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multidisciplinary) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
dreamcrystals2024-02-03 08:35 am
multidisciplinary) wrote in dreamcrystals2024-02-03 08:35 am
sixth dream 🌻 the well-worn hair band
Sender: Zelda
To: Everyone
Subject: Passive dream recording
This dream is a simple one, focused not on some grand event or terrible disaster, but on a single blue hairband lying innocuously on top of a wooden desk.
Some dreamers might recognize the hair tie as the same type Link wears, but others will think nothing of it. It's just a ratty old hair tie, its fabric worn and discolored with age, its elastic completely stretched out. It's nothing special.
And yet, you gaze upon it with such deep fondness that a wistful sigh slips from your lips.
It's actually very special, this hair tie. It's your own little treasure, rescued from the waste paper bin one afternoon when you spotted it there and then ordered him out of the house. You claimed you needed silence to concentrate on your work, but that was only half true. (But you still made certain to fill the basket with enough crumpled up paper to look like you worked hard in his absence.)
You sit at your desk, resting your chin against one hand, as you idly roll the worn out hair tie between your fingers. For some reason, fidgeting with it helps you think.
But it also helps you to daydream (especially when you hold it up to your nose, because it still smells like his hair).
You loop it around your wrist and lift your hand, watching it dangle loosely like a bracelet. Could you get away with wearing it like this? You've seen other girls wear hair ties around their wrists; surely you wouldn't look so out of place doing that too.
...Except that you've cropped your hair and it's too short to be pulled back into a ponytail, so why would you need a hair tie readily available? Someone is bound to notice that flaw in logic sooner or later.
You shake your wrist vigorously until the hair tie falls off. Then you pick it up again. You flip it back and forth between your fingers. A silly idea intrudes in your mind... No, don't be ridiculous, you're a princess, a woman grown...
And yet...
You loop and twist the hair tie around your ring finger on your left hand, your heartbeat quickening with each loop and twist, until it fits more-or-less snug around your finger. You hold out your hand and spread your fingers, examining the way it looks on your finger...
Goddess, this is silly. You're being silly.
And yet—
A noise overhead startles you, making you jump in your seat. You hear the dull thumping of footsteps above your head, the sounds of someone walking over your subterranean secret place. Quick as a flash, you yank the hair band off your finger and shove it into a box beside your desk. Your heart is racing as you slam down the lid. Silly, foolish, ridiculous! It's just an old hair tie, nothing special. Nothing to get so worked up over.
And yet, you can't calm the flutter in your heart.
A voice—his voice—calls your name from above and it echoes down the well, the entrance to your secret place.
You flatten your hands on the table and take in a deep, shuddering breath, trying to compose yourself. Enough of these fancies. There's no place in your life for them. You have work to do. A kingdom won't rebuild itself!
The dream abruptly ends as you push away from the desk and get to your feet.
To: Everyone
Subject: Passive dream recording
This dream is a simple one, focused not on some grand event or terrible disaster, but on a single blue hairband lying innocuously on top of a wooden desk.
Some dreamers might recognize the hair tie as the same type Link wears, but others will think nothing of it. It's just a ratty old hair tie, its fabric worn and discolored with age, its elastic completely stretched out. It's nothing special.
And yet, you gaze upon it with such deep fondness that a wistful sigh slips from your lips.
It's actually very special, this hair tie. It's your own little treasure, rescued from the waste paper bin one afternoon when you spotted it there and then ordered him out of the house. You claimed you needed silence to concentrate on your work, but that was only half true. (But you still made certain to fill the basket with enough crumpled up paper to look like you worked hard in his absence.)
You sit at your desk, resting your chin against one hand, as you idly roll the worn out hair tie between your fingers. For some reason, fidgeting with it helps you think.
But it also helps you to daydream (especially when you hold it up to your nose, because it still smells like his hair).
You loop it around your wrist and lift your hand, watching it dangle loosely like a bracelet. Could you get away with wearing it like this? You've seen other girls wear hair ties around their wrists; surely you wouldn't look so out of place doing that too.
...Except that you've cropped your hair and it's too short to be pulled back into a ponytail, so why would you need a hair tie readily available? Someone is bound to notice that flaw in logic sooner or later.
You shake your wrist vigorously until the hair tie falls off. Then you pick it up again. You flip it back and forth between your fingers. A silly idea intrudes in your mind... No, don't be ridiculous, you're a princess, a woman grown...
And yet...
You loop and twist the hair tie around your ring finger on your left hand, your heartbeat quickening with each loop and twist, until it fits more-or-less snug around your finger. You hold out your hand and spread your fingers, examining the way it looks on your finger...
Goddess, this is silly. You're being silly.
And yet—
A noise overhead startles you, making you jump in your seat. You hear the dull thumping of footsteps above your head, the sounds of someone walking over your subterranean secret place. Quick as a flash, you yank the hair band off your finger and shove it into a box beside your desk. Your heart is racing as you slam down the lid. Silly, foolish, ridiculous! It's just an old hair tie, nothing special. Nothing to get so worked up over.
And yet, you can't calm the flutter in your heart.
A voice—his voice—calls your name from above and it echoes down the well, the entrance to your secret place.
You flatten your hands on the table and take in a deep, shuddering breath, trying to compose yourself. Enough of these fancies. There's no place in your life for them. You have work to do. A kingdom won't rebuild itself!
The dream abruptly ends as you push away from the desk and get to your feet.