Cloud Hopping

Cleo loved dreaming, that was a given. 

Ever since she was little, everything relating to the oniric always fascinated her. And everylon had different interpretations of what the oniric reality actually was.

To some, it could represent merely their subconscious ramblings, observations and desires, unapproachable through any other means. That was a purely sceptical sense of view, of course, but who knew what their subconscious actually hid from themselves? It was actually marvelous - everylon had a part of themselves that they couldn't reach except from when embarking on the twisted and entangled reality of night visions. Some other bunch perfectly believes that, in taking part of a dream, they are subjected to its whims in a sense that it shows what you need to know, but haven't the means to. Every part of it would represent something in real life - and the convoluted reality one went through when sleeping could actually be translated into real life. 

Alas, the brain is a complicated and complex matter. Thus, Cleo was more partial to the former explanation, rather than the latter. It was pretty believable that the subconscious would be able to conceive narratives and adventures without external influence, that's what she thought. Plus, it helped explain why dreams couldn't be made sense of, more often than not. If dreams were just an assemblage of random thoughts and necessities the brain accumulated throughout the time, it was only fair they were stuck together with little to no cohesion - the mind couldn't help but desire (or suffer through) a great amalgamation of things, thus vomiting oniric Frankensteins. 

That conclusion was well built, thank you very much. For someone that dreamed a lot, it was natural that Cleo thought a lot about dreams, as well. Life finds the most unexpected ways to provide a touch of its chaos, though - and you can either go on with it or go crazy.

 

As one could expect, this story starts with a dream. A very pleasant one, in fact. Cleo was looking for ingredients in the forest behind her house, when she spotted a very dainty red house in the middle of a clearing. The pouflon didn't remember seeing anything like that before, even as she recalled the memories of passing through the same clearing just the week before. It had white details, slightly irregular, and it was adorned with colored buttons. The roof was darker than the walls of the house and, from what she could see, checkered just like the texture of an ice cream cone. A small chimney stood on the right side, and from outside of it wafted a cotton-candy looking smoke that smelled very sweet and delicious. It reminded her of a candy house, just like she used to imagine while listening to her father tell the story of the twins that got lost in the woods and encountered a witch inside of a house made of delicious pastries and sweets. 

Another lon got out of the building and invited her in. Their words were unintelligible, as if Cleo had cotton inside of her ears (even though she had been able to hear the sounds of the forest just fine). The meaning of their message, however, seemed clear enough, almost as if they were opening their mouth to speak, but talking to her telepathically.  She couldn't be sure if it was a vespire or a pouflon, its characteristics dancing and mixing around their body as if they were as fluid as the elements. 

Even with the imprecise physical features of the (presumably) owner of the cottage, they seemed very pleasant, and nothing like an evil spellcaster at all. Cleo had an inkling that she'd met them before - maybe in a past dream, she couldn't cross out that possibility. Elements in the pouflon's dreams were strangely recurring, as if united by a great web weaved with clouds. So, she followed the slightly familiar lon inside. 

The interior of the small construction was surprisingly bigger than the outside - and as she looked up into the ceiling, Cleo watched as the exquisite painting of the dome of the house seemed to move above her, illustrating the picture of a whimsical farm. A painted pippet moved in between two rolls of plum-colored straw. The sky of the painting featured multiple flying creatures, and cozy-looking cottages spread through the scenery. A little bewildered, she returned her vision to the mysterious lon, who only smiled at her. They wordlessly guided her through the multiple rooms and corridors of the house, which now seemed to overstretch without end. She wanted to ask for their name, and what was the meaning of the magical house which she'd never seen before, but the words seemed to escape her, as if she was only a spectator inside her own field of vision. While both lons walked, Cleo heard an incessant sound, which slowly got louder as they crossed each corridor, entered through a series of rooms and turned into corners. 

They ventured into the house until they both reached a door. Cleo opened it, and was greeted with a vision of her own bedroom - except things didn’t look quite the same. The furniture wasn’t in its proper place, and she couldn’t recognize some of the things that were spread throughout the bedroom. It was almost as if some had tried to recreate the room from a vague description. Onto her nightstand stood a clock Cleo couldn’t remember having, apparently the source of the ceaseless sound she’d been hearing. It was very beautiful, though, and she was happy she’d now acquired it. The lon accompanying her finally spoke, their voice muffled as if she was speaking through several layers of cloth. 

“It is ringing.” They simply stated, their tone neutral. “Will you answer the call?” 

 Something inside her urged her to move forward, and so she did, wordlessly touching the top of the object. 

When she woke up, Cleo stood at the edge of her bed - her actual bed - almost falling over, a hoof stuck out to stop the clock onto her nightstand from sounding the alarm. “Ah, what a pity”. She mumbled, then yawned. “It was only a dream.” The pouflon quietly and quickly lamented the loss of her new clock, reachable only through the machinations of her subconscient. It wasn’t rare for Cleo to become quite fond of her adventures inside her own mind, and sometimes the pouflon would hope she could return into the world she’d just woken out of in order to live new experiences accompanied by those same atmospheres. 

Dreams had that flimsy characteristic about them, though, so by the time she grabbed her loyal purse and called Rascal over, the pouflon couldn’t quite picture the face of the mysterious lon that’d come along with her anymore. 

Her classes today really looked like something she was supposed to pay attention to. But today, the intricacies of potion making just couldn’t grab her attention, no matter how much she tried. Cleo stared at the pens and instruments on her table, hearing Rascal quietly chirp from inside her bag, and it took no time at all for her to drift off. 

She lifted her gaze from the objects in front of her when she saw a flash of familiarly colored fur through the corner of her view. She did so just in time to watch a beautiful, long tail disappear through the door of the classroom. It took Cleo a moment, but when she recognized the lon of her dream, the polo hurriedly shoved the candy on the table inside of her bag, much to the delight of the red spoongus inside it, and trotted determinedly to the door. 

The pouf was able to hear someone call her name behind her, inquiring about what she was doing, but the constant drumming on her mind did nothing if not urge her to move forward - to follow that figure. She stuck her head out the door just in time to see the figure's hind legs and tail progressing just behind a corner, and started to quicken her pace, the sounds of her hooves muffled because of the chocolate flooring. The lilac-toned sky above Cleo didn’t seem ruffled by the fact she was in a closed building, and looked as if it wanted to engulf her at any moment. 

When she turned, at the edge of the corridor, the sky finally swallowed her.