From the Depths of Dreams

[Claire Gallows]

January Thirty-first

Eleven

“Properly speaking, the unconscious is the real psychic; its inner nature is just as unknown to us as the reality of the external world, and it is just as imperfectly reported to us through the data of consciousness as is the external world through the indications of our sensory organs.”
-Sigmund Freud, The Interpretation of Dreams

Distinguishing between true and false was becoming an incredibly taxing task. She wasn't sure who she could trust, if anyone. When accosted in the Inn by the assertion that these strange people, in fact, knew Claire, she was veritably astounded by it all. Rattled was an understatement to say the least. But Art believed her. Art knew the truth. And he had saved her from what she was sure would have become quite the outburst, quieting the fools who tried to claim cruelly that they knew Serah. Her Serah. The Serah she hadn't been able to save. Lured from the Inn by promise of cupcakes and peace, she found the Inn fading behind her and with it all thought of the tempestuous accusations. And though she could no longer sort out the line that separated fantasy from reality, she knew one thing for sure: Claire had failed Serah in the worst way possible.

“I'll fix this...don't you worry.” She promised quietly, the whisper leaking into the winter air. Her arms tightened the stranglehold she had on her shoulders, hugging herself until she thought she may cease to breathe. But her resolution was steadfast. If it took until the last beat of her heart, she swore to herself she would make it right.

[Claire Gallows]

February First

Ten

“The death of a dream can in fact serve as the vehicle that endows it with new form, with reinvigorated substance, a fresh flow of ideas, and splendidly revitalized color. In short, the power of a certain kind of dream is such that death need not indicate finality at all but rather signify a metaphysical and metaphorical leap forward.”
-Aberjhani, The River of Winged Dreams

She searched the city over. And when she was through with that, she searched the countryside as well. With no progress made, she painstakingly free fell from one land to another, the realms shifting like the passage of seasons. When she awoke from the never ending drifting, she was once more in the realm of the Unseen. Amongst the souls of the dead, still lingering while they waited for safe passage to the beyond. She combed through them, wading through their life forces like a pool of molasses. She cried out, her sister's name echoing all around her only to be drowned out by the sorrowful lament that was the wind. The dead's pain and suffering carried out a swift execution of Claire's screams, muffling them until she could yell no longer. As her knees met the sands of time and face came to rest in the cradle made by her hands, hands worn with battle and blood, she found she could cry out no more.

Claire was running out of time. No...Claire was out of time. The clock struck twelve and she had done nothing to further her cause. Nothing to save her sister's tormented soul. Claire too would fade away, the last bit of light finally leaving her. Without the knowledge that Serah had been right where Claire had left her before she embarked on this journey, safe and sound, if not a bit worse for the wear. Left to wonder what ever happened to the sister that was always leaving, never to return.

[Claire Gallows]

February Second

Nine

“I'm watching a dream I'll never wake up from.
-Spike Speigel”
--Keiko Nobumoto

She stared at her phone in disbelief, the picture she had been sent sitting there as plain as day, depicting Serah, yes her Serah, and Morgan at the bar in the Red Dragon Inn. It was an impossibility that her mind couldn't comprehend. As tears welled up in her eyes, her immediate thoughts were those of rage mixed with confusion, each keystroke coming down hard on the phone's delicate screen. It was better that she didn't have the eyepiece that Ammy had constructed for her for she might have smashed it into a million pieces. Her hands shook with the adrenaline that was coursing through her veins, her blood boiling as she tried to find out why the Kirn she thought to be her friend thought it funny to send her such a picture. He wanted to talk. Of course he wanted to talk. Everyone wanted to talk once they realized that she knew the truth, that she knew this was a dream. Perhaps it was her subconscious way of keeping herself in check, placating herself back into submission with reassurances that all was well and this wasn't the nightmare that she thought it was.

No. No more. There would be no talking. There would be no convincing her. She tried to ignore the fact that Noctis looked scared out of his mind at her reaction, confiscating her phone before she could blow it to smithereens. But it was hard not to see it. She was being held prisoner in her own mind, unable to rip herself from the comforting world that was Rhy'Din. The more they tried to persuade her into believing that this wasn't lie, the more steadfast she became in her resolve to wake up. She had to wake up. She had to.

[Claire Gallows]

February Third

Eight

“Sometimes the price of dreams is achieving them.”
-Michael J. Sullivan, Percepliquis

She ached. Oh how she ached. Every last muscle in her body throbbed and twitched in agony as she fought to push forward. She was almost there, she just knew it. Her body was fighting her something fierce and her will was slowly breaking. All she could hear was the ticking of the clock, each minute seeming to slip away more quickly than the one before it. Each tick was another beat of her heart and for a moment, she wondered if this was the countdown to her end. Maybe she had had it wrong all along and she was the only one in danger of losing her life. She liked that idea. It was comforting. It took some of the crushing weight from her shoulders. Of course it wasn't the case, but as she slowly resigned herself to failure, it at least made her feel better. Maybe Serah's soul wasn't on the line. Maybe Pulse wasn't crumbling under the influence of Chaos.

