Scars, Book One, Entry Nine

As the third moon lingers below the horizon, Brie lingers on a bench with a letter in their hand. Their irises gleam a cold blue, swirling into a cooper-brown highlighted by flecks of Dijon-like yellow. Any dreamer passing could easily mistake Brie's stillness as concentration, maybe imagining them savoring every word scribed onto the page repeatedly.

Those dreamers would be wrong.

The letter remains unread. Brie found it on their doorstep that afternoon, unsure when it came or who delivered it. Their gaze burns through the words and parchment into a world of memory that skips from one to the next without rhythm or design. Their eyes flash subtly with each memory as tingles ring throughout their body; sensational hints of tastes and smells resurrect a world gone and unwanted.

Disassociating, Brie spins out from the dingy city as time slips by until a raven's caw overhead hurls them back to the bench and letter.

The thinning crowds along the grassy line signal the start of the Golden Hours. The third moon, known as the Thief's Boon in the stories Brie learned as a young dreamer, steals away dreamers caught in the Gold without the right spells and charms. Even then it would take wit or skill to escape unharmed. Brie learned early on that their stories were one of many in the city. Despite the tale, most ended poorly when it came to the third moon, no matter the name.

Down the grassy lane, a main thoroughfare that cut through the dingy city, street shades flicker on glowing amethyst against the twilight. It was time to go.

Why not stay on the bench? Let the Golden Hours steal me away? Allow the Thief to tear through my mind and dim my sight.

There are sects of dreamers in the city that practice rituals founded on belief that enlightenment rests within the bright madness of the Golden Hours. They declared on street corners that denying the dark to dim your sight allows for vital vision.

No.

Shaking off the ideation, Brie slowly stands up and shoves the letter into their shoulder bag unsure of what to do with it.

Burn it?

Forget about it?

Who delivered the letter, anyway?

How did they find me?

Why bring it to me, not Ce?

I guess I should read it?

But that would just make things worse?

Okay, hide it. I'll just hide everything.

What about Evi?

Brie curses to herself as her thoughts drift to Evi. She always knew when something was off with Brie.

Maybe give it to Celia?

No good. Brie knew it was too late to try to find Ce now. They needed to read it if they were going to pass it along.

Oh, Ce.

Brie did not so much leave the Valley, they followed Celia. There was no plan to arrive at the dingy city when they did.

But that is how the city works. They say the City listens to dreams dreamt.

The pair of dreamers found it a strange, ambiguous place. In some ways, the city felt like the Valley. But the ritual in the Valley was intentional and ordered. The ritual of the dingy town was chaos, maybe chaos with intention, but it all worked differently.

The dingy city was like no other place they had seen on their travels, and Ce wanted to stay even while they watched many dreamers drift through.

Brie wasn't sure.

Brie never knew what they were looking for, but they trusted Ce. Ce trusted the City.

I trusted anything but Ce.

Then, Evi appeared out of nowhere just after an unusually harsh cycle.

Oh, Evi.

The duo was soon a trio, and, for the first time, the dingy city felt cozy.

As they found a way to dream cozy, Evi gifted something to Brie that Ce never could. In some ways.

After that, Brie knew without doubt they left the Valley not to find a place but to find Evi.

She is my home…what do I do?

Brie paused under a streetlamp before turning off the grassy lane to where the dingy bar sat a block away. They saw the Thief's light shine onto the top of a steeple further along the grassy lane. The light slowly crept down the stone work.

The knot deep down in Bries body tightens as they turn into an alley planning to sneak into the dingy bar from a side entrance. She pushes the knot deeper down at the drummer and guitarist tracing ink, laughing without a visible worry, smile and greet them. Brie pulls out a smoke, watching the ink start to stain on arms and thighs.

Whatever happens, it will be quite a night.

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