Chapter Text
Ah your bed, warm and cozy. The weight of the covers seemed to chip away at the troubles today brought. Like an ocean wave chipping away at a rocky cliff, the burdens that created knots and aches loosened bit by bit.
You allowed yourself this one moment of peace, a moment where you could bask in the bliss of ignorance.
Your laptop lay open, to what exactly, unclear as the glowing blue light stung your tired eyes. A weary sigh escaped you, and as your gaze turned blurry and unfocused, the day ended with one final affirmation.
Forget it all, you told yourself,
“The dream I just had was very bad
But it will all disappear when I wake”
**
A chirruping “CUCKOO!” cut through the tranquility you spent 15 minutes staring into the ceiling for.
Your face twisted into an expression that could only be described as remembering to brush your teeth long after you’ve snuggled into the perfect position. With mild irritation, you opened your eyes to a foreign place.
Before you stood a wall of shimmer and mist. One which shifted from a cerulean blue to amethyst depending on the angle from which you looked it at.
You glanced around, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings with awe. It knew no boundaries, stretching as far and wide as you could see.
The ground beneath you was no longer plush covers; in their stead, a shallow pool of water. A picture perfect copy stared back into your eyes, blinking at itself like it didn't recognize who stood at the other end.
As if the wall itself called you closer, you reached for that dreamy barrier.
Your arm cuts through the mist like a shooting star would a nighttime sky, the rest of your body following suit.
Its misty fog clung to your skin with subtle ease, as if it had been expecting you.
That mist then transformed into a dewy coat atop the skin on your arm. It glimmered faintly, shifting hues from blues to purples.
The mist, it no longer stood as a wall against the surreal world, no, now it was the world itself.
It happened subtly, quietly, so quietly that before you realized the haze slipping over the physical world like a warm blanket, fluffy white clouds had bloomed into the skies above.
They floated there, in all their glory, adorning the scene with their sole presence.
Twinkling stars which greeted you with pulsating flickers sprinkled themselves along the newly established sky.
Lavender tainted blues stood within the canvas that was the daytime sky, darker pigments complimenting and mixing with it to form an enchanting view.
From the chaos bloomed the earth, a lush carpet of grass colored with mystic tints of the ocean depths, dark teals and deep greens.
You looked out towards the horizon, far beyond to where the lilac skies met the green grass. An endless plain whose surface bore the weight of gentle hills lay ahead.
The blur between the sky, earth, and slopes watched and waited, like a tutor watching their student teeter between the edge of confusion and understanding, for your first move.
A step forward was your preferred book move, curiosity piqued as promises of seven wonders dangled over your head–Of strange yet beautiful phenomenons you needed to understand.
The initial step was careful, controlled as if any brusque movement would disturb the fragile veil of serenity that surfaced over this world.
And each one that followed pulled you in deeper, deeper into the quiet rhythm this world carried.
Every trace of your foot fore of the other blended in a seamless blur, a detail you deemed unimportant but one that added subtle depth to its surroundings.
Slowly, you walked forward.
Towards an unknown destination, to wherever felt right because after all there were no restrictions here, just you, the land and the blossoms of warm sunlight.
The sun shone brightly in the skies above, bathing everything below it in a silken light reminiscent of a fond childhood memory.
With the sun to cheer you on, each step filled with more confidence than the last; until eventually, you were running freely as the wind combed through your hair.
You ran.
You ran freely and far until your heart thrummed loudly against your chest and the feverish heat of your cheeks became increasingly obvious.
Knees shaking, you slumped forward, resting your hands on your knees as you took a moment to retrieve the breaths that left during your little joyous dash.
In the midst of it all, your eyes focused on the ground below you– or rather in front of you.
A grand lake with clear blue water and a hunched back willow tree stood before you. The tree was, as far as you could see, the only source of shade around. Its thick trunk stooped over to one side, foliage drooping down toward the grass.
Underneath it all sat a person. Given the distance, instantly identifying said person was impossible.