Maybe she was the only one breaking. Yes, it was comforting. She could handle being the only casualty of her mind. There was less to feel that way. Granted, not letting herself feel is what lead to a lot of this to begin with, pushing Serah away that she did. Serah...oh gods. It all went back to her. It always went back to her. And how Claire had failed her. Badly.

[Claire Gallows]

February Fourth

Seven

“Did the destruction of one dream leave a vacuum that required filling with another? Is a broken heart more vulnerable?”
-Cinda Williams Chima, The Exiled Queen

When Valhalla had fallen, taking Etro and the Seen Realm with it, Claire too had fallen. She hadn't known it at the time, her crystalline formed sat posed atop the Goddess's throne, but she had most certainly met her downfall. With no other purpose, her mind went dormant, reverting to what she believed to be an entirely fictional world. A land filled with dragons and magic and dueling and people that she cared for. People that she didn't have to worry about losing. Ones that cared about her and loved her and even protected her when she wouldn't look out for herself. Friends and family and acquaintances alike. So while she played the part of eternal epitaph for the fallen Goddess, she lived a life in her mind that couldn't compare to anything she had ever experienced before. The second life was intoxicating, entrancing her mind and saving her from the centuries long sleep. The dreams experienced while in crystal stasis were something of legend, but Claire found she didn't mind this.

She had fallen as had her hopes, her dreams, and the very life she had tried so desperately to live right. There had been times she had stumbled and fallen, lead astray by what she thought was right and just. But at the end of the day, she had done her best. It was all for naught and she was left with nothing except the fantasy world inside her mind. Living even as she was dying.

[Claire Gallows]

February Fifth

Six

“She died that night. Her last breath took her soul, I saw it in my dream. I saw her soul leave her body as she exhaled, and then she had no more needs, no more reason; she was released from her body, and being released, she continued her journey elsewhere, high in the firmament where soul material gathers and plays out all the dreams and joys of which we temporal beings can barely conceive, all the things that are beyond our comprehension, but even so, are not beyond our attainment if we choose to attain them, and believe that we truly can.”
-Garth Stein, The Art of Racing in the Rain

They say that when you're that close to death, your life flashes before your eyes. A series of images, moving and still that some up your life's greatest victories and most crushing defeats. As she watched, she wondered; how could her lows be so low when she never had the momentum from the highs? Her life had been devastated, nearly from the start, and her callous attitude proved to be her downfall through it all. Her destructiveness poisoned everything around her, in particular those she cared most about. And when she failed them, her frustration and rage at the world was only amplified. Rather than take those lessons and turn her life around, she believed she only needed to get stronger for Serah. Though narrow as her view was on what strength was, she only ended up pushing people away. And when those people came to her at their lowest points, Claire turned her back. Every time the scenes in her mind changed, it always went back to that. It haunted her.

Her greatest regret by far. Released from the pain and other bonds of life, her soul wouldn't rest. Not when she knew she had let someone so important down. Her inclination to be cold and callous, bitter and uncaring, it was too much to rebound from. She hadn't recovered quickly enough and finally despair won out.

[Claire Gallows]

February Sixth

Five

“I know how men in exile feed on dreams”
-Aeschylus

“You have impressed me, Savior. I underestimated you. As a reward for withstanding the test of time, I will welcome you.” The implications of his words were hard hitting. The promise of eternity. The whispered hints of salvation for her sister's soul. For one entombed in crystal for centuries it was rather enticing. His promises sustained her, kept her going when she wanted nothing more than to give up. She needed neither eternity nor salvation but all she wanted was to see Serah once more. To save her soul and bring her back and if she couldn't bring her back, put her to rest so the thoughts wouldn't torment her so. In the darkness of her mind, her hopes and dreams were a beacon of light, shining through the flawless crystal surface of her form.

Whispered words were a powerful driving force, building momentum within her, a violent urge to shed this living tomb and take flight. It fed her hunger and fueled a fire within her. A call to action. Unbeknownst to her, tiny cracks were forming. The pressure slowly proving to be too much. Hairline fissures spiderwebbed outwards, not quite shattering but most definitely no longer sound. It was only a matter of time before it broke. Would she break with it or would she prevail?

[Claire Gallows]

February Seventh

Four

“There is no possibility of remembering what has been found and understood, and later repeating it to oneself. It disappears as a dream disappears. Perhaps it is all nothing but a dream.”
-P.D. Ouspensky, A New Model of the Universe

As she awoke, her hands covered her eyes like doing so might hold on to the last fragments of her dream. Instead, like sand they leaked from between her fingers, seeping away with ease and leaving her mind devoid of the images she had so desperately been trying to cling to. It was something profound...life changing even. What was it? What was it?! She couldn't remember and now she had herself thinking about it even harder than before. It did her no good, though, any grasp she had on the thoughts had long since been lost. With a huff, she flopped back against her pillow, her hair poofing out around her head then fluttering to settle. Mostly on her face, of course, which had her pushing it back and out of her eyes. And then it came to her.

