Heir To The Iron Crown: Dyrith

43 - Fjörutíu og þrír

I had questions.

But not enough answers.

Everything seemed surreal. Unreal.

Perhaps, I was losing my mind, and I was actually sitting in a mental institution right now, for having narrated the inexplicable events that had just taken place.

But everything that happened was vivid in my mind, regardless of how physically real they were. Or weren't.

My head hurt.

I opened my eyes, and yet again, was in a space that I knew for a fact, was still a figment of my imagination.

Yet this time, I didn't feel unease.
I didn't feel confused.

I was in familiar territory now.

The wide expanse of green grass, lay out before me, and I knew the cottage was standing behind where I stood.

The wind was rushing towards me, pulling my hair back with it, and it felt good.

It was probably the only thing that did. The cool air against my burning skin.

I needed more.
I needed to feel more, than just this rush of air.

I needed to conjure the emotions that were piling up somewhere in the back of my mind, but were somehow suppressed at the moment. Subdued in the numbness of my dreaming, subconscious state.

I looked at the grassy spot in front of me, and willed a daisy there.

The yellow blossom had seemed to become my signature now.

It broke through the grass, as tall as it could grow, standing almost straight, bent slightly in my direction, as if in submission.

I willed another, it's brother, and a bright yellow daisy made its way beside the first.

I willed another yet again, till the happiness of finding myself, my true nature spilled through, and I began to run in no particular direction, the daisies popping up everywhere I looked.

But there was more.

Flowers of every kind that I could imagine, were popping up in my path, all waiting for my instructions, but I had none except that they must exist as an outlet for my stormy emotions.

Then, the tiniest speck of anger pushed through at the reminder of my current predicament, and I stopped, looking down at my hand, which seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary.

I lifted it, the same way I had done before, and willed again, but this time, a flower did not show.

Instead, a dark, thorny vine erupted from the ground, slowly at first, like a cautious snake. My pessimism had birthed a powerful weed that seemed to have no regard for any of its brethren beside it.

It was my Jörmungandr, and I controlled it.

I willed another, its brother, and another terrible serpentine vine made its way to the surface.

I willed another yet again, till the anger I felt inside started to drip through the edges of the vessel that was my mind, and I realized I had nothing left to fight for, and everything left to destroy.

The vines were viscious, terrifying, beautiful.

I started creating more of them, just out of pure rage, or perhaps as an act to try and understand what it meant to be a Dryad, and if I really was one.

Or was that fake too?

I began to circle in my spot, watching my creations look like an odd bunch created by the two extremes of my personality.