Closed [The Unnamye] A Crisis of Dreams (Madeira)

[Aislyn Leavold]

A Crisis of Dreams
52nd of Fall, 516 AV
Eighteenth Bell

This was not the first time Aislyn had been back to the Unnayme since she had originally discovered it, tucked between nondescript houses on an equally nondescript street. The place had a strange attraction to it, in the only way a suspicious house of suspicious ailments with suspicious products within it could be. Curiosity killed the cat, but in the end, satisfaction brought it back.
Which was precisely why Aislyn had come back, time and time again.
The woman had been correct in her assumption that she had grown far more secure in her illusions, her flickers now far and few between. At the same time, she wasn’t particularly thrilled with the notion of being rendered hapless in a state out of her mind for a bell or two, so she had strayed away from any sort of hallucinogen, regardless of the appeal. Of course, there were other experiences that were just as appealing. That being said, Aislyn had been wary to actually try any of said ‘experiences’. Just in case, she had begun to dress as ‘Thief’ throughout her visits, introducing herself to the greeter by the name ‘Khayal’. It was a name she had heard before, though she couldn’t quite place where. The Bazaar, or perhaps a passing conversation on the street. Like many of Aislyn’s names, it meant nothing. It was, after all, just another illusion.

So ‘Khayal’ had become a regular at the Unnayme, favouring the simple things. She strayed away from the more “exquisite” tastes, instead opting for something that helped her get by. At first she’d just observed, attempting to figure out what each product did without having to actually interact with it. Then she had ordered a drink, one that was mixed with a liquid that was reported to be the ’most fulfilling thing Ionu had blessed upon the land’, according to- of course- the man selling it. Nonetheless, she had taken the bait, and in a surprising turn of events he hadn’t been wrong. Aislyn had always taken issue with eating in recent seasons, her appetite fading for reasons that were beyond her. She’d been privy to fainting spells, and found herself to be rather tired for quite a lot of the day. Except, ironically, at night, at which time her mind simply refused to sleep. But that was a different issue to add to the mix.
Since she had found the Unnayme, though, she’d manage to solve at least one of said issues.

The day had been a long one, and Aislyn had happened across the Unnayme near its end. Syna still hung high in the sky, but it would only be a bell or two until Leth filled her position. Not that such a thing mattered; barely any light made it into the Unnayme at any time of day, in such a way that masked the passage of time in an isolating way. The smell was hazy and warm, as it always was. Everything was vaguely yellow and red, apart from the few specs of green in the form of potted plants ringing the few windowsills that decorated the place. The place was unfortunately busier than usual, with several messes of people in all shades of life dotting the lounge in rings. Unfortunately, that also meant the intoxicating air of the place was also much more concentrated, so many different substances mixing together under the blurred light of the lit candles. Perhaps that was part of the effect, too- Aislyn was always hesitant to breathe too deeply next to a candle lit in a place like this. There was no trusting in the smoke.

Nonetheless, Aislyn found her drug, found her usual quiet corner, and found her usual serenity, shrouded in a darkness she rather enjoyed. There was a group sitting dauntingly close to her, white and occasionally golden mist exuding from their hushed circle of whispers, but they weren’t quite close enough to properly bother her. So, for the moment, she resigned herself into the dim light, drawing out her notebook and continuing work on something she’d been fiddling with for a few days now. The Unnayme usually brought her inspiration, in some form or other.

Holding up the vial of murky, silvery liquid she’d been given, Aislyn contemplated it for a moment before withdrawing her canteen from her backpack. ‘Siren’, it was called, and it was rather bland, despite the fulfillment it provided. The man that had sold it to her- Dreams, he introduced himself as- offered some sort of drink with it, but she’d refused. There was no use trusting anymore than she really needed to. In one movement, she emptied the vial into the canteen before swirling it around a bit to mix it. A cheap ale with some sort of fruit to give it actual taste, then add the drug and she was set. No hallucinations, no flickers, no insanity, just a drink and a solution to a problem she’d been facing for awhile. She didn’t faint, didn’t have to force herself to drink some bland broth day after day. All she did was drink, and she was better off for it.