“I will not forgive you. I will not accept this.” She repeated the words out loud to herself, sitting bolt upright again and blinking away the last hints of sleep. Her eyes tried to adjust to the dim room around her, tiny cracks of dawn trying to shimmy their way through the blinds, seeking to illuminate the day. She could use some illuminating, but none that the sunrise could provide. Once she spoke them out loud, the words found their way into her mind, bouncing around between her ears, leaving an echo in their wake. Forgiveness was seldom easy to come by, it seemed and she sighed heavily, the hissed breath working its way through her teeth and past her lips. She had thought something would click. Instead she found herself as lost as ever.

[Claire Gallows]

February Eighth

Three

“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.”
-Edgar Allen Poe

Who saves the Savior when it's all said and done. She found herself wondering this, even as the crystal slowly melted away, tiny chips, cracking under the nervous energy that pulsed within the guardian's resting place. The thoughts raced through her mind faster than she could process them, wisps of chaos rising around her. They sought to cloud her mind, to lull her into a false sense of security and peacefulness. It took everything she had to try and push it out...she needed the clarity more than ever. As one side cleared, the other dimmed and she found herself wandering through some vague and hazy land, more certain than ever that she had simply created this life in her mind. She was past the point of trying to convince anyone, because really, how do you convince a dream that they're in fact a dream. So she would let them live in her mind and go about their day to day business as though in some far off realm, maybe they were real.

It was a nice thought, wasn't it? That maybe in some far off place, the people she dreamed of really did exist. Noctis and Serah, all the family she had. Zack and Raven, the closest thing to best friends she could have dreamed up. Art and Khoom, Mel and Clarice, Morgan and Jen, Aja and Rena, Katt and Shadow. They all meant something to her. Larger than life personalities, each with their own quirks and things that made them who they were. It would have put a smile on her face, had she been capable of such a thing. When the world ended, maybe the peace those faces brought her would be enough to overcome the terrible realization that there would be no one to save her. Not this time.

[Claire Gallows]

February Ninth

Two

“Do I dare Disturb the universe?”
-T.S. Eliot, The Wasteland, Prufrock and Other Poems

Clarity. Absolute certain clarity. After two months and some odd days of little sleep, of unrelenting nightmares, of questioning her sanity, she didn't think it possible to find that sort of lucid state. It was like seeing her life in high definition, every minute detail crisp and clear. This place, this crazy, crazy place that she now called home. It was, in fact, very real. She knew not how she got here, she knew not how long she would stay, but she knew she was here. A deep cringe furrowed her expression upon the realization of all of the thoughts that had manifested over the past two months, utterly aghast at things she had said and done. How much of it was real? Certainly she hadn't actually made those claims? She rubbed at her eyes, pressing the heels of her hands against them as if the pressure might drown out the steady drone of various influences in her mind. Dear gods, she could really go for a drink right now. It made her head hurt something fierce, like she was overloaded and about to explode from the pressure rising.

The fact that Rhy'Din was real didn't change the fact that Pulse needed her. It didn't stop the voices of gods from filling her head, the suggestive whispers drawing her home like a moth to flame. Her time was coming, if only she knew when. As each second ticked by, each grain of sand slipped through the hour glass, the impulse was growing, compelling her to take action. Urging her to give in. It was only a matter of time.

[Claire Gallows]

February Tenth

One

“Wild dreams torment me as I lie. And though a god lives in my heart, though all my power waken at his word, though he can move my every inmost part - yet nothing in the outer world is stirred. thus by existence tortured and oppressed I crave for death, I long for rest.”
-Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust, Part One

The call overwhelmed her.

It reverberated into her very soul, each booming syllable beating in time with her own heart. It was a cadence to go home to.

A victory march.

A funeral march.

And everything in between. It was a call to arms. An unavoidable draft order sent down from on high. It was an honor, she told herself. One of the greatest. At last she had her shot at retribution. A chance for atonement. A way to pay for the sinfully arrogant life she had lead. Finally, she was being summoned from the wretched purgatory that was her own mind, the twisted backwater world concocted by her imagination having been enough of a prison for too long. It was her chance to break free and to prove herself once and for all. That she had what it took to stand before the gods and face her judgment. It was the end of days, that much was certain, but the fight was just beginning. The countdown had begun, each passing moment signaling one less second that humanity had until she would help them face their judgment as well. Her calling was realized. She knew what she had to do, who she had to do it for. Life as they knew it would change forever whether humanity liked it or not.

There was no room for hesitation, no opportunity for regret.

There was no time for that.

As the last grains funneled through the hourglass, salvation was poised to attempt its last stand.

The Savior was coming.

The storm was here.

Goodbye Rhy'Din.