Chapter 3- Her Dream

In her dream, Anna saw a rusty medallion, an ancient-looking medallion covered in dirt, the engravings worn, and the Moon Goddess' head so stained from time. She held it in her left hand, staring at the mud that was dirtying her skin. Flipping it over and over. So close to her face that the medallion had the aroma of musty blood and rustiness. She turned to her right palm and found a new cloverleaf, fresh and beautiful.

And as far as Anna could remember, according to Irish tradition, those who found a four-leaf growth were destined for good luck, as each petal in the clover symbolises good omens for faith, hope, love, and luck for the finder.

In the clover, a perfect sphere of clique dew crowned the leaf, reflecting a picture of Anna's face, grated and peaceful, yet the sadness was recognizable. When she flipped back the medallion, the form of the mysterious golden werewolf had freed itself and journeyed over to the cloverleaf, stirring the growth of powerful roots and even blurring at the edges. Yet suddenly, Anna couldn't tell up from down. Her vision was blurry and heavy. She felt quite dizzy and burdened. Her heart was beating faster than before, which was unnatural and creepy at the same time. Furthermore, she was not even sure if she was breathing at all.

The agony was unbearable, growing and strengthening. Again, that feeling; the dream of her pain. On cue, Anna opened her eyes slowly as her vision began to blur. She tried to stand up. However, it felt like she was on a roller coaster, and it was followed by a not-so-elegant muffling noise that was heard and echoed throughout the mansion's backyard garden. The disgusting stale and acidic odor of puke added to the already disgusting smell that lingered in the grass as she again began to vomit, followed by swearing and never-ending profanities. "The fuck... Arrgh!"

"Anna, are you okay?" The voice asked

"Arrrrgh!" Anna breathed hard and gave an enormous puke as she threw up all the remaining sour fluid in her stomach. She rubbed her chest really slowly, trying to ease the tightening of her ribcage as much as she inhaled the honey-rose and fresh garden air. While the man could tell the coughing was in her throat or on her upper chest, Anna felt more certain that she would reasonably better while scrunching her face and wiping her mouth with the sleeves of her sweatshirt. "The hell was that?" She asked about the voice.

--and a scream was torn from her chest. A moment of silence followed and she realized that she was inside the cab and she had been dreaming.

The cab driver was looking at her like she had grown a horn. "We're here, miss." Uncomfortable, she looks down at her hands and puts on her glasses.

Alone and unhappy, all she wanted was to get rid of that dream, the dream that somehow invaded her lonely nights. Giving her pain and heartache But this time there was a slight difference. The wolf who freed himself and journeyed over the leaf has a deal with it.

'A face she knew. A face that earned her a shiver and the hope that she had never met him! Oh, God!! Why him? Why not Henry Cavil? Or Ryan Gosling? She could use some hard sugar in her so-boring-life. '

She assumed that all of her dreams were the same as those of everyone else on the planet. Yet, Anna's dream was different. Her daydreams weren't rainbows and bursts of sunshine, but her dreams became her reality. She was more alive in her dreams than anywhere else. Why does she always dream about the moonland? It was like Moonland was calling her. It was like the call of a mother towards her daughter.

Anna called her dreamland "the Moonland." You know, for not-so-cliche-effect." But if her dreams were movies, did they have producers, scriptwriters, directors, and all the other crew required to make one? Anna asked that, and somehow her mom, bless her soul, would then explain that her dreams were non-lucid, that her dreams were often bizarre and incoherent. And just a simple thought. Nothing out of the ordinary happened after she started dreaming about the moonland when she was ten years old. Months later, her parents died.

Somehow, her mother assumed that most of her dreams were forgotten when she awoke. That was what she often broached. Unbeknownst to her, Anna could recall every single dream she had since forever. She could even differentiate between those characteristics in her dreams and those in a movie.

Yet, her dreams were like the creation of a cinematic movie; it was a purposeful activity. She could show an overall scene which was something like: to give the movie-goer an exciting, emotional, disturbing, or satisfying experience, and they might want to ask if she could ascribe a similar purpose to her dreams? Yes. She could! That's why she dubbed it "Moonland."

At first, when she was a child, she couldn't recall her dreams from the last dream cycle, the one before waking, but in the long run, when the dreams had developed into the most chaotic and odd ones, she could now recall them altogether. Eventually, at an early age, she did not have any solid theories about dreaming, so it was particularly easy for her to have an open mind. She believes that there were many possibilities (some stranger than others) of what was happening in the state of her consciousness, and why was she dreaming of some peculiar places she'd never been to before? She had many memorable ones, some even paranormally odd, as it was very difficult to categorize them or what they meant. However, some of her dreams were simply a test of her character in different scenarios, and she awakened asking herself, "Is that really what I would have done?"

In the end, she would openly acknowledge that it was a gift. It was like a message sent in parables. That she has to interpret it. She has to seek the meaning behind every dream until she realizes somebody much, much more powerful was sending it. Maybe the Moon Goddess? If there were any?

She knew that there was the possibility that her dreams were constructed by a dream-maker (if there was any). She bet she was the dream maker, or maybe part of her was the dream maker, as Anna often seemed to have an alternative interpretation of her non-lucid dreams, which she bet she was the dream maker, because somehow it intensified as her experience went beyond human perspective.

Meanwhile, back in her reality, she opened her purse and gave the exact amount to the cab driver, and they took off. She then went inside to her apartment building while the rain hadn't stopped and now soaked her hair.