Drawing her knees up, Aislyn picked out a thinner piece of charcoal. The piece was meant to be some sort of flower, meant to be more artistic through complexity, rather than creativity. It wasn’t a commission- there was no real gain for her to be creating it, but drawing wasn’t just Aislyn’s job. She enjoyed it, too. Every few moments, though, she’d feel compelled to look up, as if something was going to drastically change each time she looked away from the room. People were coming and going as they wished, but the passing faces never really registered.

Something just felt a little bit different, though the illusionist couldn’t quite put her finger on what, exactly, that different thing was.

[988]

[Madeira Dusk]

Madeira was just trying to go home, but a peeling green door kept blocking her way.

She had just come from the Craven manor, following a spirited Spiritualism lesson from her frail and somewhat insane ‘uncle’ Frode Varlet-Craven. Her body felt loose and wooden as she walked the streets, following the pull of her house key. It was a familiar feeling. Something she called possession fatigue, and Frode called laziness.

Possession control was both a basic part of training and one of her worst skills. She had spent the morning and the better part of the afternoon working with Frode on just that. Once the ghost they were working with got tired, a fresh one would be brought in. Old family patriarchs, her uncle's servants, the house’s haunts, they all got a turn wearing her like a meat suit in exchange for her uncle’s soulmist. Once Frode noticed her concentration slipping, and the ghost's possessions found less resistance in the exhausted teenager, he demanded she hold a knife in both hands. To give her the proper 'motivation'.
 
The brutal teachings had left her fried and strangely detached from her body. Like her skin didn't quite fit anymore, now that so many people had been inside it. Every touch seemed to register half a second after it should, and she felt thick and clumsy like a marionette. Tiny involuntary muscle twitches had popped up in her eyelids and the tips of her fingers.

And all she wanted to do was go home and sleep the afternoon away. But she was being stalked by that green door.

Every corner she took, every alley she walked down, the door would appear from the corner of her eye. She recognized the bones of the Trap House, though she was only a child when the house of drugs and magic disappeared. This new creature wearing the carcass of the old was called “The Unnayme”, according to the sign in the window.

Several twisted alleys and a handful of chimes later, frustration or curiosity got the best of the woman. She approached the den and turned the brass knob like it was about to bite her. Syna’s light behind her cut like a knife through the dark, smokey interior as the door swung open, and a spicy, bitter scent washed over her as she stepped over the threshold. The low chatter of many people was peppered with laughter and the tinkle of glass cups. The atmosphere in the small, low lounge surrounded by smoke was cozy and inviting.

It was definitely not where Madeira belonged.

She was about to abandon her curiosity and try to find her house again when she was approached by a man with a pleasant face and a pile of sandy blonde curls.

“Good afternoon. What would you like to feel?”

Ah, so it was that kind of den. May Inou find better worship in the illusions here. But what did she want to feel? Madeira tried to look inward, but all she saw was her fried, shivering soul. Perhaps this wasn't the best idea. She wasn't sure she could add an artificial high to her already strained nerves. She smiled politely. "Unless you can give me back my body, I don’t think you have what I need. I'm sorry to waste your time."
 
Just as she was about to turn, the man smiled.
 
"And what if I could?”

Madeira paused.

“Then I might call you a liar.”

“No liar here, only Dreams.”

•••••••••••••••

Several chimes and five silver miza’s later, Madeira was wrapped around her earthenware cup of Overture. The heat was pleasant on her hands, which no longer shook. Her mind was centred and grounded, and her body strong again. She felt full, like every part of her being was alined with her body, leaving no possible room for another ghost. It was the single, most perfect cure for her fatigue. She was almost giddy with the discovery. And in the back of her mind she knew there were ways to feel even better, if she had the courage.

She sat with a group of strangers who had quickly adopted her into their circle. Thin trails of white and gold smoke curled from the thin cigars in their fingers, and their eyes were bright with some heady feeling. For all their inclusiveness, Madeira was content to sit slightly back from their whispering circle, more a spectator than a participant. She breathed deep and low over her tea and let her eyes wander to the woman sitting in the corner beside them.

