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In her dream, she acted something less of herself. No, it wasn't because dream Bronya was younger than Bronya, shorter than Bronya, or rougher around the edge and less lady-like than Bronya. No, dream Bronya was all that and more, but she was also everything that made up what Bronya Rand was. Bronya could tell. And if not, that still posture and those quiet and curious eyes would do so in her stead.
Dream Bronya was acting less of herself, Bronya realized, because of a blue-haired doll-eyed girl. A little girl that kept clinging onto dream Bronya's right arm, whose features so blurry that Bronya couldn't quite pin down, like the first strokes of watercolour on a canvas, like the fluttering of wings before a butterfly took flight. But somehow, she was certain that the little girl had blue hair, and doll eyes. Must be how dreams work, Bronya decided.
Bronya had always been a person of the people, she had to be, for she was chosen to become Belobog's next supreme guardian. Bronya had always been a person of the people, but she was also one to enjoy the serenity of her own solitude. So it was quite baffling to see dream Bronya being so comfortable, welcoming even, to the constant presence of someone else beside her. And the little girl wasn't quiet either, she kept chirping on and on next to dream Bronya, words that float more like some scattering doodles in Pela's sketchbook than actual sound in Bronya's ears. She didn't find it unpleasant though.
Dream Bronya didn't say anything except for some uhm and hmm here and there, but the warmth in her eyes and the slight fumbling of her hands were louder than anything. It was almost disgraceful really, Bronya mused, if she didn't also think it was quite a nice sight on herself. Then she felt red creeping on her cheeks as she realized what she'd just thought.
Bronya didn't have much time to be ashamed about it, for the room suddenly fell still. She held in her breath, she didn't even realize she was breathing, as the little girl turned to her, like she could sense the presence of some rude intruder trying to sly into their intimate space, like she knew exactly where Bronya was. And Bronya wanted to turn away, abashedly like a lowsy thief caught in a petty steal, but something insisted that her gaze stay. That this might have been her only chance to take a look at the little girl, that whoever she was, she was important, and it was important that Bronya knew.
And she woke up, to a much quieter rainy day.