She opened the door and took a huge deep breath, the warmth of her home. A trust at home. Where there was appreciation, there was gratitude. Where there was gratitude, there was a genuine positive feeling... It was a sweet place for love and trust to grow, yet she lives alone here. It was the only thing that was left from the inheritance she had from her late parents. They died fifteen years ago. From a car accident. She might want to remember them, but she doesn't want to relive the pain and grief of losing them.

The charming apartment was west-facing and calm and was composed of a double living room with wooden beams and a fireplace two guestrooms, one with an ensuite and one with a shower room; a duplex office paneling, a luxurious kitchen, and a laundry area.

Exhausted and sleepy, Anna had a little leftover supper and freshened up for a long-lost sleep. At last, her bed. But she was frightened to even close her eyes, even though her bed was her oasis. Yet, she craved sleep. She had always had a little sparkle of joy before falling asleep. She was that way from childhood. Her bed was her favorite thing, and it made her as happy as any other treatment. And when her thoughts became nonsense and more fascinating, she knew she was falling asleep. Now all she had to do was let go.

That very same night, she was uncomfortable. This was her first time feeling anxious in her dream. Moonland always makes her welcome, yet she felt strangely apprehensive this time.

Someone sneaked into her bed and slithered their hand into her white silky nightdress, near her perfect mountains. The man heard her breathe when he sucked one of her buds. He doesn't care if anyone can hear her moaning outside her bedroom. Besides, he just needed a release.

"God! Mr. Camilton, stop this!" She attempted to push him away, but he automatically slid his hand through her nightgown and touched her where it was wet and moist. Their excitement was high, and before they knew it, they began to kiss passionately. As they kissed gently with their eyes shut. Mr. Camilton heard her little moan and whimper and told him to go even further. He ran his hands through her nightmares and pulled them apart. For a second, they parted their lips and looked into each other's eyes. There was something so disarming about seeing her naked.

There was a vulnerability in her eyes that he couldn't resist. His eyes traveled from her face to her collar bone, delicate in the semi-darkness, then to her breasts. Without lingerie, they sit lower, more real, less close together, each so perfect and molded to their form. He didn't linger too long, just long enough for him to see how marvelous she was to him. It was her eyes he wanted to see, and his hands could tell him the rest. He heard her little moan that she wanted to conceal yet couldn't. She was soft and her breasts were so warm and responsive to the touch. As soon as his hand was upon them, their kisses shifted, becoming richer and more luscious. She wants him inside her now. She can almost feel the moisture running down from her core.

Mr. Camilton was tasting her, licking every piece of flesh, making her moan and whimper for more. She was beyond saving now. She wanted more of him, she wanted him harder and faster...

Then, unexpectedly, everything went black. She was shivering from the cold as she landed on White Mountain. Unlike the earlier dreams, these dreams, these dreams she was having now were different. His sword found a sanctuary in her rib cage, forcing its way into her precious heart. That pressure again! Oh please, not this time! It hurts so badly! It was unbearable. Nothing hurts more than the look in his eyes, his contempt visible as his mouth tightens in a grin. A hollow, broken shell! The bitterness! The eye of a lover who is free from suffering. At that moment, she knew her face had paled. But why?

'Why? The fuck I'm here and not on the bed, moaning and screaming Mr. Camilton's name? Aghh! I know it was just a dream. She knew that sweet little sensual dreams were nonsense, but why the hell was she now in the Moonland? Have you landed in the White Mountains? Dammit!'

The roaring winds were chilly and awful in a rage against the winter blasts. The clear skies were silent and the quantity of snow that had been blown in this way was a pile-up. That memory, with him stabbing her heart, puzzled her as every time it crossed into her deepest thought, she could feel the pain as it was so real that somehow she thought maybe it happened and not just here in the Moonland. It goes in and out of her thoughts as the wind blows, chilling her face. Who was that man? Then, with all her practiced will, she imagined her bed and the warm duvet, her oasis, and then she suddenly vanished. Back to the human world.

In the morning, Anna woke up at the knock of her apartment's main room. She was still a little confused because she thought she was still in the Moonland, but upon surveying the room, she saw the sunlight through the glass windows. She walked slowly while stretching her arms and tying her hair in a messy bun. When she opened the door, a smiling woman with coffee in hand raised an eyebrow, but smiled and was there to greet her and wish her a pleasant morning. Her neighbor Norma knew it was her in the first place. After all, she was her only friend in this apartment building.

Norma had safe, deep brownish-green eyes and long, curly, copper-blond hair. Perhaps that's the best way Anna could describe the woman. She was out of this world, a fashionista, because even this morning she dressed like she would attend a fashion show. She had a charm that made those princesses look as paper-thin as they were. She was something strong and yet curvy in the right places. Anna looked into her eyes as if speaking. It was like her smile was understandable in the crinkle of her lovely pale brow and the down-curve of her full lips. But her eyes, her eyes reflected her soul. Norma's eyes were an intense pool of restless green, a deep of unfortunate grief, sad maybe, with the passing of her husband last year. When Anna looked into her eyes, she realized that all the beauty in the universe couldn't compete with her simple thing: confidence and courage transformed her eyes into orbs of the glossiest fire. This was a nice, wonderful woman named Norma, who looked like a Barbie doll in her late thirties. It's about time you woke up, Anna. Here's some coffee. You might need it. By the way, you look dead. Nightmare again? "

"Jezz, do come in and thank you for the coffee, and thank you for pointing that out. And yes, another nightmare. "