Fractals and Dreams

She watched his darting attention through his eyes, as things blurred around the edges when he moved or shook his head. Ilmora was static in his mind, with his eyes consisting of her entire world, a view she had no control over aside from where she could pay her own attention to. He stared into the fire, making everything else darker around his periphery, and she looked into the trees as he spoke, idly spying something dark flutter through the barren branches. A raven, perhaps, scared off by him talking to himself of a curse.

Oh, I know full well of curses, she smiled. I’ve never heard the end of them. I could never break mine, but perhaps you’ll have better luck.

But reliving memories, hm? I’m assuming it’s an unwanted thing, to cause you such distress to seek a remedy for it. She hummed thoughtfully. It’s as worthy a quest as any. The sense of howling wind in him was getting louder – which was a terrible metaphor, really. It wasn’t making a sound, but the distress in him was rising, creating an indescribable...pressure, if she could call it that. A stirring that Isolde didn’t have. He reached for his steaming cauldron with shaking hands, and she watched, neutrally untouched by his wince of pain. She had no context for heat or cold or lack thereof, and another grin crept into her voice when he spoke again, his tongue a little thick from the burn.

He asked her to keep a secret, and she laughed, the sound strangely echoing in his mind. I will keep your secret, Meister Tempest, and trade you one of mine for it.

I was told I belong to a body, and that I was born, and loved, once. But that body sleeps, and I can’t enter it or wake it. So this is what I am. A floating spirit who can only exist like this, talking to others. Her voice trailed off. Terrifying them, haunting them, unable to act or feel or taste or burn. She sighed distantly. I am nothing but memories and eyes and a haunting voice. That is my curse. Trying to solve it ruined the family that claimed my body as their kin, and they were rid of me by the end.

But enough of me! My woes are dull to me. Tell me of yours, and perhaps there will be comfort in the sharing.