Broken Fields

The dream was always the same, the hurt always felt too real at the end, the tears always fell when her eyes flew open. Her memory strived to recall the entire dream but all she got was fragments. Flashes of red, a reptilian eye opening, a great fire, a love so tremendous it seems to consume her very being, the flash of a smile that broke her to a million pieces of yearning and pain just to recall it, the darkness, a rush of wings and fear. Terrible, horrible fear, fear of something so precious lost, but she can’t remember what it is that she lost.She rises for yet another day on the edge of the desert, fighting someone else’s war to keep someone else’s homelands safe. Her sword sings a song to her soul as she glides it through the air, slicing the wind. No matter what the dreams try to tell her she was, it is what she is now that matters, now she trapped in a never ending battle that is not of her own making, fighting unseen demons that come from the ground itself, falling under her sword when the shifting sands give away their presence. 

This is her life. The mask is broken in pieces laying upon a floor in an abounded room in a ruined house in a place that doesn’t even exist anymore, lost with the memories of her dreams. 
The moon is dark, like her soul. Her magic is filled with the darkness of a heart that died lifetimes ago. Her mind is full of the darkness if dreams broken into a million pieces beneath her bare feet. 

The Tower was built with blood and bone, with broken dreams and childhood nightmares, with the screams that never left your mouth, the moments you lost to your own putrid fear. The Tower is built on a foundation of your tortured soul, the darkness that you hide from the world is buried in the foundations of your greatest work. the light of your Tower is the greatest illusion known to man. it is the light that reflects the mask you wish to present to the world, it is the light that hides the ugly parts of you the scared parts, the angry parts the frustrated parts, the naked parts, the vulnerable parts, all the parts you don’t want the world to see. The Tower is your greatest mask, and you wear it like a queen wears her crown, proud glorious full of power and beauty. You are the illusion, you are the mask, you are The Tower.
Where is that wretched bunny, she asks herself, looking around the charred scape before her. Finally, in the distance, she sees the bunny. He looks grey in this ashen landscape. She makes her way over to him. He is looking down, she can feel his sadness. She looks to see what he is looking at. He is looking down at a pile of ash, there are scraps of silver, broken and charred, she realises she is looking at the charred remains of The Mask.

She falls to her knees. Tears fill her eyes. She brings her hands to her face. The sob that escapes is deep, broken. The bunny climbs on her lap. She reaches down into the earth, ash sticking to the tears on her hands, she grasps the broken charred few remaining pieces of The Mask. 

Blood fills her tears, red streaks run down her face, drip upon the fragments in her hands. The rain begins to fall, the rain drops are red, staining the jarred earth with streams of red water, the dust from the ashes becomes rivers of blood, pooling around her and the bunny, the bunny,s fur turns red, her white dress is stained red. Her tears fall into the red water, her bloodied tears swirling into the waters that have risen into a current, washing all the lost dreams away, until all that is left is red stained earth, a girl with a broken mask and a bunny with a dirty coat.

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