I dreamed of being cared for, groggy,
passing back and forth between awareness of the barn and of my waking-life bed,
on one of those thin-sleep nights, not quite rested enough in either
world. Narcoleptics sleep a lot, but we
sleep lightly, often too lightly–and then make up for it with falling asleep by
day. Some nights we skip across the
surface of sleep like a stone across a pond.
But we also often skip several intermediary steps between waking and dreaming,
so sometimes the two blend together.
Though mostly made up to fill in gaps,
I did dream of rites in the cellar of Toulin Academy. And I dreamed of being Jake, having knowledge
of that horrid relic there that shouldn’t even exist. And of being Randy, terrified of igniting
something while in an altered state.
The account of events in the cellar in
Vanikke just happened. But I know that
house from dreams, and I know that Zanne started to have neural difficulties in
roping her in to most of her friendclan, while all of them suffer
different forms of neural assault, would suffice to set it off.