snowy mountain hamlet called Caer Witrin, a little girl dreamed of a regal swan queen presiding over her lake court. The swan's feathers were blacker than a starless new moon night, and the little girl woke afterwards with rippling skin.

"Mama!" Sera cried. She shuddered as her fair tresses, wavy curls falling almost to her waist, clouded her vision in a haze of darkness.

She reached up a hand to touch her hair wonderingly. Even with a glass jar over her bedside candle, the midnight black of Sera's hair seemed to almost glow. "Mama!" Her voice held a clear note of desperation, enough to bring her mother sleepily into the room.

"What is it now, Sera?"

Sera gestured wordlessly at her hair. Her right hand was clenched around a lock, still disbelieving. The Lady Valnurana sometimes took the form of a black swan, or so claimed the ancient temple lore. But why would the Lady curse her like this?

"Sera, go back to sleep." Her mother squinted at her hair with tired, creased eyes and saw nothing out of the ordinary. "And don't wake me again until Lady Sol rises."

"But Mama, look!" Sera would have scrambled out of her cosy nest of blankets, if her mother was not already gone. Between Lady and daughter, her mother had always chosen the goddess. It had never been any different. Biting her lip, Sera closed her eyes and tried, despite her pounding instincts, to sleep.

Once, in a snowy mountain hamlet called Caer Witrin, a little girl dreamed of a regal swan queen presiding over her lake court. The swan's feathers were blacker than a starless new moon night, and the little girl woke afterwards with rippling skin.

More accurately, rippling feathers. Sera smiled up at her Mother, spread her ebony wings, and stepped into the Dreamrealm for her true homecoming.