So you moved closer.
Upon nearing the distance, you could clearly make out a silhouette sitting crossed legged under the shade. The man wore a pale grey suit that had black and golden seam accents, similar to some kind of militant uniform.
His body, turned towards the shimmering view of the lake, prevented you from getting a good look at his face.
However, a head of honeyed brown curls was visible, tilted downward as if his focus was in something in his lap.
You took another step forward, grass making a soft rustle for the first time since you've arrived.
The air was quiet, peaceful, almost too peaceful, it was as if the world itself had been quietly anticipating this exact moment.
Distant birds chirped, lilac skies continued their dreamy dance and you, failing to notice the way everything seemed to be sliding into place, moving into their designated gestures, stood just an armlengths way behind the serene man, who had yet to show any perception of your presence.
. . For a few moments you just stood there, admiring the way the sunlight made the lake’s surface glimmer with warmth and taking in the simple, yet sweet juxtaposition of witnessing an admirer of nature's beauty.
“Please, sit.” The words came softly, neither abrupt or expected but welcomed either way.
They hung in the air for a second, yet to be accounted for since the recipient questioned whether those words were meant for them or someone else.
You stood still, as if the act of not doing anything would somehow confirm your doubts.
He turned to face you, now a face of equal serene beauty regarding you with the softest of smiles. “You managed to make it after all,” He spoke, voice a warm cadence that couldn’t help but be trusted.
Everything about him exuded trust. He was welcoming in the way a pastry shop refuge is to a mourning wisp stuck out in the rain.
It was only natural you nod along to his rhythm, that you go along with the narrative written for you.
“Yeah.. I guess so..?” You mutter, confusion much apparent on your face to which he simply giggled at.
Despite his composed expression, his eyes beamed with amusement. They crinkled at the corners, a newfound glimmer igniting within them.
“Sit,” He beckoned, gesturing to the empty space around him.
You nod, settling down across from him as your eyes roam over the landscape once more.
Sea green fields, draping leaves of willow, and a mysterious (yet charming) man.. It all reminded you of one great work of art, something meant to be experienced as an outsider, outside of the glass display case.
“Is this what living feels like?” The words left your lips abruptly, neither conjured through thought or reason, just the sudden urge to vomit your feelings—to alleviate the burden that's been bugging you all day long, the little factor that made everything resonate but with a hollow echo.
The man whose name you know but can’t– not yet atleast– voice narrowed his view, his face shifting from complete comfort to something still warm but with a bit more pensiveness at the edges.
He gazed downward at the grass green as the depths of the ocean, an effortless air of peace written on his features. ‘Pretty’ is the only word that came to linger in your thoughts.
He lifted his gaze to meet yours, his attempt to make sense of the complex feelings you had hoped to decipher in him coming short.
He had no answer.
No words of wisdom. No digestible panacea that made sense of this swirl of confusion in your chest. Any and every answer would have proved itself unsatisfactory anyways, as you yourself have yet to understand this feeling, nevertheless another.
—“Are you sure that question is one meant for me?” He said simply, it doing little to clear any confusion from your mind.
It remained just as tangled as you how came in with. Disappointment.. Ignorance, perhaps the word to describe the barrier that stood in the way of you and your feelings remained etched in your expression.
Or you assumed so, from the way he suddenly reached over to pick a thin stemmed marigold and handed it to you, probably his way to try and distract you from your own self.
“This is a calendula,” He told you, raising another picket of a flower close to his face.
“Its often mistaken for true marigolds, even though they are two completely separate species.”
You looked down at the flowery orange piece of sun you held in your hands and– lacking any spacial awareness needed to identify the importance in his– simply stared at it.
Perhaps if you looked at it for a bit longer, distant memories of marigolds would provide some great insight into the ordinary flowers that are calendulas.
Let’s try.
*
*
*
No. Still just a flower.
A rather unknown and indistinguishable flower that is, one that’s often mistaken for a more remarkable class.
