.interlude – the dreaming.

To connect the living to the dead, there must be a bridge…

Otto stood at the foot of a bridge which spanned a shallow stream. It was a small, wooden foot bridge, made of bare white oak. It gave the impression of having been recently built. His hand looked out of place on the railing. Pale, calloused skin shot through with small wires and tiny bits of smooth, silver metal. He was transfixed for a moment, knowing this wasn't quite right, this marriage of so many of nature's generations; God creates man. Man creates machine. Machine devours man. God strikes down both, starts again.

God. No place in science for Him.

But Otto had always held those two worlds apart, his logical mind working alongside his spiritual, feeling no conflict. He knew what he believed, and he knew what was real. There was room for both in his mind, and it sufficed.

He found himself walking, his boot-clad feet making hollow wooden sounds against the bridge as he transversed the stream. Within his legs, he could feel the blood pumping, the gears turning, the muscles working like pistons. Absently, his hand moved to his chest, the skin smooth underneath the thin cotton material. A thick wall of muscle met his fingertips as they traced a line down his abdomen. No metal, no scars. He shivered, and pulled his worn trench coat around himself.

On the other side of the bridge, there was a field, with vibrant green grass, and hills covered with all manner of tree. The wind was light on his skin, and ruffled his hair slightly. Otto ran his fingers through it, a gesture of habit more than anything else, and felt tiny, hard nodules at the base of his skull. The radius of his arm's reach ended before the warm metal did, trailing down his spine.

Oddly, he was reminded of a movie, where there had been a choice. The rabbit hole or the real world, red or blue, truth or fiction. In this place, he was unsure of the boundaries between.

He began to walk again, ground soft and spongy beneath his feet. In the distance was a shimmering light, small at first, but the closer it came, it elongated vertically, until Otto could make out the shape of a human figure. A woman; long hair, delicately curved body, feminine step, the smell of jasmine and cedar.

Otto stopped. Stared. Forgot to breathe.

"Rose… alie…"

The glimmer that had shone so bright in the distance had faded from her features, but the radiance he'd always seen in her face was still there. Her auburn hair fell gently around her face, errant strands loose across her forehead. He longed to brush them back from her eyes, to move close and drink deep from her full lips, be renewed by her again as he'd been so many times in the past.

His hand twitched at his side, betraying him. Or maybe it was the steel embedded in skin and bone that stopped him.

I will not die… a monster…

The words recalled, and his heart ached. He opened his mouth to speak, and found her finger pressed lightly against his lips, hush. So close… I could eat her alive.

Alive? Dead… I am… dead?

"Shh, Otto. Don't speak. You do not belong here."

"I—"

"No, beloved. You do not. You have miles to go before you sleep."

Poetry. Frost. His heart burned, sank, leaped, wept. His mouth merely hung agape.

"And I will be here when you return."

Otto closed his mouth, and it twisted, sour meeting the sweet. He could not find his tongue, words stuck in his throat.

"You will find aid in the most unexpected of places."

More poetry? None that he recognized. Finally, managing to pry his thoughts from his brain, he spoke. Quickly, forcefully, as if he had no time. He knew he didn't.

"I'm not leaving… I can't! I've failed. I've killed you… my life is a ruin. I… don't want to leave you."

She shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry, love. There is nothing I can do. You must go back."

"Why? I have nothing left! Why…"

"There are lessons left to be learned, for both the teacher and the student." She smiled warmly at him.

Otto closed his eyes against the sight of her, unable to gaze upon what he knew he would have to leave again, and felt her hand on his brow, his cheekbone, chin. The soft warmth of her lips against his own, and his hands finally found their way, arms encircling her waist, hands trailing up and down her spine lightly, warmly. The moment was too short, and when he opened his eyes again, he was left in complete darkness, alone.