60th Zi'da 717
The party was in full force, and they were all dancing. Arlo knew, of course, that he was dreaming but, unusually these trials, he wasn't entirely sure whether it was his dream or not. It felt at once very familiar and very different. All the men and all the women wore plain white masks with very minimal features. Those masks were strange, really, for two reasons. First, they had no eye sockets, yet everyone could see and second, the masks did not in any way match the outfits.
Because the outfits were something to behold.
If this was his dream, then from somewhere Arlo had dreamed up intricate brocade, glittering sequins and glorious ball gowns for the women who currently danced in lines throughout the room. p the sweeping marble staircase they danced. As he looked, from where he sat, Arlo saw that there were four lines of dancers; male, female, male, female they went. The women all wore different dresses, but always in the colours of gold and black. Intricate and impossible hairstyles, shining jewelry worth more than he could possibly imagine and delicate lace fans. Every woman looked different and every detail was unique.
Same too for the men.
Black suits, gold suits, cream jackets, plain outfits and extravagant ones. All, too, wearing the masks. There were accessories everywhere, from canes with gold-tipped handles to dark fans and lace kerchiefs. Light and dark, dark and light they danced in lines and he could not see their faces. Yet, they danced and he watched them.
"It's nice here, isn't it?" Lyova said. He was sitting on a raised chair, suspiciously throne-like, and she was sitting on the arm. The tiny creature was wearing, in this dream, a tiny golden dress and she sparkled a beautiful, glittering gold.
"I'm glad you like it, Lyova," the woman sitting on his right said. Honey blonde hair, dark circles under her eyes and glowing freckles of moonlight, it seemed, on her skin. "It's Arlo's library. His repository of dreams and dreamers." She smiled at him, he recognised her from when she'd marked him and Jesine was not prone, or able in fact, to changing her appearance. She wore a white dress, lacking any of the details of the women who danced. "I suppose it makes sense that you store it all. Tell me, Arlo, what have you been doing since I saw you last? Or, I suppose," she added with a chuckle, "since last time you saw me."
Because the outfits were something to behold.
If this was his dream, then from somewhere Arlo had dreamed up intricate brocade, glittering sequins and glorious ball gowns for the women who currently danced in lines throughout the room. p the sweeping marble staircase they danced. As he looked, from where he sat, Arlo saw that there were four lines of dancers; male, female, male, female they went. The women all wore different dresses, but always in the colours of gold and black. Intricate and impossible hairstyles, shining jewelry worth more than he could possibly imagine and delicate lace fans. Every woman looked different and every detail was unique.
Same too for the men.
Black suits, gold suits, cream jackets, plain outfits and extravagant ones. All, too, wearing the masks. There were accessories everywhere, from canes with gold-tipped handles to dark fans and lace kerchiefs. Light and dark, dark and light they danced in lines and he could not see their faces. Yet, they danced and he watched them.
"It's nice here, isn't it?" Lyova said. He was sitting on a raised chair, suspiciously throne-like, and she was sitting on the arm. The tiny creature was wearing, in this dream, a tiny golden dress and she sparkled a beautiful, glittering gold.
"I'm glad you like it, Lyova," the woman sitting on his right said. Honey blonde hair, dark circles under her eyes and glowing freckles of moonlight, it seemed, on her skin. "It's Arlo's library. His repository of dreams and dreamers." She smiled at him, he recognised her from when she'd marked him and Jesine was not prone, or able in fact, to changing her appearance. She wore a white dress, lacking any of the details of the women who danced. "I suppose it makes sense that you store it all. Tell me, Arlo, what have you been doing since I saw you last? Or, I suppose," she added with a chuckle, "since last time you saw me."