zireaelofcintra (zireaelofcintra) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2019-10-20 14:07:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, cirilla fiona elen riannon |
Who: Ciri
What: Dreams, dreams, dreams
When: 20 October, morning
Where: Ciri's apartment
Rating: Low
Ciri groaned and rubbed her hands over her face, sitting up and pushing back her sheets. Her wrists ached from where she’d fallen in her dream, six or seven years old and she’d fallen on the Skellige Isles. She’d been dreaming about Princess lessons, her grandmother determined to make her a perfect princess which included having to stand still for a portrait wearing an utterly horrific pink dress that-
That was sitting at the bottom of her bed. It was draped half off the bed, pink and white ruffles indignantly pointing upwards and taunting her with their frilliness. She had an immediate, visceral reaction to seeing the dress and picked it up, flinging it away and listening to it rustle to a halt in the corner of the room. Though she’d never seen the dress before, and she had no idea how it had gotten there, she knew it. She knew the scratchy feel of the lining on the inside, the tightness of the band and the itchiness of the arms. She knew that she hated the way it felt around her shoulders and that she’d had to wear it all day and into the night and she’d scowled the entire time.
She approached it like she was approaching a wild animal, picking up a coat hanger and snagging the neckline with it, carrying it to the wardrobe and then dumping it inside, shutting the door quickly.
At the very least she’d been saved from the indignity of having to wear anything like that when she was a child in this world. She shuddered a little and tapped her fingers on the wardrobe door before breathing out slowly. Relief was palpable that morning that she hadn’t dreamed about anything involving dead harpies or shipwrecks. What she had dreamed about was getting engaged to the person that her mum had been engaged to previously. She remembered being engaged to someone who was a good twenty years older than her and thinking it was gross and weird and that she really didn’t want to. Or..
Fuck. Ciri huffed out a breath. Did she ‘remember’ something from a dream? Was that even the right term? She raked her fingers through her hair and padded through from her bedroom into the open lounge of her smaller apartment. She wasn’t at the beach house, figuring that she’d spent a lot of time there and all of her mail came to this address so she had a lot to read, since she’d been avidly avoiding it. She had a letter from her grandmother, the indomitable Calanthe, asking her to make sure that she came home for Christmas, a letter from some of her other friends from St Andrews asking about how the Californian coast was treating her and some sort of leaflet for surfing lessons if she wanted them - fifty percent off a six week course. It was tempting, but she was pretty sure she could find someone locally to teach her if she wanted, someone who was Dreaming, too, which would make things much easier.
She pushed her hair behind her ears again and moved to go and get herself some coffee, shaking off the remnants of her dream, the engagement that she’d definitely be talking to Daphne and TJ about later. Because that shit? That was fucked up.