This woman was a dark little mystery. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark clothes. She sipped idly at a cloudy drink as she sketched with a sliver of charcoal. She did not seem to be enjoying herself. Though Madeira was aware she could simply not be reading this woman right.

She turned slightly and leaned back on her cushion to try and catch a glimpse of the drawing in her hand, but could not make the lines out in the low light.

“What do you have there?”, she asked bravely, bolstered by the earthy liquid in her hand. “Come share a cup with me.”

[Aislyn Leavold]

A Crisis of Dreams
52nd of Fall, 516 AV
Eighteenth Bell

Recently, Aislyn had been drawing a lot of flowers. She wasn’t entirely sure why, but the fall just seemed flowery, despite the obvious conflict in seasons that the autumn had with the seemingly much more appropriate spring. Even still, it wasn’t like flowers were uncommon during the rest of the seasons. Ionu kept Alvadas warm year-round, providing plenty of room for the even the most fragile flower’s growth. That being said, even if real flowers didn't take hold, illusionary ones most certainly did. And illusionary flower were all that much better. They had the personality that real flowers didn’t; in a way that real things just couldn’t achieve. It was the same with people.
People were complicated. People were destructive and unpredictable. Illusions, in perhaps the best way, were not. Illusions didn’t ask questions, they just existed, and the world was better for it.

That was why Aislyn found herself drawing illusions much more than anything the real world could offer.

That being said, focusing on the illusions didn’t keep the real world at bay, and real people were most definitely still present as well. Unfortunately for Aislyn, there was no miracle drug that could keep strangers from starting up conversations.

”What do you have there?”

A woman from the circle of gold and white had looked up, regrettably catching Aislyn’s eye. The artist didn’t know how to respond for a moment, taken aback that someone had acknowledged her at all. She was a dark figure in a dark corner in dim light- the fact that she had been seen to begin with was astonishing.
Observing the woman, Aislyn found her to be peculiar, to say the least. She seemed out of place from the rest of them, prim and proper whilst the others hunched over in almost delirious heaps, the occasional cigar seen clutched between white knuckles or blue lips.

”Come share a cup with me.”

The woman, to add to the list of peculiarities, didn’t share the same powdery drug the rest of the circle had. Instead she held a small cup of tea, rather humble next to the more exotic substances she was contrasted beside. The illusionist was weary of her offer, as well. Taking any sort of edible substance from anyone was not something the woman planned to do at any time ever, nevermind in a place such as the Unnayme. Despite her frequent visits to the strange place, Aislyn knew very little of the products the Unnayme offered, and she didn’t exactly recognize what it was she was being offered.

Apprehensively hovering her charcoal above the page it was meant to land upon, Aislyn looked from the woman to her drawing, halfway between ‘just begun’ and ‘just finished’. It wasn’t as if she could just not answer. Surely that would draw more questions than it was worth. Even still, there was something about the woman that seemed oddly ill-fitting in her surroundings. Or rather, ill-fittingly fitting. She seemed somber and collected, yet the tired red rings around her eyes sung the same tune as every other withdrawn creature in the hazy room. She seemed young, too.
Aislyn didn’t really want to talk to her, but she most certainly wanted to know about her. That was the problem with curiosity. There was no shortcut to knowing.

Taking one more sip from the canteen she held in her hand, Aislyn tried to come up with an answer for the woman. What do you have there?
Theoretically, she could be referring to either the sketchbook or the canteen, neither of which Aislyn was entirely enthusiastic about sharing. But there was a lesser of the two evils, as there almost always was. Closing her notebook, Aislyn stowed it back into her backpack for the moment, twirling the charcoal between her fingers. Out of sight, out of mind.

”Sirencestine.” Gesturing with her drink, Aislyn pushed herself up off the wall into a more upright position, leaning forward just the slightest bit. Even if she had meant the drawing, the illusionist could ‘misunderstand’ all she’d like to draw the conversation away. ”And you?”

[693]

[Madeira Dusk]

Madeira easily swallowed the dark woman's misunderstanding. She didn't correct her, and rather watched with disappointment as the notebook disappeared into the backpack beside her. 
 
