I had a really rough week, combined with my birthday yesterday and taking care of my slightly intoxicated cousin. Figures it's my party, but I wind up the DD. Anyway, enjoy. Getting into the good stuff…
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"I dreamt it again last night. The wandering dream." I shifted on the comfortable leather couch and glanced at Dr. Whitlock. He traced his pen over his legal pad and waited for me to continue. "I don't understand why it's so repetitive. As if it's some sort of unfinished business… but it really doesn't mean anything to me. There's never anyone else in the dream."
"And you don't think that in itself is significant?" He raised his eyebrows at me expectantly. I shrugged, letting out my breath in a sigh.
"I want to try again. To regress." I settled further into the couch and looked at the doctor. He nodded and set his legal pad aside. I smiled slightly and closed my eyes. My arms lay at my sides as I began finding a rhythm to my breathing. All I focused on was air entering and leaving my body and Dr. Whitlock's voice.
"Breathe in. Feel. Listen…" The tone was soothing and deep. He turned up the volume on the white-noise machine he kept on his desk to ensure that nothing from our sessions could be heard in the waiting room. It helped me clear my mind as well.
Slowly, but surely, my body began to relax even more. I felt the familiar tugging around the edges of my consciousness, and the sounds I'd been focusing on began to fade. I was suddenly free-falling, almost tumbling down, down, and it felt like I would never be able to stop.
Dr. Whitlock, the office, the couch I lay on, even the clothes I wore seemed to disappear completely. There was a void, black, which threatened to swallow me whole. I tried to move my arms, to find purchase in the pitch dark. It was as though I were bound—like I wasn't even there.
My heart beat rapidly, and I tried to focus on that instead. I counted the pounding rhythm, onetwothreefourfivesixseven… it seemed to reassure me that I was still alive, and that the darkness would not last forever.
Quite abruptly, the spinning free-fall came to a halt. My eyes were still tightly closed, and I was hesitant to open them quickly. Instead, I reached tentatively with my hands, trying to get my bearings.
It appeared that I was lying down. The spot felt comfortable, more than I expected. I touched my face, my hair, my clothes… these were not what I remembered. It felt like a dress… a heavily-embroidered dress. I furrowed my brow, disconcerted.
In my past regressions, I couldn't remember ever having felt this level of detail. Sometimes I was in the memory, other times it was like watching a movie of myself. Other times, it was simply a vague picture, frozen. But I had never experienced this much awareness within a regression. I guessed I'd have to see for myself.
I finally opened my eyes, slowly. The lighting was dim, its source a thick yellowing candle. I lay on my side, and I sat up slowly, taking in my surroundings. I was lying on a canopy bed, with very fancy trappings and polished wood finish. The walls were more or less simple, with an intricate stitching sampler and several religious icons for decoration. I couldn't quite place the time period.
I glance down at my clothes to see if that would help pinpoint an era. The dress was golden, embroidered to within an inch of its life. It was heavy brocade and satin, with a tightly-laced corset that was beginning to compromise my breathing. I tried to pull at the laces, to no avail. Well. I'd just have to deal with it for now. It was a very old-fashioned dress… if I had to guess, I'd say it was like the pictures of the early 1700s. Colonial, maybe.
I stood up tentatively to find delicate matching slippers on my feet. They did not seem suitable for much walking, but they would have to do. I stepped away from the bed, practically tiptoeing towards the door. I was reluctant to open it. Distant flashes of a dream came to me; I was wandering aimlessly down dark corridors. What if I opened the door, and came upon such a hallway?
But for all my trepidation, I didn't want to go back just yet. I pulled the door open slowly, carefully. I peeked out of the room. The floor was made of polished wooden planks. Little tables adorned the hall, with more candles ensconced in the walls and religious icons everywhere. I walked down, finding a staircase. I could hear movement below; perhaps seeing people would give me a better sense of where and when I was. I felt the memories of it, the familiarity of it lurking on the edges, behind a veil. If I could only lift it, I would remember who I was…
A wooden door was open directly in front of the staircase. It looked like the main entrance to the house. It was very heavy and crossed with metal strips, studded with iron nails. A fancy-dressed man stood there, complete with breeches and wig. I stood at the top of the stairs, wondering how I would manage the dress to make my way down.
There was also a woman there, dressed similarly to me. She looked much older than me, though. Her hair was beginning to gray. She held a brief conversation with the man, and finally pulled out a small drawstring purse. The woman extracted a silver coin and pressed it into the man's hand. He bowed but argued softly. I couldn't catch the words.
