PrincessofHeart
Keeper of a jar of hearts.
"Where do you get your inspiration?"
Faye Kincaid sat in the uncomfortable chair, feeling the hard cushion pushing at her legs from beneath her thighs, poking through her gauzy white skirt that reached her ankles as if the cushion was actually made to be unpleasant to sit on. Or perhaps her discomfort was simply from being questioned about her paintings once again. As if she had to explain herself to anyone who wanted to ask. As if she owed them an explanation.
"Dreams," she replied, not willing to discuss them further.
The interviewer, a man who was wearing a button down green shirt tucked into khakis, looked skeptical, as if anyone had dreams any more. Perhaps they did not. She could see that. A world that had lost its dreams in the midst of the Internet and taxes and everything else that got in the way of realizing that they still lived in a very beautiful place. Faye glanced out the window of the small gallery where she sold her paintings, knowing that it was part of having her very own gallery showing. It was the price paid to put food on the table, or so her agent told her.
"You dream of this place you paint?"
"Often," she replied with a slight smile.
"How does it feel to be having your first showing guaranteed to make over a million dollars at the age of twenty three?" the interviewer asked.
She knew what he wanted to hear. Her hands, slender and pale, twisted around each other in anxiety, the nails short and neat, free of any kind of polish because it all came off in the paint thinner anyway. He wanted her to say that it was a dream come true. That she dreamed of things so petty and simple. He wanted her to tell him that it was all she ever hoped for, and Faye knew that would have been a lie.
"It feels great," she said dully. "Who wouldn't want to be that successful?"
Faye could tell that he was disappointed. He finished up the interview with a few more trite, pointless questions, and she gave him a dim smile, walking him out of the gallery. She was thankful to be alone again, holding her arms around herself as she walked through the gallery. It was hard to believe for some people, but the paintings hanging on the walls, waiting for that evening, were all of the same place. A place she only saw in her dreams.
"Gaea..." she said softly, simply because she wanted to hear herself say the word aloud.
The dreams had started years ago, comforting pictures in her youth, inspiration as she got older, obsession now that she was giving Gaea to the world. She also dreamed of a man, though he had started as a boy, and grew as she had. There was a painting of him, near the back of the gallery, and it had been a labor of love. She had dreamed of him until she could see his face even when she was painting, no dream required.
While she loved the art she made, the inspiration the dreams gave her, she was not fulfilled by it. Faye secretly wanted to see Gaea. She wanted to see the world that looked upon the moon and the dragon's eye on the surface. She wanted to look at Earth in the sky and see the people from a different world. She wanted it far more than she had wanted anything in her own world.
Moving to another painting, she stopped and reached out, stroking the frame around it gently. Sometimes it felt that she was closest her dream world when she was painting, and other times, she felt closest to it now, when she was alone with all the work she had produced.
"Wind Goddess...."
Faye gasped softly, hearing the strange voice. Turning, she tried to see who was there with her, walking around the walls of the gallery to see who had spoken to her.
"Hello? Is someone there?"
She got to the back corner of the gallery and found nobody. Turning around, she stopped short, barely suppressing a cry of shock. Standing there behind her was a tall man with eyes the same color as the sky. His white blond hair was long and bound in a metal cuff over his left shoulder, and he was wearing a long coat of smoky dark gray that was buckled over his bare chest and a pair of black pants tucked into tall boots. It was his eyes she could not get over though.
"...Where did you come from?"
"Do you really need to ask me that question, Wind Goddess?" he asked her.
It was on the tip of her tongue to demand that of course she did, but she was uncertain that was the right thing to say. Something stopped her, some kind of feeling of familiarity, though she would have recognized a man so flawless, a man with a tattoo on the side of his face, curling around his left eye and ending on his cheek in sharp blue whorls. He reached out to her, holding out a hand with a ring on each finger.
"It is time."
"Time?"
"For the Wind Goddess to appear. To determine the fate of the world."
