(2018-04-24) Petal
Dreamscene: Petal
Summary: With the acquisition of Loukanos' talisman that he enchanted for her, Callisto has her first untroubled night of rest. In that slumber, she finds her answers.
Date: 2018-04-24
Related: The same dream as seen in this log. Only quite different. Results of this log in real-time.
NPCs: NA
Scene Runner: NA
Players:
callisto..

The Dreamplain
Tue Apr 24, 2018
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CUTSCENE: Wearing Loukanos' talisman, Callisto revisits a memory.

(OOC: Mood music - "I'll Remain Under Our Antique Sky" © Owsey )

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It begins much as it always has, this dream. While Callisto Aine has the ability to 'alter' things to her favor, she would never see fit to change this memory. She would die trying; surely she came close on a few occassions, trying to protect something so precious from Malachite.

True to habit, when the fae girl laid down to sleep that first night with the talisman in her possession, she prepared for a fight. If she were to have her first full night of sleep in a great many moons, she wanted it to be to this moment. Repeated, over and over, come what may. Just to see him again and, Gods willing, not see him torn asunder in some obnoxious, terrible way. Please, oh please, let this amulet work. Let it serve as a ward to keep that damnable fiend out of her sleeping mind, where there should always be reprieve.

Callisto immerses herself into this realm in her mind, and it feels much like stepping into a warm pool. It remains as such; no undercurrent of cold, no roiling shadows feathering the edges of this vision, forged continuously in her dreaming mind. The fae girl stands, unseen by those who have yet to appear before her, standing in that familiar field. For the longest time though, this field did not feel familiar. Why so does it come to her, now, where this could be? No, it wasn't just a field… there is greenery here, a lake adjoining a reservoir… trees, so many beautiful trees. Callisto stands motionless, as if to move would attract her eye; would ruin it all.

Still nothing but perfect clarity, of beauty; she can feel the warmth in the air of this late summer. So it was indeed summer.

August, 1970. For the first time in a long time, knowledge of the month returns to Callisto.

And then, there they are, as they were: her flower child lover, whom she had long since coined 'Petal' due to her mother's scouring of his name and voice from her memories. He is seated with her in that endless lawn, the trees sighing and the heat of a Southeastern summer bearing down upon them. Callisto, the dreamer, startles again; she remembers, now, the region. Lithe arms lift, trailed by the gossamer wisps of her diaphanous dress… fingers hover over her mouth, masking her look of surprise from those who cannot see her.

Callisto is remembering. She is free to remember, indeed safe from that intrusion. Not even a sign of her mother's wrath to betray this peace and wonderment, as surely even now the demonic faerie is trying to gain entry. No, this is Callisto's realm now.

Filled with an elation that briefly paints the dreamscape rose-colored, the willowy girl twirls on a heel, her fey gown belling at her calves and revealing bare feet. Nobody can see her, nobody can disturb her, and now she can simply watch. But will Callisto remember the most important part of all?

There she is, looking much as she does now in 2018, her dream shade laid back and against the young man with the open-necked cotton shirt. There, too, is that triangle of skin at the base of his neck, shimmering with sweat from summer's heat; the sight of that throat steals the breath of both Callistos: the real one and the shade. Now she can study his face again, kneeling into her sprawled shade, unseen and untouched and nothing of consequence. Callisto sees the hazel eyes, the ashen blonde hair, a firm line of jaw with that stubborn 5 o'clock shadow. She can even see one of his long lashes, fallen, set upon his cheekbone. Her shade reaches to brush the lash away with a thumb; Callisto wishes she could do so again just to touch him.

«What was your name?» Callisto thinks to herself, casting her query into the expanses of her mind. Even the silence, returned to her, is a blessing. No madness, no anger, no intrusion. There is a flutter at the edges of the dream, as dreams are wont to do.. even for powerful dreamcrafters. Flashes of images: treetops, birds, cabins and lakes. A sign, white and black.. stating… 'Fairy Stone State Park.'

… coincidental? Perhaps. Now Callisto remembers being there; where this timeless day happened. In August of 1970. Southeastern Virginia.

Oh, how wonderful the return of memories! How quickly her mind heals when it feels safe!

Callisto's body trembles, her eyes well up.. she can cry now, even that has been gifted to her. They, too, change nothing of the landscape as she continues to kneel before the shade of her 'Petal', ignoring her own shade as she kneels 'through' it.

«What was your name?» Callisto asks again, her thought like a breathless whisper. There is a weight where her heart should be, lurching and throbbing.. things are coming to her slowly, much like one might wait for a Polaroid photograph to develop so soon after being spit from an instant camera. She would know, for Petal had shown her once. There it is: another bittersweet memory returned.

She can hear them now.. she can hear him. Oh, what a voice. Callisto watches his face raptly as he speaks to her, nearly 50 years ago, his voice bearing that Southern twang. Oh, how she loved the sound of that voice and loves it now, accent and all. Motionless, she watches every movement of his lips around every word as he tells her shade of his 'day', speaks of sweet nothings and occurrences and how the day was made for them. She watches where his hands rove gently, touching her as she laid there long, fair and watchful.

What was his name. Please, what was his name…

And then Callisto answers herself. Her shade stirs languidly, neck craning, eyes intense and rapt and hands seeking. Hair so white in the dreamscape fans around the girl she had been then, and that girl says against his lips: "Gregory."

The sun is now overly bright, mirroring the dreamer's joy in this powerful, highly sought-after moment. It all falls into place, it is once again a true memory. Callisto has regained the name of her first love; her beautiful, mortal, long-gone first love.

To see the fey girl sleeping in her bed, in Winbarry, is to see her sleeping soundly. The talisman — the amulet given by Loukanos — rests beside her bosom. Doing precisely what he said it would do.

Callisto smiles in her deep, deep sleep.

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