That made me more determined. Hearing the language would tell me even more about this place. I stepped carefully, one foot, then the other. The stairs creaked, and the woman turned to me, finally. Her expression was severe, worried. It made me recoil, almost.
Then I noticed what she held in her hands. A thin sheet of paper; it was folded like a letter, and it bore a wax seal. She held it out to me, and I hesitated, unsure whether to reach out. I had never had direct interaction with others in my regressions. Oftentimes, it played like a movie—actions were already determined, since it was past, and that could not be changed. Finally, I took the paper from her. It seemed like the required action.
"Ha llegado un mensaje urgente. El sello que lleva…" The words flowed, made no sense. Was it French? It sounded a little like it… but not quite. The intonation, the cadence… I didn't think I could speak it, at any rate. Yet it felt like I had heard it before…
I opened my mouth, to tell her that I could not understand. "Pero si yo…"
I stopped, amazed to hear the language from my own tongue. Spanish. Did I speak Spanish? Apparently, I did now. The woman's words came into focus: An urgent message has arrived. The seal it bears…
I looked down at the letter. The seal was embossed in red wax, the design intricate. A lion, a hand, shamrocks… my heart suddenly beat faster. I knew this, it was very familiar… why couldn't I place it? Somehow, this life's memories were also bound to my own present memories, and I could not recall the meaning of the seal.
"Lo han enviado directamente de la casa de los Caellén." The woman spoke again, wringing her hands nervously. Why did she sound so anxious?
Caellén, Caellén… my heart squeezed again, as though trying to answer. It was right on the edge of my memory, trying to burst forth… did I know this name? Why is it important?
A brief flash of bronze hair and green eyes crossed my mind, and I almost fell back. The name was attached to someone. Someone I loved.
The woman took my upper arm and steadied me. Her fingers dug into my skin, but I was grateful for her support. I sensed something strange. Fear. Something horrible…
I tore the letter open, the seal crumbling in half. The penmanship was an elegant scrawl, but hastily written. Urgency, again, filled my body, like walking through the dream corridor. The heavy sense of foreboding lingered, as I read the message.
A la más honorable Marquesa del Nuevo Reino de León: Lamentamos informarle que su excelencia… ha perecido en el viaje rumbo a…
The names blurred together. The letter addressed me with a royal-sounding title… no, not quite royal… a marchioness. And his 'excellency', his 'grace'… had perished during the voyage? Who was he? Who had died?
The woman had been reading over my shoulder. Her hands gripped me even tighter. A low cry escaped from her mouth. She looked at me in horror. "No puede ser! Como es posible?" She dissolved into almost hysterical tears.
I still held the letter in my hands. Memories were slowly seeping through. The Caellén family, very well respected… my own family, very wealthy landowners in—Mexico? Or wasn't it called that yet? The recollections mingled with my own knowledge and that slowed the recognition.
My hands clenched the letter tightly. It ripped and tore easily. Something pinched my fingers. I looked at my left hand, gazing at it in slowly-growing realization.
There was a ring on my hand. The band was delicate gold, a round setting of tiny diamonds. An engagement ring. Compromiso…
The truth dawned on me in an instant. Memories tumbled in, and the almost unbearable weight threatened to crush me. The letter was a message from my fiancé's family. And my fiancé's name… his grace. Eduardo Caellén. Those green eyes… gone. He was dead. Y nunca sabrá, lo mucho que lo amo…
No, no, no. This body's memories—my memories—were too painful. Anguish and grief, a devastating grief, gripped my heart. Darkness seeped into my consciousness. The staircase, the woman, and the letter, everything, began to fade. I realized I was fainting, and I embraced the nothingness with relief. Anything to get me away from the crippling pain. My heart was being torn in two.
The tugging began again, and I felt as though I were being lifted. Or was I falling? Sinking or floating, I could not tell anymore. A scream tore from my throat, and the dark engulfed me.
Y nunca sabrá, lo mucho que lo amo…
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Was it too confusing? Does it need to be retooled? Or did I get my point across? Let me know! I guess it's kind of obvious what Caellen would mean… I tweaked the last name to make it more Spanish-sounding, but it's obviously not a translation or anything.
And also, a little Spanish there for ya. Wanna know what that last bit says? PM me… I answer, I truly do… R&R!