How awfully striking.
You returned your focus to the brunette, him still staring at the scattered patches of flowers that adorned the grass.
Your gaze, being the sunlight that intensified underneath the zoom of a magnifying glass, did not go unnoticed for long.
He turned his body to face you once more and it was only then that you noticed he had wings– 3 pairs of them to be exact.. And of course he did, it was only natural for a man with such radiant features to possess physical qualities that were equally as angelic.
They sat so quietly and nicely, that it was easy to disregard their presence, yet once you noticed them they were impossible to ignore.
His eyes met yours with consideration, something that hadn’t wavered for the entirety of your interaction.
Being shown such levels of attentiveness, a gesture so unfamiliar that it sent alarms blaring all throughout your mind, sent an uncomfortable shiver down your spine– which was immediately followed by guilt.
Kindness is the bare basics of social etiquette, yet here you were, trying not to run away at the sight of it.
Who is– No, you know who these epithets refer to, don't you?
The better question would be why, why and what is he doing here, talking with you?
Matter of fact, what are YOU doing here?
Where even is here?
Breaking free from the spell he cast on you, you finally ask the question you've ignored since you got here, “Where exactly are we..?” You say looking around with confusion.
He looked out toward the lilac sky, where freckles of stars scatter into various constellations, each its own little world.
A gentle breeze ran its fingers through the soft waves of his brown hair, and with a melancholic smile, he answered.
“We’re in Magnum Opus.” He told you, the words settling in with a sweet taste of reassurance— except that that reassurance was short lived because where exactly was Magnum Opus? And why were you here?
While you processed this newfound taste of knowledge, the brunette beside you went into a wistful silence.
He watched as the wind rustled the leaves above, as the stars that once shone with the guidance of the moon now glimmer without nurture and persevere on fuel that will one day end.
And as the two of you sat beneath the hunchedback tree, lingering at the center of your streaming consciousness: you with a need to understand what is meant to be felt, and him, with similar feelings written in a different font.
And most importantly, a question pressing in on his mind.
He turned his gaze to look at you, who sat there with millions of thoughts– every one of them so contradicting just thinking of thinking was overwhelming– that all could come to mind was a field.
A lush field, where a single calendula lived, days filled with longing for the sun— with a thirst to understand it and its nourishing rays that it neglected blooming beneath them.
He struggles to understand you, but maybe he’s just not supposed to.
Meanwhile you gave up trying to understand a long while ago, choosing to instead admire the pretty flower in your hands and enjoy a moment that doesn't require any critical thinking.
You twirled the flower in between your fingers, watching as the mix of yellows and orange hues blend together into one. Its petals opened up to face you like you were its sun, its source of nourishment. And its colours– so bright and calid like the first rays of summer dawn– gave it a pop of life that was impossible to ignore.
You were too wrapped up in over-analysing a simple flower that you didn't even notice when the brunette beside you shifted closer to be beside you.
Until you did, of course. It was practically impossible NOT to, with how obvious he was about peeking over your shoulder.
Eyes locked on the flower in your hand, squinted and deeply immersed, his expression reflected one of the highest forms of pondering a face could show, a mirror of your own face from just a few moments ago.
You stifled a laugh, simply staring at him for a moment before speaking up. “What..are you doing?” You said with a lightness that gave the smile that had been provoked out of you its gleeful shine.
And so the moment of concentration was short-lived, with his focus turning away from the petals to you, mild concern in his knitted brows. “I’m trying to see what you’ve been staring so intently at for the past 5 minutes…”
A concern so humble, so innocent you grit your teeth trying to restrain yourself from reaching out and petting his head as if he were a dog. Purely hypothetical of course. This was a grown man.
“___– “ Vacant silence stuffed your mouth before you could even begin to explain the concept of disassociating. Because after all, how were you to address a subject you don't yet know? That's right, you’ve been sitting with this pretty stranger for a good while now, yet you don't even know his name.
Now with equipped newfound knowledge, your lips part to follow this voice of reason.