To answer the question she didn't ask, the woman said ‘Sirencestine’ with a tip of her canteen. The man called Dreams made a brief mention of the drink (as well as his other products) before he made Madeira her miracle tea. At the time it struck her as odd, for it was essentially a glorified meal supplement served in a smoky pleasure den. Hearing that that was the stranger’s drink of choice merely confirmed Madeira's suspicion that this woman was indeed not enjoying herself. What a waste, Madeira thought. The steam was washing away her meekness, and bestowing her with a deep sense of community with this dark, sober woman. She was starting to feel that the woman's pleasure was her responsibility.
 
"Overture" she answered the woman's question with the tip of her own little earthenware cup. As the stranger sat up and forward, Madeira fully turned her back on the group who's company she'd been previously enjoying. She brought her teapot with her as she found a comfortable spot closer to the woman. The people behind her, with their cigars and hushed laughter, didn't notice their skinny little adoptee leaving them for something more interesting.
 
The last of the light was still streaming through the single window at the front of the shop, gilding Madeira in a dull golden glow, while throwing creeping shadows into the strangers dark corner. She could make out the line of a straight, sharp nose, the curve of a cheek, the gleam of black hair and blacker eyes. There might have been enough light to draw, but much of her person was lost to shadows. Madeira's pale eyes were alight with a curiosity that was both affable and unhurried. The two of them were almost friends after all, or so her tea was telling her.
 
She took another sip of the dark liquid and topped off her cup with the teapot. 
 
"My name's Madeira. Pleased to meet you." she held out her hand to shake like a proper lady should. Her smile was demure but showed obvious pleasure.    
 
Just then the curly-haired Dreams slipped quietly past to attend to the group behind her. The clink of coins and powdery scratch of rolled cigars flowed softly as a few of the patrons were given their fresh vices. Madeira touched his leg as he made to leave, and the man obediently lowered himself to take her order.
 
"Two doses of Dew for my friend and myself, please."
 
Madeira had never before taken drugs in her life. And here she was having two servings in a single bell! Her father outlawed anything that would take her mind off her duties, and her extended family frowned on any of their number losing their control in public. To go against even their implied wishes felt... wrong. But at the same time there a pathetic little spark of independence in the act. If she felt this good already with such a mild concoction, she was ready to try something stronger.  
 
The man returned a chime later with two little pills in a tiny dish, and two short glasses of water balanced on a tray. He placed the tray in front of Madeira and left as quietly as he came.
 
"Cheers." Madeira offered the woman a water and a small white pill. 

[Aislyn Leavold]

A Crisis of Dreams
52nd of Fall, 516 AV
Eighteenth Bell

Madeira. A pretty name. Her greeting was as formal as the straight-backed way she had appeared before. Her manner was reserved, her posture upright. She spoke softly, as if reserved, but even still there was something more behind her eyes. Her resounding grip around the cup of tea she held might have something to do with that, but there was no telling, really. Perhaps her natural look was ‘overworked child’.

Aislyn hesitated at Madeira’s offer of a handshake. The contact was unwelcome, especially now that her second mark of Ionu was raised above the skin of her right hand. She would much rather shake with her left, but considering that was not, in fact, how handshakes worked, Aislyn didn’t find herself with much choice. Returning the motion, Aislyn mind momentarily failed her as she attempted to remember what name she’d introduced herself to the bartender as. The bartender of drugs. Drug-tender, perhaps. For a moment the air was empty, before Aislyn grasped the word she was looking for. ”Khayal.” The woman’s hands were warm, having just come from the heat of the tea she held. ”It’s a pleasure.”
Her words were empty, lacking the friendly connotation Madeira had. In fact, there was nothing pleasurable about the situation. Plainly and simply, Aislyn would much rather be left alone. When the contact was broken off, the illusionist found herself relieved, tracing the invisible sigma with her thumb. She had no interest in giving nor receiving any sort of physical touch with strangers, and this was no exception.

