A/N: Herein lies fluff! (Sort of…)
Some Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty elements get pulled in here, but this definitely won't follow the plot of either of those fairy tales. I'm having too much fun going AU…
Chapter Nine
Sophie felt herself relax almost instantly when she stepped into the workroom.
Even when she had been too young to do much more than crawl and babble, this place had been special. The elements for the dreams were draped over rods all along the wall, giving the little room an ethereal glow. Automatically Sophie reached out and straightened a strand of hope, which was drifting too near the faith beside it. Hope and faith were similar, certainly, but it wouldn't do to let them mix. Muddled elements led to muddled dreams and lost customers, as her Uncle never failed to remind her.
The only other adornment in the room was the scratched old spinning wheel, tucked into a corner near a padded bench. Sophie ran her fingers absently over the spindle head. It was carved into a tiny fairy, her wings spread and her arms uplifted. The wings were shiny and smooth from repeated rubbing; the spindle, and the fairy, had been in her uncle's family for longer than anyone could remember.
Sophie pushed some books off the bench seat and sat in a rustle of skirts, then waved Jaden over to a chair in the opposite corner. He sank into it with what looked like the last of his strength. Sophie ruthlessly quashed the slight twinge of guilt. They sat in silence for a moment, watching each other. Then Jaden said abruptly,
"You know which of your dreams you will give, then?"
Sophie took a deep breath. She had thought about this all week, ever since she had decided. In the end, the choice hadn't been hard at all. As long as she had to give up a dream, why not make it one she wanted to get rid of anyway? Every now and again, Sophie was plagued by the echoes of her childhood daydreams, the silly fancies she should have banished long ago. They seemed to pop up at the most inopportune times. She would be minding the shop, or talking to a neighbor, and suddenly she would be thinking about the Wild Hunt or the phoenixes of Albermare.
Her mother, she thought with a pang, had only encouraged her. Sophie's mother had been a dreamer herself. Even before she fell ill, she often seemed to live more in her mind than in the world of her husband and daughter.
After she came to live with Londer, Sophie had made a concerted effort to stop her mental ramblings. It was well and good for a little girl to imagine phoenixes, but she had responsibilities now, and she was not longer a child. And for the most part, her campaign had worked. But there was still one daydream that, for some perverse reason, simply would not go away. It resurfaced every few months, just when she thought it had finally gone…usually when she was feeling particularly mature and practical.
Now, Sophie thought with some satisfaction, she could finally get rid of the thing. It still didn't make the prospect of parting with her dreams appealing, but at least it made it somewhat more bearable.
"You are…certain, that you wish to give away this dream?"
Sophie looked at Jaden in some surprise. If she didn't know better, she would think he was concerned.
" Of course I'm sure. I've had long enough to think about it, haven't I?" She turned to the spinning wheel.
"Dreams are deceptive. What you want is not always what you may think."
Sophie clenched her jaw. She hated nothing more than to be patronized.
"I sell dreams. I should think that I would know about my own." She paused. "What concern is it of yours? You'll have your dream, won't you, even if I go mad from the spinning of it?"
He gave a sharp shake of his head.
"I would not wish that."
Sophie shifted a bit uncomfortably. He sounded like he meant it. But that didn't mean anything, did it? Of course he didn't want her to go mad—he probably wanted to buy more of her dreams. Annoyed at herself, Sophie turned back to the wheel.
Customarily, spinning was something of a show. The multi-colored strands of elements whirling 'round the spindle never failed to captivate. But this spinning would be something different. Sophie had never dealt with her own dreams before, so she'd surreptitiously sneaked a look at some of her uncle's more esoteric books. Ironically, it seemed that selling her own dreams was far easier than making them. In fact, it wasn't really spinning at all. The spinner simply immersed themselves in their dream until the emotions were powerful enough. The emotions from the dream would wrap themselves around the spindle, and all she had to do was spin and hold the dream in her mind until the thread was finished. It was almost terrifyingly simple.
She took a deep breath.
"You can't interrupt. If you do, the dream will shatter."
"I will not interrupt."
She had expected some sharp comment, almost hoped for it. So much for distractions, she thought a bit wildly.
