Note1: Any and all Gaelic will be translated to English at the bottom of each page, when/if it is used, not right after the phrase.
Note2: I'm not a fan fiction writer, though the more I thought about it, the more the idea appealed to me. I believe that if I can at least somewhat master characters of someone else's, well, what else is there to say? What better writing practice is there, to hone your skills? In any case, my point being, This is an exercise of mine, and while I do intend to complete it, to the best of my ability, I'm not going to take it as seriously as others might. Don't expect new chapters every week.
In any case, enjoy. 3
She sat there, still as a cat about to catch its prey. Her eyes, once a murky blue, now a dream-spelled gold-flecked green, were blank and dazed. Unblinking, she stared into a far-off world, the shining flecks in her color-spelled irises glowing brighter and brighter with the anticipation. It was a beautiful world she spied down upon, alluringly dark, seductively innocent. The mixture was altogether erotic, a siren's call, beckoning her hazy dream-body forward.
Onward she moved, through the wintry night sky, which she, in a passing thought, imagined to be chilling, but could not feel herself. Nothing touched her physically, in this beautiful, magnificent fantasy, where the tantalizing call forced her onward. She moved above, watching, seeing everything and nothing at the same time.
A slight pull in her belly, and she halted, her conscious quivering in the air indecisively before diving down at a breakneck speed. It could sense it, smell it, taste it. It knew what she wanted, what she needed. Her own drug, her own beautiful high.
Right below stood a castle a the greatest magnificence. It's beauty could be rivaled by no other, be it immaterial, mortal, or a goddess in the flesh. She should know. She had created it, this striking castle in the middle of this seductively fantastical dream-world. Her own dream-world. Her own creation.
It was an ability she had acquired early on, after her parents had moved her from her hometown in Cork to the strange, foreign suburban outskirts of Los Angeles. Adorable, really, the two-story houses with their half-acre yards and pretty quietness, hiding the troubles of each family behind each door. She saw it as a façade, an act, a new world in which she was to partake in.
And that was when it began.
She never questioned it. Never thought it odd more than twice. She always had been said to have a few screws missing. Maybe it was true. But she would never question this. It was a gift. Her gift.
And right now, her gift was going to give her even more gifts.
Her dream-eyes watched the castle's pure-gold balcony sharply, waiting with a slight inpatients she knew could accidentally break her concentration. It only grew as the wait grew longer, stemming only when a slight figure walked out into the night. She was a beauty, there was no doubt about it, and the gossamer gown and cover she wore as well as many jewels could have easily rivaled the castle. And her hair, oh how she wanted it. It was so long, and a blonde so pale and sweet as sugar.
She licked her lips, and her dream-self flickered. She had to have them. The gown, the jewels, the hair. They were hers.
They were hers.
She slowly lifted her dream-hand, careful as it began wavering unsteadily. Moving was still an unsure thing for her, even with all of her practice. Still, she closed her fist around the woman's image, her mind's eye seeing only what she wanted to take. A gentle spray of guilt peppered her thoughts, but she mentally shook it off. Want overcame any guilt, as it always did. She never did know if these people were real, or truly fabled, or whatever became of them. But that want, oh that sinfully delicious want, it called to her, saying all the right things, deep down inside her very core.
She closed her eyes, a satisfied little sigh passing her lips. A rush of what she could only describe as green energy enveloped her hand, a sharp flop dropped in her belly, and with a sudden burst of disappointed a realization, she was back in reality.
The jewelry and gown lay scattered before her, and when she looked down, a mass of snow-blonde tresses tumbled to her lap.
BEEB BEEP BEEP…
Niamh groaned, rolled over onto her side. Are you fucking serious?" She moaned again, melodramatic as ever, hand slapping at the poor little clock. She finally got it the fourth try. Turning onto her stomach, she all but slammed the pillow over her face, Monday. Of course it would be Monday. Why, oh why did she have to dreamscape of a weeknight? It always left her with a killer hangover-like migraine, and she knew it. Yet she continued to do it.
She alarm went off again. Growling with frustration, Niamh tossed the pillow at it, knocking the unsuspecting thing against the wall. All right, all right, I'm up!" Throwing the richly brocaded covers aside (dreamspelled of course), she swung her feet over the side and stood quickly, swaying at the immediate dizzying sickness that grasped hold of her pounding head. "Monday," she murmured in distaste, as though the word was a particularly bad tasting dish she was forced to eat. "Cacamas ar an Luan."
Sighing, she looked around pitifully, unsure of what to do. With all of her mysterious power, she could do anything, be anything, anyone, go anywhere. Yet she was still stuck here. Shaking her head, she padded over to her cherry-wood make-up stand, plopping down onto the seat unsteadily.
Time to check out the new merchandise.
She touched her new hair, turned her head this way and that. Nice, pretty, it went well with her flawlessly pale skin (courtesy of her dreamscaping nights). With the hair and translucent complexion, along with the glimmering gossamer gown she'd slept in, she could have easily passed for a elf or a nymph, or some such thing, she imagined.
Biting her lip thoughtfully, she lifted her newly acquired diamond ropes and clasped them around her throat. There were three altogether, the first holding like a choker, the second hanging looser, the third looser still. She smiled softly. Beautiful. On went the matching diamond bracelets and dangling earrings, sparkling as they swayed.
She giggled in girlish delight, and with the first stroke of her red-dipped lip-brush, time was completely lost to her. Her full pouty lips were lined and colored a deep red, her face lightly touched with base, and eight O'clock came and went. On went the blush and Egyptian-style liner, and nine and ten past right by her as well. By twelve she was pinning her hair up with the bejeweled hair-combs, their little bells tinkling every time she turned her head this way and that.
In such a moment, and so oblivious to all around her, she grabbed a pair of high stacked white sandal-pumps, and was just pulling them on when her phone rang.
She froze. Slowly, as if her mind did not want to believe or even know, her eyes traveled to the little snow-white clock, lying askew on the floor. Butterflies filled her stomach, and not the good kind. They brought the flopping motion of dread with them, and panic began to course through her.
The phone stopped ringing.
The butterflies halted their angry fluttering.
Then it began again.
"Cac!" Niamh cursed, gave a frustrated cry, and stood quickly; nearly twisting her ankle in the heels she had forgotten she was wearing. She jogged out of the room and into the kitchen, which held the only phone in the apartment. Yanking it nearly off the wall, she held it to her ear. "Dave, oh god Dave, I'm sorry I didn't call, my car won't start and I-"
"Cut the crap Niamh."
Niamh's eyes widened in shock and horror. It wasn't dave. Shit, it wasn't Dave. It was The Big Boss, the Lady Bitch herself.
And she was calling Niamh herself.
She could have cried if she wasn't determined to try out what she liked to call "dreamsvasion" now.
Niamh hung up thirty minutes later, tears in her eyes. It didn't work, apparently, over the phone. She was shocked. Had her work performance and absences really been that bad?
She fell to the ground with a dramatic thud. This world sucked. She wished…she wished…oh she wished she could be somewhere else. Not elsewhere as in on this planet. No, she wanted to be in another world.
Her eyes narrowed. She had the power to make it happen, too, didn't she? Jaw clenched, mind set on the short-term as fully as ever, she slid herself into her dream-state, but this time, she did not try to stay tethered to any object, nor her own body. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and let the green engery take over, letting her mind and body cross over. "Take me anywhere," me begged softly. "Anywhere, anywhere, anywhere.
"Anywhere but here."
Translations:
Cacamas ar an Luan: Crap on Mondays
Cac: Shit
Name Pronunciation:
Niamh: (NEEV)