Dreamscape

Chapter 4

                The house she brings me to is one of the shabbier ones on the street. It stands short and squat, made of a mix of wood and stone. Some of the windows are boarded up while others are covered with curtains. The front window to the left of the door has flower pots on the sill; the buds droop near lifeless, perhaps forgotten by the inhabitants of the house. Vivian finally releases her hold on my arm and goes to the front door, twisting the knob and opening it inwards. She gestures for me to step inside, and I hesitantly walk passed her into the house.

                "My Grandad has a room down here to himself, and my four siblings share one down here as well," she says quietly, ushering me towards the stairs that stand before us. "I have a room up these. Go on. You can't miss it. I have to check on the younger ones, and then I'll meet you up there."

                With one last smile, she walks passed the stairs, disappearing into another room. With a deep breath, I lift one foot after the other, slowing climbing the stairs. Pictures adorn the walls -- freckle-filled faces with toothy grins, heads blazing red. It seems as if Vivian might be telling the truth.

                A door awaits me at the top of the stairs, directly to my right. I open it and walk inside.

                The room is mostly empty: a springy mattress, a wooden desk, a chair, a threadbare rug, and a large dresser with a huge mirror on top of it. In the back corner is a thin, tiny door, which I can only imagine is the closet. For some reason, the room doesn’t quite match its owner. I walk over to the chair beside the desk, taking a seat as I look over the room. Vivian strikes me as more colorful than this; the room is dark, drab, and plain – everything is a muddy brown or dull gray color. The curtains, blankets, and rug are all a faded purple, completing the lonely image.

                On top of the desk are scattered slips of paper. Curious, I look over them. The writing is elegant and loopy – words neatly lining the parchment paper. Unsurprisingly, I can’t quite make out what anything says; I understand the language of the people here (English obviously), but this writing is definitely in a different alphabet. I run a finger on top of the paper – bumpy. A quick check to the side of the paper reveals an actual quill and ink. My eyebrows raise slightly.

                The door swings open again, and in walks Vivian, quietly closing the door behind her. Sighing softly, she looks over at me, a look of puzzlement on her features. “Why haven’t you lit any of the candles yet?” She shakes her head, dismissing me as she walks further in, setting a pitcher on the cluttered dresser (hairbrushes, combs, hair ties, jewelry, and headbands). She picks up a small packet from the wooden surface, tears out a match, and flicks it, filling the room with a gentle glow that outshines the moon’s light. Once a few candles are lit, she settles herself down on the bed.

                “I brought up water in case you get thirsty,” she says cheerily, planting her hands palm down on the bed behind herself.

                We stare at each other for a few moments longer – me (fidgeting awkwardly) and her (smiling softly as she taps her foot).

                I decide to help myself to some water.

                “I must be honest with you, Lorelei,” she finally says, lowering her eyes as her smile droops. “I haven’t exactly been entirely truthful with you…”

                I sip from my newly gained glass of water as I settle back down on the chair. I give Vivian a hard stare. Her deceitfulness hadn’t exactly been hard to notice.

                “Oh really?” I say slowly.

                Another long sigh and her frown deepens. “Truly.” A pause – she fiddles with a loose thread on her bed’s blanket. “I actually have a favor to ask…”