None of it made any sense. None at all. Still, Faye felt herself yearning to make it true. She had lifted her hand to take his before she even realized it. That seemed to be all that was needed as the gallery went dark around her, and she was enveloped in a pillar of light that blinded her to everything. She closed her eyes against it, and there was the feeling of falling, or more accurately, floating in between light and dark, life and death. Faye left her eyes closed and drifted away on it, not knowing whether she was asleep or dead, dreaming or hallucinating. It occurred to her that she might have gone insane from years of vivid, beautiful dreams she could never, ever have.
Time passed, or perhaps it was simply seconds later, and she found herself suddenly level once again, but encased in something. Faye opened her eyes, and looked around, not certain of where she was, or what had happened. She pressed her hands against the walls around her, trying to find a way out, not that there seemed to be one. So she pressed harder, and only felt metal that was both warm and cool to the touch. She was going to call out for help, when with a shudder, whatever she was in began to move.
"Hello?! Is someone there? Please help me..." she called out.
Not that it did anything. Faye began running her hands along her narrow prison, trying to find something to hold onto, since it seemed that she could move upward, but there was nothing to grab. Nothing to do but stay there, encased in the womb of something she had no idea she had walked into. Perhaps she should not have closed her eyes when the light hit her, but there she was, trapped while it moved around her. Each step shook her rib cage and made her desperate for something to hold onto, but all she found was herself.
Several more heavy steps, and it stopped. She began to call out again when her prison lurched forward, and she hit the front of it, catching herself on her hands, her long braid of coppery hair the color of a city sunset falling over her shoulder. Then there was light, and she was falling. Faye landed on the ground, though it was not a far drop. She could tell she was not hurt as she landed on her side, slowly sitting up.
Her long skirt had ridden up her legs a bit, revealing pale flesh and sensible flats, her hand coming to push the skirt back down her calves. Wind brushed her shoulders left bare by the cold shoulder knit top she was wearing of pale lavender, the straps embroidered with little white flowers. Faye looked around, her starry gray eyes wide as she tried to take in everything around her. There might never be enough time for that.
"Where am I?" she breathed softly.
Faye Kincaid sat in the uncomfortable chair, feeling the hard cushion pushing at her legs from beneath her thighs, poking through her gauzy white skirt that reached her ankles as if the cushion was actually made to be unpleasant to sit on. Or perhaps her discomfort was simply from being questioned about her paintings once again. As if she had to explain herself to anyone who wanted to ask. As if she owed them an explanation.
"Dreams," she replied, not willing to discuss them further.
The interviewer, a man who was wearing a button down green shirt tucked into khakis, looked skeptical, as if anyone had dreams any more. Perhaps they did not. She could see that. A world that had lost its dreams in the midst of the Internet and taxes and everything else that got in the way of realizing that they still lived in a very beautiful place. Faye glanced out the window of the small gallery where she sold her paintings, knowing that it was part of having her very own gallery showing. It was the price paid to put food on the table, or so her agent told her.
"You dream of this place you paint?"
"Often," she replied with a slight smile.
"How does it feel to be having your first showing guaranteed to make over a million dollars at the age of twenty three?" the interviewer asked.
She knew what he wanted to hear. Her hands, slender and pale, twisted around each other in anxiety, the nails short and neat, free of any kind of polish because it all came off in the paint thinner anyway. He wanted her to say that it was a dream come true. That she dreamed of things so petty and simple. He wanted her to tell him that it was all she ever hoped for, and Faye knew that would have been a lie.
"It feels great," she said dully. "Who wouldn't want to be that successful?"
Faye could tell that he was disappointed. He finished up the interview with a few more trite, pointless questions, and she gave him a dim smile, walking him out of the gallery. She was thankful to be alone again, holding her arms around herself as she walked through the gallery. It was hard to believe for some people, but the paintings hanging on the walls, waiting for that evening, were all of the same place. A place she only saw in her dreams.
"Gaea..." she said softly, simply because she wanted to hear herself say the word aloud.
