Chapter Eighty Five
Later that day, I was laying in bed, about to fall asleep. I began to wonder if I would return to that dream world I created. It had ended with my death, so maybe I would come back to life. Maybe the story wasn't over yet.
...
In my dream, I was in a room full of white. White bed, white walls, white curtains. The room was almost bare of furniture.
I was wearing a white dress. It was light, almost like a slip.
I got out of bed and ran for the door. Inside was a maze of hallways. There was windows everywhere, letting light stream through. It was almost like Asgard, except white instead of gold. It was somewhat like how I pictured Mount Olympus, but it still looked more like a white Asgard.
Except it was completely empty.
I ran around the entire palace – that was the only way to describe it – and discovered that it was completely empty.
In what had to be a dining hall, the room was completely empty except for a white throne in the front of the room. It looked like a mirror of the throne room on Asgard.
Except in white.
I would walk out on the balcony, and gaze at the stars. I would visit this place night after night. I would wake up in the dream to find many things – books, easels and paint, a piano.
And I would spend the dream creating something.
But it wasn't the world I wanted.