Disclaimer: Inception, in all its lucid glory, belongs to Christopher Nolan.
Insomnia
"Once you use this machine, you can't go back." Arthur told her.
"I can't wake up unless I die in the dream or the sedative expires, whichever comes first." Ariadne responded in a matter-of-fact and slightly annoyed fashion. They've been through this more than once; she understood what she was getting into.
"No, Ariadne," Arthur, always thorough, didn't have time for assumptions. "Once you use this machine, your ability to have lucid dreams will most likely be lost."
He didn't need to elaborate. He was the Point Man, and she the creative Architect. She was clever enough to figure it out for herself, and he gave her enough information to do just that.
It was past midnight. She should have been sleeping. Six months after the Fischer job.
But her bed was still made - the sheets spread out neatly without a hint of a crease; and the pillows stacked with precision near the mahogany headboard. At least, it appeared orderly, with the blinds pulled down and the moon casting mist through the window.
And that was the problem.
Gripping her totem in between her already bone-white knuckles, Ariadne paced the floor at the foot of her bed.
Falling into infinite black…no dreamscape, no levels, no limbo, even…
Just the back of her eyelids.
- And Mal.
Cobb's crazed dead wife was always there, waiting.
She was sitting on the bed.
What are you doing here?
"This is my-"
I know who you are. But what are you doing? A smirk. Wind blowing through the window. Are you dreaming, ma cherie?
"I'm not-"
Only one way to find out…. Something fell. Icy metal ripped through her.
Ariadne opened her eyes. She was trying too hard; she lost her concentration.
The bishop had slipped through her fingers, bruising her foot on the way down.
Swiveling from side to side, sweat dripping from her temples, she had to check.
Her arms flung toward her stomach. No blood. No scar. Nothing.
Everything seemed normal, but she still couldn't breathe easily. Not yet.
Looking down, her heart rate quieted somewhat. The characteristic dent in her chess piece stood out against the gold. It fell left side up.
She wasn't dreaming. This was real.
What are you doing? Cobb had yelled amidst the hurricane and thunder.
Improvising.
She was the Architect. Imagination was her specialty….hell, it was her job. To think of ways to get out of the maze.
Pure creativity, unlike anything she had ever seen.
Right?
"Don't lose yourself!"
If only she could follow her own advice.
She never realized that losing her dreams also meant gaining something even worse.
A mind that would never leave you alone.
Arthur was right.
Ariadne was terribly, terribly, terribly wrong.
"Wake me up…"