Somewhere within the madness, buried deep beneath cluttered chaos, lies a spark of logic.

An overshadowed flickering light protects a key for which there appears to be no lock. Somewhere there’s a voice speaking words to impress the impressionable, telling those who would listen how all things are meant to be. And somewhere there sits the untold truth. White satin gently swirling in the breeze.

Dear Cassandra.

Her murder-red hair an uncomfortable contrast to bleached flesh. Her light, a lifetime away, casts no shadow as ragged souls already lost pass her in search of newer playgrounds. They grew too old too fast. Where once they laughed and played there is silence.

She calls but no-one hears. Their minds are filled with whispered promise, their hearts pound with a cold and fluid emptiness. They have long since forsaken the fragility of her magic. Trapped within the spark she smiles while her moon blue eyes weep. This forgotten child of grace bows her head and slowly moves to where she cannot see the darkness of the passing crowd.

There amid the purple blooms of Everspring she sits and quietly sings while waiting for the dreamer who truly still believes.

This Mistress of illusion. Her elusive touch a fleeting moment in an otherwise predictable world.

Whimsical mysteries of innocence lay abandoned about while her thoughts drift to another time. It was easier then. There weren’t as many answers. No-one questioned how or why the stallion flew. It just did. It soared across a perfect sky on wings filled with the warm winds of dreams.

But stallions fly no more. The winds of dreams are nothing more than cold empty spaces banished to some dark place. There are those who think only with their head. For them it is such a small world in which an existence beyond their sight is unimaginable. If they could but touch her they would feel the freedom that her soft skin holds.

But they cannot touch and they cannot feel.

In youth they nurtured upon her. Their minds were hungry for all that she would give. But the frenzied feedings soon grew fewer. Once they came and stayed but now some never come at all. They just pass in the darkness, over the hill…on the other side of Everspring.

There will come a time when a pair of eyes eager for adventure will peek out over the soft green grasses anxious for just a glimpse of what might be. There will come a black night when the white stallion once again spreads his wings and flies into those uncharted depths of magical curiosity. There might even be a time when the pudgy dragon coughs and wheezes his way through some comedic forest in search of whatever it is dragons seek. That time may come soon or it could take forever.

She lifts a memory from her feet and holds it to her chest Somewhere on the breeze the voice of a child whispers her name. She raises her eyes as a young boy climbs to the top of the hill. As he approaches she sees the tears of innocence glistening in his soft blue eyes and when he stops before her she feels the sadness of misplaced wonderment.

The passing crowd failed to notice his absence. It left him behind to drown in their twisting tide of mumbles.

He’s not like them. There is warmth here…and trust. Here nothing would be said. There are no words more powerful than his simply being.

Their thoughts intermingle in subdued exchange and with his head upon her lap he sleeps…and dreams.


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