08
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09

Following Miss Dreamy’s trail

Leftenent Wanderson, Neverland Yard: Do you mind if I take notes on this interview, Madam?
Lady Mittenice: Not at all, dearie. Where did you say you came from, again?
LW: The Capital, Madam. I’ve recently become a Leftenent of the N’land Yard. As I’ve told you, we are investigating a fairy person we have called Miss Dreamy.
LM: Is that her nickname?
LW: It is a given name to a certain extent, as several unrelated witnesses called her that – but we are at this point unsure wether or not she has introduced herself to any of them, in any form.
LM: I couldn’t help but notice that you are quite far from home, dearie. Is it your habit at the Yard to chase your suspects this far?
LW: Like hounds, Madam. But in al fairness, Miss Dreamy is not exactly a suspect, mainly because there is no crime committed.
LM: Then what is the nature of your interest in her?
LW: Um… you may want to regard the N’land Yard less as an agency of law enforcement and more as an organization of historians. Dreams are constructed from memories and the latter need order, fairness and peace. Miss Dreamy has been a constant source of disturbance, chaos and a cause of war for many dreamers lately- which may not constitute a crime of course, but certainly a reason for a thorough investigation. We are not meant to arrest someone though, merely to memorize the events which took place, in their right order.
LM: I understand. I’ll have to accompany you to my study, Leftenent dearie. There are certain items you need to see.

(a few minutes later)
LM: Take a look at this blue ribbon. It’s a bit torn across and it has smoke on a side. It was once sawn on a night gown – as a historian, perhaps this story may be of some value to you.
LW: Certainly, Madam. Would you mind if I collected this piece of evidence at some point and kept it for our records?
LM: I’m afraid that is impossible, dearie. None of the items that I am about to show you may leave this estate and my proximity. There is … a bond between us. Separating us would result in a chain of events with no conceivable end, no end in Dreamland, anyway.
LW: Very well, Madam – please continue with the story.
LM: Yes… I am also afraid to say you will need to figure much of this story on your own, because I do not entirely know it. All I know are certain bits and pieces, recollections connected to these items. I have no knowledge of their physical origins, nor of the nature of their bond to my own mind. I have but the memory of certain perceptions. This ribbon, for instance…
LW: … are you alright, Madam?
LM: … … yes, dearie. This is what I recall. The images. – I am a gift, dressed in a blue night gown. I offer myself, as life substance, the healing and the ambrosia. And it feels like I am outside my body, a fluid filling the dark. I flow restelessly. I touch walls, then a frozen window. I shiver and stir. Then I touch silky bed sheets. I touch the blue night gown and then I touch a man’s shoulder, with a rushing heartbeat. I fill his lungs and he frowns like a wild beast. Then I hold still for one second, to remember everything just like that – and his hand moves, at the speed of one millionth of an atom revolving, and he rips off this ribbon and then everyting goes dark. The next thing I feel is hot air and freezing air, smoke and sparks jumping around. The smell of burnt dog hair. I float around a wolf running. The blue ribbon is caught around his neck. Two charred sparks glow on it, like gems. He runs through a burning forrest, in the snow, at night. The light is immense, behind him. Then the ribbon falls loose and I am thrown back. The world slows down again, and I move freely, like a wisp. The wolf is far now, frozen just in the middle of a jump over a burning, fallen tree. The flames are solid and bright, like Christmas ornaments. I go to sleep on the ribbon. I remember nothing else.
LW: Madam…?
LM: I know what you are going to ask, dearie. Bear with me and you will soon note the connection to your Miss Dreamy.
LW: Ah, thank you Madam. Please, do continue…
LM: This wrinkled piece of paper. It’s heavy, here – hold it. There is a bit of ink on it. A few drops. That … is what was left of me, the closest thing to dying I have experienced. You remember I told you I made a gift to a man… He decided to return it, or what he had left of it. This is the last drop of it. I am alive in there, just barely, at the brink of a precipice. Such a farse of this miracle we call „dream”, really – to make one more alive then ever, just at the edge of life ending. To give one the smell of freedom, the taste of snow in the blizzard, after misery and longing. When the spot of black ink dried, I couldn’t see anything, it was dark. I could hear myself pump blood, because I was a heart. I couldn’t perceive any choice but to keep beating. I felt cold, like snow, somewhere on a distant limb connected to me somehow. Kneeling. Snow. I felt warm, wet drops. Crying. And I thought there was one thing I could do. I could create. Hope. And I did my best. This paper is part of it.
LW: I think… Wait, let me check something. Ah, yes, here it is – 14:34 East Dreamland Time, January, date not specified – there is a witness identifying Miss Dreamy in a man’s heart, in plain daylight. Very unusual, I thought at the time, but the N’land Yard decided not to keep this as evidence because the chap who testified was considered a bit off and up there…
LM: … but truthful in his account, dearie. Yes, this is indeed what I meant to tell you. These recollections – they belong to your Miss Dreamy. And to me. I … well, do you believe a part of you can just drift away at some point and go into the world and be happy and free, without you? Just – leaving behind bits and pieces?
LW: Are you saying that…
LM: I don’t know, dearie. I am just an old lady with a cat and a miracle hidden well from the world. I never could really understand it. There is one more item though that I would like you to see. A sword. Very thin, made of gold. It is as light as a feather. If a jeweler took a golden ring and melted it in the shape of longsword, this must be what he got. I do not know how to use a sword, and I wouldn’t probably, even if I knew. But in my memory, this sword is hidden well in some locked drawer, because I must have wielded it sometime. You mentioned wars, where Miss Dreamy was present. Could you… ?
LW: There is nothing in our records about a golden sword. But I know a Theodore Bear who might bring light to this. He has mentioned something about a wicked material called condensed fairy dust…
LM: I know of it. But this sword is not made of it. It is just gold. The tip is made of a crystal, a daimon.
LW: You mean, a diamond?
LM: No, a daimon. A soul. One which … I am so afraid of.
LW: … I am sorry if this conversation troubled you Madam. I would really hate myself if I made you sad or weary.
LM: Dearie, each time I touch these items, my troubles go away. It is like I cross that bridge again…


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