Moving herself slightly further from Madeira, Aislyn followed her gaze towards the man currently serving the group of intoxicated users that huddled a reach away from the two women. Glancing from the group to the woman to the rest of the Unnayme, Aislyn listened in on what Madeira appeared to be doing. It seemed improbable that the small woman had already downed the contents of the teapot, requiring a refill, so her actions were puzzling. Until, of course, she actually articulated her order. Two doses of Dew for my friend and myself.

For a moment, Aislyn was taken aback. There didn’t appear to be anyone with the woman, which left the identity of the ‘friend’ in question. But after a chime of silence, the question was answered with a presentation of whatever it was Madeira had offered and a glass of water.
It appeared the friend in question was, in fact, Aislyn.
Regarding the woman and the pill with a questionable look, the illusionist put out a hand to stop the offer. Good will or not, accepting a strange substance from a strange woman in a place as strange as the Unnayme did not seem to be the brightest course of action at the moment.

”I don’t take drinks from strangers.”

Her words were short and her statement clipped. She hadn’t scrutinized the wares of the Unnayme, and she didn’t recognize this ‘Dew’. Even if she had, it would have been dangerous to accept the woman’s word of what she offered as fact. It was dangerous to trust the substances from the source, nevermind second hand. Moving her canteen to her lips again, Aislyn wondered if she should apologize. It was, after all, wasted money, unless Madeira planned to dance with the threat of an overdose and consume both pills. Eventually, she decided against it, content with the silence. It might have seemed awkward from the woman’s side, but Aislyn didn’t find the need to say anything else. Swirling her drink, she found the container to be close to empty, only a few more sips left in the bottom of the bottle. Setting it down in front of her, Aislyn uncrossed her legs, positioning herself in more of a closed position. Her secluded corner was beginning to seem less like a hideaway and more of a trap. ”Besides, I should be...”

Looking over her shoulder towards her backpack, Aislyn turned herself completely away from the woman. Hopefully that would give her the indication that she did not, in fact, with to talk anymore. She was interesting, certainly, but not interesting enough to risk intoxication via an unknown substance for. Her words trailed off as she struggled for a way to say she wanted to end the conversation without directly saying she wanted to end the conversation.
After all, no matter what the woman had come to believe after a chime of conversation, they were most definitely not friends.

Fiddling with her charcoals, Aislyn eventually decided to give up and slip them back into her bag, resigning herself to work somewhere else, some other time. That was the one thing she disliked about the Unnayme. If the place was crowded, there was no privacy. It was noisy and an epitome of sensory overload, and those were not exactly the ingredients for a relaxing night of working on her art. Yet apparently leaving the premises with drug in hand was frowned upon, forcing Aislyn to either smuggle what she bought out for another time and risk exclusion, or swallow her distaste for people and live through the idle chatter.
That particular moment reminded her of why she would rather find a way to steal than play by the rules.

Her hand rested upon her sketchbook, indecisive of whether she should continue her work. If the woman left, this would be easy. But, when Aislyn turned back around, the woman had not, in fact, left, and she was again left with the unfortunate situation of having to uphold a conversation. Or end one.

”I should be going.”

[940]

[Madeira Dusk]

Madeira retracted her offering with barely disguised disappointment. Of course a person alone shouldn't take such offerings. There were plenty of insidious men and woman about who would take advantage of such a situation. But that didn't change the fact that Madeira knew her own intentions to be pure. She only wanted this mysterious woman to open up and enjoy herself! But every counter argument that slid down her tongue died on her lips. Even in her foggy, overconfident state she knew that every word from her mouth would just make her sound like a serial killer.
 
"I’m harmless!"
"Trust me!"
"This will be fun!
 
She would snort into her teacup if the truth of it wasn't so sad.
 
There was a long, strained silence after that. Kahyal didn't seem to need to make conversation, while Madeira was still struggling to think of a way to convince her to ease up. Kahyal ended up being the first to break the silence. She made excusing noises, and turned her back to Madeira for a long moment.
 
And without thinking, without conferring with herself, Madeira reached over and dropped a little white pill into Kahyal's canteen while her back was turned.
 
