Chapter Twelve
It was odd, how Mable knew she was dreaming, even though she could not recall ever falling asleep. But still, there she was, in her nightgown, on the other side of the door that led to Lady Liana's gallery. It had to be a dream, because Mable still couldn't remember her way back to her suite, let alone a place she had only visited once. Mable stood there for a long time, wondering if at any given moment she would wake up.
She waited in vain and the dream continued, without her consent.
The doors opened without her even touching them, and her feet moved on their own, leading her back into the gallery she had left earlier that day. Of course, who knew what time it was and how many hours it had been since she had last walked out of the gallery? Mable had the feeling it was later than she wanted to believe, and it was possible that this was one of those dreams that one would have a few moments before waking. She experimented with this theory, shutting her eyes, thankful that they were still obeying her will, and opening them again, curious as to whether she would be lying face-up in the bed staring at the canopy above her.
Mable made a small noise in annoyance when she opened her eyes and found herself even farther into the gallery.
Her feet led her to a part of the gallery she hadn't visited yet. Mable shivered; in this dream she could feel the cold air biting her legs, and the chilly marble underneath her bare feet. She ached to hug herself against the warmth, but her arms stayed where they were, resistant.
She walked to the far edge of the gallery, where paintings took up entire walls. Like the other paintings in the gallery, many of these were of people and things, not of places like the ones placed all over the corridors. One huge painting conveyed a ballroom, filled with people. Men and women were trapped forever in a timeless dance; the colors swirled together as if the movement had only been captured for a moment before the artist managed to paint it.
Mable made a mental note to come back and admire the painting more carefully, because her feet were still on the move, briskly now. She only glimpsed at different artwork as she strode alongside the wall, until she halted abruptly at the other end of the gallery, facing another life-size painting.
It took Mable only a moment to realize the difference between this painting and all the others in the gallery. This was the one painting that was like the paintings in the corridors; it was a painting of scenery, not people. Mable wondered why she had been brought here. The painting didn't seem especially significant. It was just the image of a well-worn dirt path that led leisurely into the distance, curling out of sight among the woods and rushes. Wildflowers dipped into the sides of the painting, their faces bright and cheerful, like little children peeking out from a hiding place behind the frame. Above the tree line clouds wisped across a sky the color of a robin's egg. Mable couldn't see the sun, but even in absence it seemed to light up the entire painting, making everything realistic and inviting.
Mable's feet were on the move again, leading her closer and closer to the painting. She shut her eyes, whimpering in protest, positive that she would have her face smashed inward by the hard, marble wall behind the canvas. She fought, wiggling as much as she could, but was unable to stop her treacherous body from walking headlong into the wall. Mable squeezed her eyes shut tighter, and turned her face so her cheek would take the hit.
The hit never came.
Mable felt hard dirt underneath the soles of her feet, and warmth spread along her body as sunlight pressed against her eyelids. Breathless, Mable opened her eyes, and gaped at the living painting before her. The wildflowers tickled the hem of her nightgown, a warm breeze making them dance as if in joy. Mable could smell the flowers' scent in the air, and she breathed deep, just for the pleasure of it. She lifted her face up to the sun, and basked in the wonder of it all. Peace swam over her, so wonderful she didn't even care that none of this could possibly happen. It was impossible for her to just walk into a painting; but wasn't that what dreams were all about? The beauty of the impossible be attained in a dream.
Mable's mind was too tired to contemplate these philosophical theories, so she turned around, this time on her own free will. Her body seemed to be under her control again. Mable went to walk back out of the painting and stumble her way around until she woke up.
When she wheeled around, the frame and the gallery were gone. There was nothing but a dirt path in front of her, stretching down and across the cresting, emerald hills. Mable's jaw dropped, and she stared off into the distance, wondering if she should start panicking yet. She stood there for a while, letting the soft breeze and the sun on her face calm her.
"It's just a dream." She murmured to herself. "Nothing can hurt you." The words echoed in the silent, golden afternoon.
Peace settled on her once again. This was a dream; she had to wake up eventually, and when she did she would be back in her bed once more. Mable turned back to the forest behind her. Since that was where her feet had taken her, she could only assume that this was the path she was meant to take. Mable decided that she would merely venture down the path until she woke up. That was the only solution she had at this point, and the thrill of being inside a painting, even in a dream, was rather intoxicating. She started to stroll down the dirt path.
The dirt was warm and soft underneath her feet, though she was careful to tread slowly and carefully, placing each foot with care so she wouldn't jab herself on any sharp rocks in the path. She rather wished she had dreamed some hiking boots or something, but the path had been painted to look smooth and comfortable for a short stroll, so that's how it felt. The wind continued to caress her face and nightgown, making the leaves on the trees rustle in a comforting symphony. Mable stopped just at the edge of the forest, letting the sun's rays warm her chilled skin before it was blocked by the leaves and needles of the pines and maples.