The dreams had started years ago, comforting pictures in her youth, inspiration as she got older, obsession now that she was giving Gaea to the world. She also dreamed of a man, though he had started as a boy, and grew as she had. There was a painting of him, near the back of the gallery, and it had been a labor of love. She had dreamed of him until she could see his face even when she was painting, no dream required.
While she loved the art she made, the inspiration the dreams gave her, she was not fulfilled by it. Faye secretly wanted to see Gaea. She wanted to see the world that looked upon the moon and the dragon's eye on the surface. She wanted to look at Earth in the sky and see the people from a different world. She wanted it far more than she had wanted anything in her own world.
Moving to another painting, she stopped and reached out, stroking the frame around it gently. Sometimes it felt that she was closest her dream world when she was painting, and other times, she felt closest to it now, when she was alone with all the work she had produced.
"Wind Goddess...."
Faye gasped softly, hearing the strange voice. Turning, she tried to see who was there with her, walking around the walls of the gallery to see who had spoken to her.
"Hello? Is someone there?"
She got to the back corner of the gallery and found nobody. Turning around, she stopped short, barely suppressing a cry of shock. Standing there behind her was a tall man with eyes the same color as the sky. His white blond hair was long and bound in a metal cuff over his left shoulder, and he was wearing a long coat of smoky dark gray that was buckled over his bare chest and a pair of black pants tucked into tall boots. It was his eyes she could not get over though.
"...Where did you come from?"
"Do you really need to ask me that question, Wind Goddess?" he asked her.
It was on the tip of her tongue to demand that of course she did, but she was uncertain that was the right thing to say. Something stopped her, some kind of feeling of familiarity, though she would have recognized a man so flawless, a man with a tattoo on the side of his face, curling around his left eye and ending on his cheek in sharp blue whorls. He reached out to her, holding out a hand with a ring on each finger.
"It is time."
"Time?"
"For the Wind Goddess to appear. To determine the fate of the world."
None of it made any sense. None at all. Still, Faye felt herself yearning to make it true. She had lifted her hand to take his before she even realized it. That seemed to be all that was needed as the gallery went dark around her, and she was enveloped in a pillar of light that blinded her to everything. She closed her eyes against it, and there was the feeling of falling, or more accurately, floating in between light and dark, life and death. Faye left her eyes closed and drifted away on it, not knowing whether she was asleep or dead, dreaming or hallucinating. It occurred to her that she might have gone insane from years of vivid, beautiful dreams she could never, ever have.
Time passed, or perhaps it was simply seconds later, and she found herself suddenly level once again, but encased in something. Faye opened her eyes, and looked around, not certain of where she was, or what had happened. She pressed her hands against the walls around her, trying to find a way out, not that there seemed to be one. So she pressed harder, and only felt metal that was both warm and cool to the touch. She was going to call out for help, when with a shudder, whatever she was in began to move.
"Hello?! Is someone there? Please help me..." she called out.
Not that it did anything. Faye began running her hands along her narrow prison, trying to find something to hold onto, since it seemed that she could move upward, but there was nothing to grab. Nothing to do but stay there, encased in the womb of something she had no idea she had walked into. Perhaps she should not have closed her eyes when the light hit her, but there she was, trapped while it moved around her. Each step shook her rib cage and made her desperate for something to hold onto, but all she found was herself.
Several more heavy steps, and it stopped. She began to call out again when her prison lurched forward, and she hit the front of it, catching herself on her hands, her long braid of coppery hair the color of a city sunset falling over her shoulder. Then there was light, and she was falling. Faye landed on the ground, though it was not a far drop. She could tell she was not hurt as she landed on her side, slowly sitting up.
Her long skirt had ridden up her legs a bit, revealing pale flesh and sensible flats, her hand coming to push the skirt back down her calves. Wind brushed her shoulders left bare by the cold shoulder knit top she was wearing of pale lavender, the straps embroidered with little white flowers. Faye looked around, her starry gray eyes wide as she tried to take in everything around her. There might never be enough time for that.
"Where am I?" she breathed softly.