… It is because of this that your mind has never learned to be creative all of the time, or to be imaginative for itself. Therefore, I believe that dreaming is something you have to learn to do."
Was her mind really evolving? Was it really learning to work on its own and not deliberately? Would it even happen again, or was it just a one-time glitch in her memory core, like she suspected?
If this were truly a mental evolution of sorts, it had a strange way of beginning. Mericlou only hoped that the next dream -should she have one again- would be more "normal" … as if anything about her life right now could be considered such.
She followed the Selisna downstream, moving past now-empty parks and small wooded areas where only the din of crickets' chirping and the intermittent hooting of owls kept her company. Somewhere along the way, she found a bench, and sat down.
She mused over her family, her business, her scheduling of appointments for the next day, and how she was going to squeeze them in without overworking any of her brothers and sisters. She thought about her life: the things she learned while bound to her old master -sick pervert that he was-, her wanderings through Sakar, Glaen, Marak, and Berden Ford, taking odd jobs wherever she could find them, before arriving at Lusea. She thought about her initial excitement over helping in the business venture of her newfound family, and the unending days of drudgery that ensued, even in this elven slice of paradise.
And finally, when she could neither avoid, nor bear it any longer, she thought of Aldrec.
Smiling, fair, sweet Aldrec … Awakening from her reverie, she realized that there were tears in her eyes.
Wiping them away, she looked towards the buildings that lay across the river's far bank. As part of the human district, they were blatantly not of elf make. They were fashioned too geometrically, and lacked the characteristic flowing curves of elf architecture. Though not poorly designed in the least, all human sector buildings paled in comparison to the splendor of the city proper.
A glowing neon blue sign, positioned atop one of the buildings caught her eye. The words upon it were fashioned in bold common script:
THE GOBLIN POT
She steeled her courage with a resolve she had to dig up as if by magic. She could no longer live this way, feeling so strongly for someone and fearing to admit it because of what he was, or what he would say. She had to come clean. Regardless of what would become of it, she at least would be able to rest easily at night and get back to a semblance of normalcy in her life.