Dream

“Gently dear. Under then over, remember.” The voice behind Yura gently coaxed her to steady her fingers as she weaved, a hand over her own to steady her grip. A cool breeze swayed the fields of flowers around them, poppies and butterflies abound, the mother and the child, as Yura sat firmly in her mother’s lap, her back against her mother’s torso a warm and secure feeling as her mother hummed a soft tune.

Yura’s fingers stumbled roughly about the worn-out stems, twisting, and turning them as gently as a three-year-old might. Her focus remained squarely on the piece before her as her mother gave assist in the moments she struggled. She was far from adept, but the shape was there, at least.

These moments had been too rare, to far and few between the young girl thought, and as such she treasured such times. Such moments of family, of happiness and security. It was all she could ask for. The perfect family. The perfect moment. A hope to be the perfect daughter.

“Well done, sweet child!” Yura’s mother cheered as her young daughter finished her final weave, drawing the small fitting crown together. It was no work of mastery, no work of perfection yet the love and tenderness did not detract from its own worth as art. The woman helped Yura to slowly raise the crown upon her own, decorating the child’s head and horns with petal and stem.

Yura beamed at the feeling of the petals on her head, more than satisfied with their way of work, rocking gently in her mother’s lap, humming her own satisfactions. “Look at mother now dearest. Show me your face.” Yura continued to beam as she moved to turn around, ready and proud to show her handiwork to the one she treasured so dearly. But as she shifted her face to look at her mother, she froze.

Yura’s young eyes shot wide as she gazed up at her mother, falling petals from her head dancing in her peripherals as she looked on in fear. Staring back at her there was… nothing. An empty canvas took place of her mother’s gaze. A hollow face masquerading as something she had thought so familiar. Her mother… she never looked like this, no one did! But then why, why couldn’t she remember? What had she looked like? Why was it all so blurry?

“Yura...” An empty voice called her name, over and over, begging her to look on as the girl tried to push away, clawing for release. The girl opened her mouth, be it intending to scream, speak or gape she was unsure, but mattered not as no voice would ring out. Tightly she closed her eyes as she struggled against the grasp she was held so tightly in, praying only for some sort of solace.

“Yura!!” Yura shot up sharply in her bed, gasping for air, sweat pooling at her brow as her body tremored in fear. Tears welled in her eyes as she struggled to bring her knees to her chest, laying her head gently upon her knees. She let out heaves and gasps as she struggled to contain her tears, the gentle sights of her dreams driving her to terror.

As Yura struggled between her gasps of air, she felt another warm embrace envelop her shaken body, akin to that which she had dreamed of only moments ago. Blindly, Yura leaned into the comfort as Vetelle took the girl closer and closer to her, dragging the teenager into her lap, stroking her head and gently humming she rocked her to and fro, swaying gently as the fields that had plagued Yura’s dreams.