The action was so automatic once the thought was in her head. If she couldn't convince her, was it so wrong to trick her? She had no machinations, of course. Besides, she would be here to take care of her. Nothing would go wrong! All the same, the rational part of her brain was struggling to be heard through a cloud of genial confidence and forced connection. That part wanted to knock that innocuous little bottle off the table to hide what she did.
 
When Kahyal turned back around, Madeira had tucked her own pill into the high neck of her dress. The act made her feel a little better. She would be able to care for Kahyal easier this way. She just wanted the other woman to be happy, and enjoy herself. She inhaled deeply from the rising steam before drinking the hot tea in several quick swallows. With the last of the tea came a pleasant headrush, and a feeling of pins and needles across her scalp. It reminded her of a time long ago when she would lie her head on her mothers lap so she could run her long nails through her hair. The thought brought a dopey, contented sort of smile to her face.
 
Suddenly, Kahyal's excusing noises turned to something more definite. She should be going.
 
Madeira's eyes snapped open, though it took a second to focus properly.
 
"No." she said, perhaps too quickly. She had to stay, so Madeira could care for her. "Ah, perhaps you should stay. We've barely gotten to know each other yet."

[Aislyn Leavold]

A Crisis of Dreams
52nd of Fall, 516 AV
Eighteenth Bell

There was not a beat between Aislyn’s farewell and Madeira’s response, an immediate denial that brought the illusionist a slight surprise. We’ve barely gotten to know each other yet.
Her words were peculiar, the context in which they were said even more so. Again, her thoughts were brought back to her curiosity regarding who, exactly, this woman was. The main obstacle in any given curiosity, of course, was most often the fact that everyone wished to speak of themselves, yet only in a superficial view. There was no tale of why someone’s eyes may be red or bruised at the edges, only of surface-level tensions like the recent illusions of the city. Or, perhaps, the weather. Always thrilling, that conversation was.

Aislyn eyed the woman, pulling her backpack closer to her body as she thumbed a piece of charcoal that had escaped the loose confines of her bag. The seems at the bottom of the side pocket had begun to fray, allowing for the smallest piece to fall through to where Aislyn was able to move it back and forth between her fingers in an fluidly unconscious movement.

”Get to know each other?” Aislyn was suspicious of what kind of ‘getting to know’ the woman was hinting at, but she bit her tongue for the moment. Reaching for her canteen, the illusionist wasn’t quite sure if she wanted the conversation she was having to continue. After all, Aislyn was plenty interested in getting to know the woman, though the woman getting to know Aislyn was a different story entirely. She would much prefer to keep her privacy, thank-you-very-much, but the allure of curiosity was a strong one to beat. ”You can start, then.”

Intending on finishing what was left in her canteen, Aislyn took a long sip. A sip that was, however, interrupted by something hard and small lodging itself in the back of her throat. Her hand reflexively went to her mouth, a cough escaping her lips in an action that only succeeded in the accidental swallowing of the object. There was a brief moment of surprise before her eyes were drawn down to the small platter in which two small pills with matching glasses of water had been previously laid a few moments prior.

Both white circles were evidently missing, the glasses of water both untouched. ”You-”

Aislyn coughed again, pushing back towards the darkened corner that had once seemed so seclusive. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and it took several very long ticks for the illusionist to fully comprehend what had happened. The woman had slipped whatever drug she had ordered into Aislyn’s drink at some point in time- Ionu only knew when- and Aislyn hadn’t even noticed. Not only that, but both of the drugs were missing, implying that she hadn't just been dosed, but overdosed. Dropping the canteen- now devoid of its contents- the illusionist fumbled for her bag. Already, something pulled at the edge of her vision, as if she had stood up too fast and the blood had rushed to her head.
She had to hand it to the Unnayme- their drugs worked fast.
Instead of her bag, Aislyn’s fingers found their way to the sheathed knife attached at her thigh. ‘Thief’ carried it everywhere after the events of the Winter War. There was no reason to, said some naïve part of her. Yet time and time again Alvadas had proven that there was every reason to.