“Hey.. Who are you?” You say, a trace of apprehension slipping into your words. “--Or.. What's your name, I mean.” You add quickly, this uneasy feeling–the sort of feeling you get when anticipating a reaction from someone you know is prone to outbursts– settling in the pit of your stomach.
The fear materialized from nothing, that your words would irritate him somehow, yet there was no real reason for those feelings. He had been nothing but kind; He can't hurt you.
His gaze swept over you, examining you with quiet attentiveness. “My name is Michael.” He replied softly, so softly in fact it halted fear in its tread.
“That's a pretty name..” You mumbled quietly, unsure of how to make use of the information you had deliberately asked for.
“Thank you.” He said once again in that calm, melodic voice, the one which kept proving to you that that trickle of fear you felt was unreasonable.
And it wasn't as if it was him you were afraid of–he hadn't really given you any reason for that-- rather it was something else HERE, in this moment, that made whatever part turned away from your own line of sight, tingle with an uncomfortable feeling of a danger far beyond your reach.
Just as you could begin to question it, that eye with the dreadful stare looked away; the feeling went away.
And while that was weird, so was the mauve sky; an area with the given name magnum opus; the gallant prince with 3 pairs of wings on his body; and come to think of it, the entirety of your journey had been weird so far. So, what good did focusing on this sole moment have?
–Wait, why did you need his name again?
The flower. You were staring into it like you were trying to find the bottom of Pandora’s box.
After that random intermission of silence, you spoke. “I wasn't staring at the flower.. Well I mean I was, but it was more daydreaming than it was ‘staring’... you know?” You said with a sheepish smile.
He gave a half hearted nod, giving you the sense that he did in fact, not know. But to him, as long as you understood yourself, then that was all that was necessary.
Gradually, the unsettledness within your chest dissolved into something lighter. You didn't feel the need to look over your shoulder anymore, and perhaps that was partly thanks to Michael, who without knowing it, acted like a divine meditation coach.
Your shoulders finally slumped forward, matching the state of lightness of the man beside you as your back sunk into the flaky bark behind you.
Michael’s gaze turned to you once more, a soft smile coming to his face before he stood to his feet, face outcast toward the sun. The light fabric of his shoulder cape followed behind him in a graceful light blue trail.
A slow descent positioned the sun closer to the ground, a forward yet less intense light warming the earth.
Brushes of darker pinks mixed with softer lilacs, a new painting rendering the sky. One which was just as lovely as the morning background.
His body faced away from you for a moment before it turned to look at you again, this time a gloved hand extending to help you stand.
Your hand reached forward with a doubtful motion, the tips of your fingers sliding into his palm so lightly they were practically hovering above it before fully settling into his hand.
‘Challenge completed!’ must have popped up on the left side of his vision with how quickly he let go of your hand as soon as he deemed you upright.
A normal person would’ve at least found it somewhat rude, yet to you the lapse in character felt almost relieving.
With a sharp swivel of his body, he faced the dusk scenery, stilling there for a few breathings before proceeding forward to the lake’s shoreline.
Your feet instantly dragged you along–a selfless favor from a body committed to playing its part in a confusing play.
The lake surface was a still image, glistening as it catched various lights on its surface.
It was undisturbed by any ripples, just a grand mirror reflecting truths as it saw it.
You crouched down by the grass that bordered the edge of the water until you could safely peer into it without having to worry about falling in.
Well only if Michael didn't suddenly decide he wanted to push you in, then you were helpless.
Peering into it the first thing that stood out was a pair of curious eyes, ones which stared into a depth they couldn't quite reach.
It was you!
As your gaze focused on the background, the scenery unfurled with it too.
Gentle slopes that went on farther than the eye could see, a catkin bearing tree and the lilac expanse of twinkling stars, this world was undoubtedly beautiful.
It was the kind of beauty that strengthened from quiet elegance, roots of celestial grace so deeply engrained into it that physical aspects were just an added bonus.
