"A dream," Imoen's smooth voice echoed quietly in the distance of the unfocused, decaying garden, where the light of a dead sun left a cold sensation. "A dream of many things; of friends and family..." The familiar pink-haired girl walked closer with intent, despite the dazed look in her intelligent eyes, "These things always mean something... don't they?" Cythera couldn't find the words. The tone Imoen used suggested that she had doubt. That she didn't know who she was anymore.
"Do you remember these doors? ...I remember, I think..." The memory of the short walk to the giant doors of Candlekeep blurred together, leaving it very difficult to recall how they got there.
"Yes," Imoen continued with a slight chuckle, "this has been my home for so long... But it's too late to go back now. They wouldn't have you now. They wouldn't have me."
There was a hint of resentfulness in her manner before she sighed dejectedly, "had no use..."
Imoen furrowed her brow a little, the creases of a worrisome frown. "Someone else does," she swallowed hard; Cythera could see the muscles in her throat contract and release. "H-he wants something... I-I don't know why... Those in the cowls don't even know..."
Imoen swallowed again, and opened her mouth once more, her frustration sounded more of a sob that she tried not to voice "why don't I know...?"
Again the walk was short, yet difficult to remember.
Three statues stood in front of the second arch of the citadel. "Do you remember Gorion?" Gorion... The one to the left was of medium height. Cythera remembered nothing of him, and relied on what she saw; a wizened old man, wearing thick layers of robes that brushed against the floor with a large hood that he probably never used. Cythera guessed he must've been some kind of powerful wizard, or sage.
"Or the others?"
Tethroil's statue was positioned in the middle, while Elminster's was to the right. All three statues were in floor length robes, Tethtoril wore his large hood. While Eminster wore an extravagant and clichéd pointed hat, as well as the heavy robes to match. Tethtoril was about the same height as Gorion, while Elminster towered them both. How Cythera knew who was who, she didn't know.
"I think I do... they were... no... wait. They were the guidance." A shadow of a smile pulled at Imoen's cheeks, "and there was always much more to learn."
The fond comment was cause for Imoen to think about what she had just said. Her closed in body language became even more isolated.
Cythera saw her hug her stomach. "But, it is too late now. They are so far away..."with a miserable turn of her head, she glanced at her with tears in the corners of her eyes.
Imoen's body gradually turned to follow, "Cythera… you are far away, too far away to help... Why? Th-the memories they should stay, but he digs deeper... Pushes everything aside..."
Numbly, Imoen returned her attention to the three statues; Gorion, Tethtoril and Elminster. "I don't remember any of you..." all three statues cracked, as if reacting to her declaration. All three statues decompressed before being totally obliterated, as blood curdling screams of anguish followed, then silence.
A little further down the dead gardens that surrounded the grand library, stood yet another statue. This one stood taller than Cythera and Imoen, wearing a complete set of sinisterly spiked armour. The helmet looked menacing with the teeth of a behemoth that overshadowed his eyes and mouth. "Do you remember Sarevok? Or... any other? I-I don't know..." Another frown graced Imoen's face.
One foot in front of the other, she walked closer and closer to the seemingly hostile statue. Almost like she was afraid that this one was going to come to life and attack, "they sought your death and mine. They seemed so important at the time, but I... "
Imoen shook her head, "I don't remember them at all. Someone else is..." Another shake of her head, and a sigh before she turned to glance over her shoulder at Cythera, "someone else is more dangerous... closer... I can feel it."
Sarevok's statue cracked, decompressed and was utterly destroyed. Like the others, it left behind another scream of pained anguish.
Imoen then stumbled slightly to the left of where Sarevok's statue was no more. Intense pain grasped her stomach as she clutched at it tightly with a hunched spine. Imoen then turned to face Cythera… she had to see her one last time. "Do you remember... me?" She looked up at Cythera with a hopeful expression, despite the creases of hurt in her brow, "I can almost see... I-I mean I want to but I..." Imoen's eyes closed as she cut herself off, and took one large step back, every word fuelled with sorrow, "no. Too late. You will come too late."
Imoen turned to stone.
"She resists." Cythera spun around to see the origin of the masculine voice. There about a short distance was Irenicus in her peripherals. Cythera strained the muscles in her neck further to get a better view, "she clings to her old life as though it actually matters. She will learn."
"What is this, Irenicus?" Cythera almost felt her voice crack.
"This? This is a portrait of what will happen and what may happen." Irenicus gestured with powerful arms to the whole surrounding with a soft wave of each. Dropping them, he strode a proud stride towards Imoen. Behind his veined mask, he studied her statue with piercing blue eyes, "do you cling to the past, or can you see through the pain?
"You feel the potential within you, don't you? Will you cringe at what you know you want, what you can take as your own?"
Cythera didn't answer him.
Irenicus turned his back to Imoen to face her, with what she could only imagine was disapproval, behind that mask of his "you know what you want. It is you, after all, who has brought us to this dream. Nothing is real... yet."
Imoen shattered, and all remained eerily silent.