This was it. There was no going back, now. Sophie resolutely refused to think about her mother's picture, or the expression on her uncle's face if he ever found out what she had done. With an effort of will, she raised her hands and cupped them around the little wooden fairy, making sure that she was not touching the wood. Then she closed her eyes, forced herself to relax, and dreamed.
She was in a ballroom, finer than she had ever seen before. Huge, sparkling chandeliers hung high above and hundreds of candles lined the walls. There were other dancing couples, far off in the distance, but they seemed misty and not quite real. Her dress was a white so pure it nearly hurt the eyes, flaring into layers of frothy fabric that swirled as she moved. When she touched the sparkling stones at her throat, they were smooth and cold against her hand. Her partner led her expertly across the floor. She took a breath, looked up into his gentle eyes, and felt… absolutely nothing.
Knowing what she would see, Sophie opened her eyes and looked at the spindle, then at her hands. Both were bare. She winced. She had been afraid of this. Since before they could walk, spinners were taught to never allow even the slightest emotion when they worked, lest they accidently spin their own dreams. They fixed the picture of the dream firmly in their minds, so firmly that it felt real, but the emotions came only from the elements fed onto the spindle.
It was one of the reasons why there were so few true dream-spinners. Not many people had the control, or the desire, to purge themselves of feeling on a daily basis. Sophie had always prided herself on her ability to do just that; while others told horrible tales of having given their own dreams, her spinning was unimpeachable. How on earth, she wondered, was she supposed to forsake a lifetime of training? She absently rubbed her forehead, and thought back carefully. The ballroom daydream had seemed right, as much as she could remember. But there must be something missing.
"You can't do it?"
"Of course I can." She knew she had snapped unnecessarily, but she couldn't help it. "These things take time, my lord."
He was silent. Wonderful. Now, on top of everything else, she'd offended him.
She closed her eyes, forced her shoulders to relax, and tried again. This time she was careful not to force the dream so much, to let it have its way. When the picture finally came, Sophie was surprised to see that it wasn't her ballroom at all. She was in the old study at her mother's town house, with the scratched wood floor and the musty smell of old books. It was dim; the lamp flickering on the table had burned almost empty, and there was barely enough light to see. She was wearing a wool gown and her old half-boots with a hole nearly worn through the heel, as she usually did when there was work to be done at the back of the shop. And she was dancing.
Sophie didn't know how to dance. No one had taught her, and she had no interest in the country socials where the other girls learned the steps. But somehow, tonight, she was. The man had no real face but she knew him, better than she knew most anyone. His arms were secure around her, and his steps were sure though there was no music. She felt clumsy next to his grace, and winced when she trod on his toe.
"Oh—I'm sorry."
He laughed a little and shook his head.
"A natural dancer you aren't, my dear." From someone else it would have been cruel, but he simply sounded affectionate. Sophie felt bold.
"If we didn't have to avoid a desk, it might be easier."
"That, Sophie, is not my fault. There was a ball. You simply didn't want to go."
She shrugged, unrepentant.
"It would have been overcrowded, and stuffy. Besides, I haven't a ball gown."
"That wasn't a concern, as well you know. You would have had a gown."
His tone was soft, and Sophie felt herself blush.
"I--I know." She paused. "You should go. Uncle will be back soon."
"And what of that?"
Sophie sighed.
"He doesn't know. I haven't told him, yet." Before tonight, Sophie thought privately, there hadn't really been anything to tell.
"Ah. Perhaps you should consider remedying that."
His voice was bemused, and also just the slightest bit possessive. Very softly Sophie said,
"Perhaps."
Her hand was resting just above his heart, and she stared at it fixedly. His coat was a deep blue velvet, very fine. He was so warm, she thought absently, and sternly resisted the urge to rest her cheek against his chest. He swung her through a few more turns, and then they stopped. When she finally gathered the courage to look up, he pulled her a little closer, and he was gazing down at her as if… as if…
Suddenly, Sophie felt her hands start to tingle. There was a horrible, wrenching feeling, and then the whole vision was suddenly gone. She opened her eyes. Her hands glittered, and there was a long, multi-colored thread coiled before her. The dream was spun.
