In the old days before the sun was hanging in the sky and before days and nights existed and it was just a blank sky with the only light being the fire humanity would make, beings from the other world would come here freely to trade, talk, and live peacefully amongst us. This was how the world was for years, but humanity became greedy and plunged us into a war, driving the visitors out and selling them through the moon bridge, the last sight of the union between the two groups. Some say that if you row under the bridge at night you can still enter the other world.
Celeste had heard this from her grandfather since she was a young girl. She never believed the final part, but did consider it weird when people went missing near the bridge. She was always careful around it, even if she didn’t think it was real, though eventually curiosity got to her and she set out to see for herself.
As the moon reached the peak of the sky and the oar beat the water, Celeste rowed her way under the bridge and closed her eyes, only opening them once she heard the boat thud against the rocks. Around her were rocks and large grassy fields stretched further than she could see. Reaching upwards towards the sky was a large spire that pierced the sun holding it in place.
Celeste looked in amazement and awe as she stood up and began to walk along the fields, a small blade in her hand for safety and her grandfather’s old helmet upon her head. She walked for hours, or at least it felt like it until she saw…it.
It had skin like bark, legs that stretched to the top of nowhere, and kept its sun like head standing above all. Its arms were as long as its legs and stretched down to just above the grass, and it clenched its needle-like fingers together as it “looked” around at the land. Suddenly, it “saw” Celeste standing there, dagger in hand ready to attack the thing that “watched” her.
“St-st-state” It stuttered and struggled trying to speak. “Sta-te y-you-your r-e-re-reaso-rea-son f-or c-c-oming her-here t-to u-u-u-s.” It stumbled out, “staring” at Celeste. She slowly opened her mouth.
“I-I don’t know,” she muttered. Slowly, the “thing” seemed to turn off in a way, its “head” dimming as it stood still once more, “falling asleep.”
Through the fields Celeste wandered, seeking a place to rest. There before her laid a small indent in a hill in which she laid down her breathing slowed, vision darkened.
Her mind ran wild as she entered The Dreaming. She appeared in a cabin, old and rotted. Before her stood a table which held a book. Behind the book sat a pale man dressed in black, dead roses in a crown formation stood upon his head. “Take the book,” he spoke clearly and pushed the tome towards Celeste.
“W-who are you?” the girl asked, grabbing the ruined tome and flipping through it to a page matching the man. It read, Greater Fairy of the Dreaming: Morpheus, Advisor of the Autumn Court.
Celeste stood in shock as the man disappeared, the cabin melting around her.