And you relished in its beauty even through its mirrored form. Even though you weren't exactly staring at the real scenery behind you, the cellophanic image was just, to put it simply, lovely.
There was something so beautiful in the reflection of a physical thing, that a mere puddle could reflect miles of a tangible earth–and have it be just as breathtaking as the preimage– was fascinating.
The hypnotic trance the water had on you loosened its grip, disturbed by your overly pensive wonder settling on a new target. That target had been standing by your side quietly through all of this, observing the far away sky with a thoughtful look. Was that how you looked?
His reflected form was somehow even more angelic than the true one, probably thanks to the veil of surrealism the water draped its subjects in. Strangely, he seemed closer but also farther than ever before.
Michael didn't even glance into the water as he noted the nearing of late hours, suggesting you head to a safety zone before it gets any darker.
His words barely reached your ears, much less your thoughts. You hummed a distracted ‘mhm,’ not quite ready to part with the water yet but the diurnal cycle running on tight schedule.
You stood on your feet and turned to face the angelic guardian, who gave you the slightest incline of his head and a smile that silently questioned if you were ready to go.
Hesitantly, you gave the glassy surface of the lake a final wistful look, a question forming and lingering in the far distance of your consciousness.
And not wanting to linger any longer, you returned his smile with one of your own, which didn't quite match the swirl of feelings simmering in you.
“I thought you were about to dive in headfirst any second there..” He said, taking on playful lilt as the two of you fell into a comfortable pace, now in the direction west of the lake.
A light laugh escaped your lips, as if by instinct. “No.. I just really like admiring things in their entirety.” You explained, not entirely sure what you meant by that but the words feeling right.
The two of you continued to walk side by side, Michael talking about something you weren't quite paying attention to, and you like always, being everywhere but in the moment.
The rest of the walk passed by in a blur, like a song in the background would if you weren't paying close attention to it.
You found yourself seated beneath the calid ambience of string lights that hung the roof of the white gazebo. Vines climbed the waxen pillars, tangling together in deliberate spirals that curled toward the moonlight.
Past the railing looked to be a garden, with groups of tall flora
growing in a sporadic blend of colours and a stony moonlit path.
The sky above gleamed in gradients of blue, stitches of constellations embroidered into the night sky like weavings of tapestry. It really was a beautiful sight, so beautiful in fact that it reminded you of your current surroundings. A foreign reality.
A beautiful world yes, but not one you belong to. The simple thought stripped the sky of its once so radiant glow, a fuzzy confusion bleeding in hollow your feelings.
Though the world so far offered you nothing but kindness, there was still a sense of trouble that lingered long after its hand brushed against yours.
Before your mind could succumb to its own rumination, Michael came to play savior once more, placing down a set of teacups with their own matching saucers and pot.
His fingers wrapped around the pots handle with great care, a faint trail of steam indicating the liquid was freshly brewed.
A tart, sweet smell emanated from the pot, and as he poured the mystery red liquid– so dark and intense you would've thought it was blood if not for the smell– faint smoke curls drew in the air.
With that same gentleness, he set the pot down and took a seat across from you. On a little plate, lay an assortment of powdered biscuits, which were nudged in your direction before Michael took one of his own.
You looked down at your own cup, eyes flickering upward as the sound of his voice broke the moonlit silence.
“It’s cherry tea,” He explained with a swirl of his spoon and a gentle smile. “Not the most popular choice, but personally I love the taste.”
With that, the conversation came to a pause, or really Michael talking to himself did, since a conversation requires two individuals to talk , which did not happen.
The scarlet liquid was oddly interesting tonight, seeming that your gaze had remained directly focused on the inside of your teacup.
Another bite of the cookie, another second the silence went on.
The flower that had long slipped your mind sat idly in your pocket, waiting for its moment of relevancy.
Somewhere behind the mist a voice– no, it was more of a warm melody– called your name.
If an illusion is as beautiful as truth itself, why is the lie more appealing?