A puppet's dream
Prologue
A darkened sky- cloudy and oppressive at the same time. Blinking my eyes, I peer out of the window, watching the sun fade away for the day. Dusk, and more especially twilight, was my favourite time of day. There was nothing more serene and restful than watching people wind down, preparing themselves to spend quality hours doing whatever secrets night rightly conceals.
An apartment block. I suppose it's a place I could call home. Hailing from France, my real home is miles and miles away. But your home is where your heart lays, and my one is beating within this building. It is pleasant enough, with views over a busy road and a cosy living room. There's nothing off-putting about this floor- the sixth- and nothing wrong with the modest furniture sparsely set around the room. A few chairs, a table, a small television. Everything that I need, and things that I don't.
It's okay. I survive.
A dream. One that wasn't my own- or was it? As I sit here, watching the world play itself before my very eyes, my thoughts wander. I am nocturnal- I sleep at day and live at night, and feel very little need to change my habits, even if it places restrictions on my life. When I sleep, I dream very little. At night, I use my natural talent to travel into other people's dreams.
But that dream... It had to have been mine... So would that mean it was wrong? Just something my brain concocted as it rummaged through memories? I don't believe so. There were things I had never seen- never even thought about. And the demon spoke... Not to me, I don't think, but to whoever had set him free.
To the blue hedgehog.
It is unfortunate that I know no one from around here, having moved just recently to this place called Metropolis. My mother said it was so I could perfect my English. I think she simply had enough of pretending to be my parent. Who can blame her? Spawn of the devil is putting it lightly... Who wants a child who spends their night plunging themselves into other people's dreams? Who wants a child who dislikes sunlight- and resembles the wraith of old? White hair, white skin, red eyes. Black markings across my face differentiate me from those with pigment deficiency, but I might as well have been albino- then people would have been sure that my appearance was down to a slight in genetics.
My name is Reverie, Reve for short- the dreamer. And this is my story.