Mable listened carefully, a small smile on her face as she heard the sounds of the forest. Although she couldn't see them, Mable could recognize the trills of small birds and the chatters of squirrels and chipmunks within the woods. No longer nervous, Mable walked steadily into the woods.
As far as woods went, it was the same atmosphere as the forests back home. Trees were splayed artistically around the path, and Mable could feel the crunch of dead leaves and tiny needles underneath her feet now, not just dirt. Beams of sunlight darted between the spaces the leaves didn't cover, making the dust particles visible as they fluttered effortlessly in the rays, as if they too, welcomed the sun. Mable could still hear the sounds of wildlife around her, and even heard something skitter up a tree trunk. Something made the leaves on the other side of the path tremble, and Mable cautiously gave it a wide berth. She didn't hate snakes or mice, but she did hate the way she squealed whenever they came out from their hiding places unexpectedly.
When she was sure the coast was clear, Mable continued on. There were incredible differences between the trees in this place and the ones back in the woods at home, she had to admit that. For one, the sun wasn't shining there and snow blanketed the ground, unlike here where the thought of snow was almost laughable. The colors were brighter than the ones in the woods at home, the bark a darker, brighter brown than the grayish tinge it had in the woods around the castle. The needles and leaves were bright emerald green, unspoiled by broken limbs or caterpillars eating away at their flesh. Even the dead leaves on the ground seemed too bright and cheerful for dead things.
Of course, since she was dreaming that she had walked into a painting, arguing the impossibility of it all was a bit ridiculous.
The dirt path led her far into the woods; farther than she had ever been in her waking state. Remarkably, she didn't feel tired, and her feet weren't even sore from all the traveling. She felt perfectly fine. Mable was just wondering if this was worth worrying about when she heard a soft, sharp noise.
She stilled, listening patiently for the noise to come again.
She heard it, somewhere to her left off the path way. Mable shifted her weight, undecided. She didn't want to go off the path, but she wanted to find out what that noise was. And the way the noise had come from was supple and grassy, as if it led to a clearing. The sound came again, and Mable lurched off the path and towards the sound. She wasn't sure why it called to her, but she couldn't help but head towards the underbrush that hid the noisemaker.
She wandered into a clearing, the grass whispering under her feet as she traveled closer and closer. She could see a small shape in the distance. Curious now, she launched herself towards the creature making the sounds. As she came forward, fear chilled her blood as she recognized the creature before her.
The wolf bared its fangs at nothing as it hurtled from side to side, snapping at the air as it was jerked back by something Mable couldn't see. Mable fell on her behind as she stopped awkwardly and flung herself away from the fangs that glistened in the sunlight. Irritably, it shook its grayish-brown fur and snapped again at nothing, snarling ferociously. The wolf was large enough to place its front paws comfortably on Mable's shoulders; though she would be damned if she ever gave it a chance to do so. She huffed out a terrified breath as she scrambled backward, eager to get away without attracting its notice.
The trick failed, and Mable was caught looking into a deadly wolf's gold eyes. The wolf stepped towards her, its ears pricked forward in interest. Mable's heart hammered as it came closer and closer, her eyes locked on the wolf's teeth in his panting mouth. The creature's eyes were still on her face, but Mable couldn't figure out if it was just out of curiosity or devastating hunger.
"It's just a dream," she whispered to herself, still trapped in one place by the terror flowing through her veins. She gulped as the creature stopped, its ears turning forward as if it were listening to her. "Nothing can hurt you in a dream." She muttered to herself again, chanting those words under her breath as she had done when she was a child, when she woke up from nightmares. "Nothing can hurt you in a dream. Nothing can hurt you in a dream" she whimpered as the wolf grew close enough to bite her leg.
The wolf took one more step forward, as if to pace right up to her face, but suddenly jerked back and snarled angrily. Mable screamed, and managed to make her body work enough to scramble away to the other edge of the clearing, farther away from the wolf. She stopped at the edge, startled by the clang of metal she heard when she rushed away.
She turned back, and saw that the wolf's left hind leg was caught in a thick, ancient metal trap. She had stepped forward, trying to decide if it was safe to help it, when the wolf ran at her. She screamed and raced out of the clearing, away from those sharp, lethal teeth and those gold eyes that looked at her so angrily.
Mable ran back down to the dirt path, never looking back, even though she knew she was safe since the wolf couldn't escape the trap. She sped down the dirt path, eagerly searching for the way back to her rooms.
Gracelessly, Mable felt her feet go out from under her, and she collapsed onto the ground, the world around her disappearing as she finally started to wake up.