Red Silk, A Dream Of Death

Red silk fabric brushed gently against the weaving of the stone tower. Was it day? Was it night? Such precious knowledge did not exist, for the windows shed both sunlight and shadow at once.

Dust on the steps, staining fabric from crimson to cream at the edges. The climb was high, and low. The red fabric swished in a comely way around the young maiden who wore it as a dress. Or was she an old woman? The dress a faded cream skirt? She was walking down. Down the steps to the top of the highest tower.

Music was with her. Always was she followed by the sounds of her childhood. The door was wood, stone, metal. It mattered not. It was cast in shadow from the windowless corridor. It was draped in light from a nearby window. She was cramped in the tiny corridor. But also was she amazed by its vastness.

She was inside without having ever opened the door. The room was small, the roof leaking. It was raining outside. Ah, wait! this was not true. She was not yet in the room. Shrugging off the illusion of the leaking room, she opened the door and walked... danced... drifted into the room. It was a sunny day, there were no walls, there was no roof. And there he was... where he would always vie, dressed in a midnight blue knights armor, wearing an old mans baggy outfit. The room smell was familiar... the comforting scent of baked cookies. The soothing smells of chamomile tea.

\\\"My dear what took you so long?\\\"

\\\"Would you have waited any longer?\\\"

\\\"An eternity, for I have time enough to spare.\\\"

\\\"Indeed, we do.\\\"

\\\"I am glad you took your time, but are here with me now.\\\"

\\\"Yes dear. Death is not so bad, if I may spend it with you.\\\"

\\\"I suppose I would not have it any other way.\\\"