Night Dragon

 My name is Sydney and I'm a traveling writer. Unfortunately, there's not a whole lot left to really say about myself as a person. The things I can remember are pretty ordinary and the rest, well... I suppose it's not worth talking about.

 I travel around my home, the kingdom of Aigne, writing about stories and adventures I hear about from other people, though there are a few that I experience personally. The one I'm writing now (the one that you're reading, I suppose :3) is one of those personal ones... which isn't to say that it's some kind of personal story, like it's nothing that would embarrass me or anything, it's... never mind.

 I'm in this particular story, though I don't necessarily know why I'm writing it down. It's not as though anybody would believe me, but I suppose there's very little chance anybody is reading this anyways, so...

 Anyways, the story takes place about two months prior to my writing this, during the Sheer Frigid season. I was visiting a charming little town in the south called Canyon Cliff, which sits very close to the Major River (a very large river that cuts through at the bottom of the very same canyon the town's namesake comes from). It's a very rustic old town with a ton of history and tradition, which made it a must see for me once I had heard of it.

 Now, it wasn't very often that people visited during any part of the Frigid, much less dead in the middle of it. You see, the town's quite a ways off from any others and it tends to snow quite a bit this time of year, so most only pay visits during the Solemn, Bloom or late Swelter. But, there I was, staying in a marvelous little inn right smack dab in the middle of Canyon Cliff, right smack dab in the middle of the Sheer Frigid.

 And I don't mind telling you that I still, to this day, do not regret it.

 Canyon Cliff is an absolute gorgeous little place during a fresh snowfall. Its streets are made of a beautifully crafted cobblestone with oil lamps that line each side, set against the backdrop of the loveliest cottage-like buildings that I have ever seen. During any other time of the year, I'm sure it's just as quaint as can be, but seeing it after a snowstorm had just finished blowing through made my heart warm despite the fact.

 The people are quite pleasant as well, with not a sour face in sight. Though, I had arrived rather late and there weren't many people out and about, but the ones I passed on the street all met me with similar cheery grins and very polite how do you do's. I daresay it's the most pleasant town I had ever had the pleasure of visiting, or at least the most pleasant one I find that I've written about.

 Anyways, eventually, I found myself at the inn and was soon ready for a good night's sleep. I wasn't exactly sure how long I had been travelling for, but as I thumbed through my journal, I was sure that it must have been at least a couple of weeks or longer. I find myself camping out most nights as I move from place to place, so it's easy to lose track of time, you see. It's also not incredibly often that I find myself with an actual bed to sleep in, much less an actual room as cozy as this one was.

 "There's not a stable inn in all of Aigne that could hold a candle to this." I said as I turned out the oil lamp and slipped into the large oak-framed bed.

 As I pulled the thick, handcrafted blanket over my shoulders, I felt a particular warmth brush over me and within minutes I could feel myself dozing off in complete bliss.

 Time seemed to stop.

 For what seemed like hours I laid in the strangest state. Not quite asleep, though not quite awake. It was like I was dreaming, though I found myself forming coherent thoughts, which to me made it feel as though I was somewhat awake. Yet I couldn't move any of my limbs or open my eyes. It truly was as though I was in some sort of limbo, treading the thin line between sleep and full consciousness.