The Woods, Lovely Dark & Deep (Tat-Lung Conservatory)

Dreams were funny things indeed, often confusing the dreamers.

Morgan awoke, halfway down the stairs, and then again with their hand on the cold brass of the door-handle on their front door.

Wait- it wasn't that cold yet, this year, was it?

At that, the blond human realized they were dreaming yet again.

Bright hot anger flashed, but Morgan's eyes didn't flash green. Whatever was there had made sure that in this dream, their chaotic power was all but gone.

Morgan felt empty, a whistling cicada husk clinging to a harsh tree bark in autumn. But it was only just autumn, now.

The human quickly threw on their lab-coat, and stepped out into the chilly autumn air.

The human didn't know what was going on, but each time this happened they felt more and more lucid. They were remembering things that they should not be remembering, in fact. Somewhere, beyond this dream, and beyond this dreamer, was another dreamer. Morgan could see them clear as day; feathered, inky, writing-desk. "Alright, writing-desk. I'm going, I'm going." Morgan didn't know why, but it would seem that they drew these dreams, or maybe, just maybe, the writing-desk was writing them. No, they wrote them, a long time ago in fact; the dream was still ongoing. Somewhere, infuriatingly just outside of Morgan's own control over theirself in this dream, the inky quill laughed, a peal of bells. Alright, Writing desk.

This time when Morgan stepped outside, the formless and grey world felt... Different. Cold, chilly, the frost nip-nip-nipping at them. Their head hurt, even in the dream. Whoever was dreaming them had a strange idea of a nice day it would seem. At least they had suffered Morgan some clothes, this time. The first one had not. They walked of their own free will this time, down the hillock and to the wishing well. Morgan could already feel the cold, penetrating metal of the magical coin that undoubtedly had been written there by the writing desk. Morgan pondered, vaguely, about what all of this meant, but found theirself unable to really think. That was the nature of dreams.

The faded one was there, Morgan could tell. They gently pushed their glasses further up on their nose. "Greetings again, faded one. I guess I'm just going to keep coming here, right? I think I figured it out this time. Each time I do this, I feel more... But I never remember when I wake up." Morgan was not angry anymore, just perplexed. Vexed, really, by this... This dreamer. "I guess I have to see the dreamer, but not the other dreamer. This one, the one dreaming right now... But not the one dreaming me from the beginning, right?" Why do they want me, specifically, anyway?

Morgan pulled the coin from their pocket, and tossed it jovially, this time. Then, Morgan closed their eyes, trying to dream within a dream, to catch a glimpse of this dreamer. "She, it's a she, she's like the writing desk in that regard. She's sinuous, like a cat, but not long I don't suspect. I can see her, slinking through the autumn woods... Oh, she finds herself a stump to curl up on. She's regal, fluffy I think. She feels cuddly and protective, but also dangerous." Morgan was getting clearer and clearer pictures, they thought. "She looks strong and lithe, stalking through the brush... Oh, she nearly tripped over her long ears! But I think she is more mind over matter... And cold. Very aloof, and witty. I can see her colors, orange pumpkins against cream, on dark reddish chocolate... Absolutely beautiful. Oh; her antlers are.... I think they are massive? They remind me like that of a deer I think! So many tines!" At that, Morgan's eyes snapped open.

"Oh, I can't see anymore. I think that was all she wanted me to see." Morgan frowned. "I don't know why they keep wanting me, but I think the writing desk wants me to... To help them all." Morgan said. "I think... I think I'll go to the woods tomorrow. I need to find a cicada husk... Left over from the summer months. She wants me to." Morgan said. "I HAVE to remember this, waking me really wants to know this!" The voice was suddenly desperate.

"I really need to know what is going on, why can't I ever remember?"

(Theme: Pumpkin Spice. Dark Brown, Orange, Creams. Toes: 5, the rest is all above.)