Dream World 

 

In the flickering light of warm amber lamps, Liara reclined on the edge of her bed, absorbing the surreal landscape that stretched across her wall. This was no ordinary mural; it seemed almost alive, as though painted from the memory of a lost dream or an ancient myth. Pillars of jagged rock spiraled upwards, their forms softened by wisps of violet mist, and a vast, silvery moon loomed overhead, casting a pale, haunting glow.  

She didn't remember exactly when she'd fallen in love with this enchanted image. Maybe it was the isolation that had brought her here, this unusual little apartment at the edge of the city, where reality felt like it wore thin around the edges. Nights spent with a glass of wine, gazing at the mystical horizon of her mural, had gradually eroded her awareness of the boundary between the two worlds—the real one and the painted.  

Liara closed her eyes, allowing herself to sink further into the allure of the mural's vivid blues and purples, the brushstrokes forming a world where color replaced gravity, where anything could float or fall. Her breath softened, and her mind drifted.  

When she opened her eyes, something had shifted. The lamp at her bedside still glowed, casting an amber hue across her bedding, but now the mural seemed… different. The shapes, previously only brushstrokes of imagination, now had depth, subtle shadows and lights flickering like a breath. The towering spires stretched upwards, piercing through an aquamarine sky, and the twisted trees on the mountainsides seemed to sway in an unseen wind.  

And then, just below the central moon, she spotted a figure. Cloaked in deep red and black, it stood atop one of the distant cliffs, gazing back at her. Her heart quickened. The figure’s gaze was palpable, like an icy fingertip tracing her skin, sending a shiver down her spine.  

She leaned closer, touching the cold wall with her fingertips. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and before she knew it, she found herself whispering, "Who are you?"  

The figure did not respond, but the landscape grew even sharper, drawing her in with the pull of a magnet. She swore she could feel the chill of that alien wind and smell a faint tang of rain on stone.  

She blinked, and suddenly the room felt wrong. The bed beneath her was no longer a soft cushion of blankets and pillows but hard and uneven, as though she were lying on rocky ground. Liara scrambled up and looked around, heart pounding in confusion. The bed, the amber lamps, her cozy room—they had all disappeared, replaced by the towering cliffs of the strange world she’d only moments ago admired from a distance.  

"I’m dreaming," she told herself, voice shaking. She looked down at her body; she was still wearing her nightclothes—a long, soft, purple robe that clung to her ankles. But it seemed out of place, far too vibrant and fragile for this rugged landscape.  

“Liara…” a voice whispered, low and rasping, like stones grinding together.  

She spun around to see the cloaked figure mere feet away. Beneath the hood, she caught a glimpse of a face—too pale, almost translucent, eyes a shimmering silver, glowing like distant stars.  

"You... know my name?" she stammered, unable to mask her awe and fear.  

“Your name drifts across the veil between worlds,” the figure said. "Every night, you look into my world, and I look back."  

Liara’s mind raced. Had she summoned this creature by staring too long into the mural, pouring her curiosity and loneliness into a place she thought was mere paint? She swallowed hard. "Who... what are you?"  

“I am a sentinel of this realm,” it replied, voice echoing like a breeze through caverns. “We guard the passages, keep our worlds apart. But you… you called to me.”  

Liara took a step back, but her feet sank into the strange soil. "I never meant to cross over," she whispered, glancing around at the unfamiliar landscape, now tinged with shadows that seemed to crawl, alive and watchful. 

"Desire is a powerful bridge," the figure said, taking a step closer. “You let your thoughts linger here, fed the boundary with your longing until it became thin as mist.”  

Her mind whirred with questions, but she was paralyzed by an odd mixture of dread and fascination. She knew she should be terrified, yet the sheer impossibility of it all numbed her fear.  

“Is it possible to go back?” she asked, her voice barely audible.  

The figure’s gaze softened, as if it could see through her fear, through her curiosity, down to the ache she’d carried alone. “It’s possible,” it said. “But every crossing leaves an imprint. This place will never fully release you, even if you return. Part of you will always belong here now.”  

She hesitated, glancing back to the landscape, its beauty sharp and surreal, like a crystalline shard. Here, she felt both small and powerful, as though she were on the edge of discovering something profound. She could feel her life, her small apartment, her city existence tugging at her, faint but familiar. But she also felt something unexpected—a yearning, a sense that maybe she had always belonged more to this place of mist and silence than she had to her mundane world.  

“I… I don’t know if I want to go back,” she said finally, surprising herself with the words. They felt heavy yet freeing.  

The figure nodded as if it had expected this. “If you choose to stay, know that this world is both beautiful and perilous. Here, shadows hunger, the moon watches, and dreams bleed into reality. But you will be free.”  

Liara took a deep breath. The air was cold and sharp, tinged with a flavor she couldn’t place—like frost and memory. Her heart pounded, torn between safety and the strange, thrilling unknown before her.  

She turned back to the figure, her decision settling over her like a cloak. “Then show me the way,” she whispered.  

The figure extended its hand, pale and long-fingered. She took it, feeling a jolt like ice and fire where their skin met. As she walked with it into the depths of the mist, she glanced back one last time at the place where her room should have been, its soft lights and warm colors now only a memory, already fading into the mist.  

And with that, Liara stepped fully into the painted world, the boundary now closed, her life forever altered by the choice to follow the whisper of her own desire.  

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