Dreamer.

A Chapter by Paige Dellaway

It is dark. Dark, and cold, and she is alone. The wind weaves through her hair, flaunting itself across her exposed skin. Her eyes wander through the night, and she wonders why there are no stars. Padding forwards, she feels tufts of grass at her feet and she notices that the blades only sprout where she walks. She is an artist, and the world is her canvas.

She spends time molding the earth and its sky. Stars erupt above her, sprinkling the ground with light to reveal that the world is as naked as she is. The girl frowns.

Within moments, flowers and trees bloom across the landscape, and the telltale sounds of animals come forth from within the forests. Birds soar overhead, their wings casting shadows across the grassy fields - and over there, near the south! A lake bursts free of the ground, glassy and beautiful and clear.

The girl rushes over, touching the surface with a fingertip. The water is cool. She adds another finger, then her arm, until she dives into the pool head-first. Resistance greets her, but she is strong; her muscles tense and relax as she pulls through the water. A fish brushes by, and the girl screams. Nothing is heard, and all that is proof of her fright are bubbles. Emerging from the water, she shakes her hair from her eyes and laughs, glancing around to see schools of fish patting at her curiously. In the middle of the pool, she is calm.

“But you are alone,” a voice claims. “You are alone, yet not afraid. Odd. Very, very odd.”

Puzzled, the girl turns in place, using her arms to keep her afloat. Why should she fear, when there is nothing to fear? Her eyes narrow.

“I did not create you,” she replies. “You are not of my world. Who are you?”

“I am an intruder, you could say. But I am not your friend, nor your enemy,” a pause. “Yes. I am an intruder, Dreamer, but so are you. You talk of this world as if it were your own possession, yet you fail to ponder this: if you did create these wonders, dear child, then who created you?”

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