”You bitch,” Aislyn drew the knife, bluntly pointing it in Madeira’s general direction. It was more of a warning than a threat, her voice never rising above more than a hushed tone. She couldn’t draw attention to herself- not with whatever it was Madeira had dosed her with actively taking its toll- and, for the moment, it seemed no one had noticed. She just had to leave before the situation got any worse, and preferably without anyone following her.

Easier said than done.

[Madeira Dusk]

With the tea gone, and a knife pulled on her seemingly out of thin air, Madeira was slammed back into sobriety. And once sobriety had punched a hole straight into her brain, reality began to trickle in, along with a wave of regret.
 
By the gods, she just drugged this woman.
 
Why the petch did she just drug this woman?
 
The hazy feeling of comfortable camaraderie had left with that pleasant headrush. She no longer felt any notions of friendship towards this woman. But with the realization of what she had done there was a powerful feeling of guilt and responsibility towards her as unyielding as iron chains. She had to take care of this knife-wielding crazy person, or suffer a lifetime of soul wrenching guilt.
 
The Spiritist raised her hands in a pacifying gesture. "I'm sorry", she whispered, looking spuriously over her shoulder to check that the rest of the patrons remained oblivious to the drama unfolding in the shadowy corner of the little shop. "You're hallucinating. Let me take you to Ionu's Mercy, ok? Come on now, if you stab me you'll never make it there by yourself" she hissed imploringly at her.
 
Then, trying to take advantage of Khayal while she was still reeling, Madeira shot her hand out to grab the woman's wrist and try to wrestle the knife away from her. With the other hand she had the small woman by the shoulder and was trying to haul her to her feet.
 
At that point Dreams felt the need to investigate. His soft voice rolled over the both of them, showing no change in tone or inflection from when he was serving tea, to watching two women wrestle with each other in his shop.
 
"Ladies, is there a problem?"

[Aislyn Leavold]

A Crisis of Dreams
52nd of Fall, 516 AV
Eighteenth Bell

Aislyn’s back hit the wall far sooner than she would have liked. She was trapped. Ionu preserve her, she was trapped. Eyes darting about, Aislyn felt something tugging at her, like flames darting at the edge of her vision that she couldn’t quite see. Suddenly she couldn’t focus on the woman, couldn’t focus on her apologies and sudden pacifism.

”I’m not- I’m not hallucinating-” Even as she said it, Aislyn knew the operative word she was missing was yet. Her last accidental drug trip had led her into a hallucination she didn’t much want to return to, and that was when she knew what, exactly, she had ingested. Now she was blind, and in an even worse situation than before. The flames at the edge of her vision began to manifest into her line of sight, eating into the walls and the floor. Then something grabbed her wrist, and Aislyn looked back to find something grotesque pulling at her arm. There had been rumors- in the last season, in summer, even in the early days of fall- the undead were returning. A rotting, holed hand with sharpened fingernails dug into her arm, trying to pull her knife- her only defense- away from her.
Aislyn felt her pulse in her throat. ”They’re back.”

Her knuckles white around the handle of the blade, Aislyn tried to pull back, her back once again striking against the corner she was backed into. Then there was another voice, and Aislyn tried to remind herself of where she was. It wasn’t real. None of this was real. Someone had noticed what was going on, and being noticed was precisely what Aislyn did not want happening at that moment. She had to get out. She wanted to disappear. She had to disappear.

It occurred to Aislyn that she could, quite possibly, do just that.

In the other-Alvadas, she had done it. To escape the undead, she had created an illusion not of a person, but of a lack thereof. The opposite of her usual everyday existence, not a different face, but no face at all. It had fooled the dead, why wouldn't it fool the living? The time in the other-Alvadas had been the only time Aislyn had ever attempted invisibility, and that had only been visually. She had never made her nothingness tangible in the same way it was visual. But now she had two marks of illusionism, and she didn’t just want to disappear, she wanted to be completely and utterly gone. Maybe if the man didn’t see it- maybe if he didn’t see her disappear. Maybe just Madeira. Then the woman would leave her alone. She just needed the man to go away. She'd create an illusion only Madeira could see- of nothingness. Nothing to see, nothing to feel. Then she'd be okay.

”There’s… No problem.” There was no problem. There was no Aislyn. Nothing. Not just Maya, not just Thief, but nothing. Nothing in the corner, nothing in Madeira’s hands. No knife, no drugs, no hallucinations.

Closing her eyes, Aislyn tried to pull herself back to the floor, away from Madeira. If she didn’t look, she wouldn’t see anything. Then Madeira wouldn’t see anything, and the man would go away. Everything would be fine. There was nothing in the corner. There was no one in the corner. There was nothing in the corner, and that nothing would remain in the corner until it was safe to leave, and then that nothing would go home and pretend nothing ever happened. That nothing would most certainly not go to Ionu’s Mercy, and that nothing would be fine. Even if she couldn’t breathe, if she was shaking, if she most definitely had a panic attack coming on, even if it probably, most likely, would not be fine, it would be fine. Everything would be fine.

Eventually.

[Madeira Dusk]

Huh.
 
Madeira dropped what she was holding. Which was nothing. What was she holding?
 
She brought her open hand to her face like she might find something hidden in the creases of her palm. Her pale brow furrowed over her clear eyes, and she checked that the pill was still in the collar of her dress. It was.
 
Huh.
 
Dreams behind her nodded to the empty corner of the booth, then looked to Madeira with the same gentle non-expression he seemed to always carry with him.
 
"And you, Miss Craven? Is everything alright?"
 
"Yes, sorry. I think I might have just drugged an illusion." Either that, or the mysterious dark-haired woman had teleported away. Neither was impossible. But either way she was miffed that Ionu would play such a cruel trick on her. Either the woman never existed, in which case she got worked up over nothing, or if she did, Khayla was just catapulted to Ionu-knows-where alone and actively hallucinating.
 
Dreams's eyes slid over to the Khayal, who was very much visible, and was cringing into the cushions of the floor. He had seen enough drug trips to smell a brewing crisis. Something he did not need in his shop, ruining the experiences of his other customers. 
 
"I must insist that your two take yourselves outside. A walk through the city will sooth the effects. Ease yourself into it, and you could have a truly wonderful experience."
 
Dreams bowed to her, then, oddly, to the empty corner. Madeira was left sitting there as he left, her empty hands now folded neatly in her lap.
 
Huh.
 
She look again to the empty cushions beside her. Something was wrong here. That sense of intuition was not something the native Avalad had the opportunity to exercise often, but there was very much something off about the whole experience. Specifically, why their server was acting like she wasn't alone. Now, she couldn't rule out that the man was high himself. And shared illusions were as common as a head cold in this city. But if they were seeing two different things...
 
Her eyes drifted to the empty little earthenware cup. The sandy dregs of the dark green tea still glistened in the bottom. With a slow kind of epiphany, Madeira's eyes flicked from the empty cup, two the two full glasses of water, and the two missing pills.
 
Her hand flew to her throat and fumbled the white pill out of her dress. If she had one pill, and she fed the second pill to something that wasn't real, what happened to the second pill?
 
Her eyes slowly rolled back to the empty cup.
 
By the gods. Did she drug herself?!
 
A bubbling, almost mad kind of laughter rose from her chest. This was too much. She was going to go home. Right now. She was going to go home and sleep and never tell another soul about her night in the Unnayme.
 
"Behold, Madeira Craven" she whispered to herself, her head in her hands and her body rocking with suppressed laughter. "Ghost hunter, spiritist legacy, idiot."
 
The other patrons, even those giggling nonsensically to themselves, or having their own low conversations, had turned to actively stare at the strange couple in the corner. Taking this as her cue, Madeira got to her feet, swept her palms down her skirt, and breezed to the door with her back straight and her head high. She pulled the green door open and the wind swept in, burning fresh air into her lungs. Out on the street a herd of what looked to be sentient books thundered past, reciting limericks and prose and catchy dialogue in a cacophony of disjointed voices.
 
If she had indeed drugged herself, how would she ever know for sure?
 
The skinny teenager shook her head like a dog trying to clear water out of it's ears. With a set look on her face, she picked a direction at random and started walking.