one of the many chapters

...a quiet evening at the fortress [part 2] in which Aaniah visits the oracle and tells him about the only clue she has to her lost memory:

„Every night I have this dream, and it's reminding me how lost I am, because there are so many events happening around me, things that don't seem to matter, and I don't manage to fit in. I feel like waiting for something to happen, something to come and break the silence. In my dream, I am looking at my own reflection in the river, standing on the edge of a cliff. I see someone that resembles me, but I don't recognize myself. Then, I feel fear, which is a very misteryous feeling for me, a feeling I don't recall knowing in the real life. I turn around, but I see nothing but the endless darkness of the forest. And then, without any hesitation, I jump. As I dive into the icy coldness of the water, I remain perfectly aware of the fact that I am about to drown, but I suddenly feel no fear, and I open my eyes and see how the moonlights fade away as I am sinking deeper and deeper, the water surrounding me from everywhere. I feel its coldness, and its familiar taste confuses me as my last breathe of air fades, and I begin to suffocate, slowly and motionless.”

„Is this the reason you seemed to be so distracted lately?” He was curious, and yet, not surprised.

„It's true that the meaning of my dream has clearly influenced my dedication towards... everything. But now I finnaly came to understand, when if not completely, at least partially, it's true purpose, and that is reminding me the need of escape. I need to get out of the fortress, to seek further.”

„I was affraid you will sooner or later realise this, that your path will lead you beyond these walls, there, where the wildness rules over the unknown. You are so young, and I admire youre courage of telling me your intentions. And I understand now that you have come to ask me about a way to leave this place.”

„I know that my whole life so far, the life I can remember, is bound to this place, and to these people. And I own them everything I am so far, but I am convinced that somewhere out there are lieing pieces of me that I to find. My past, my purpose, my identity. I find no reason to stay, and know no way to leave. So yes, I ask for your help.”

„Then follow me”, he said.

one of the many chapters

at a certain point in your life
probably when too much of it hase gone by,
you will open your eyes and see yourself for who you are
especially for everything that made you so different
from all of the awful normals

...a quiet evening at the fortress in which a girl wakes up in a place forgotten by time.

The room enlighted by the sheer sunrays trickeling trough the tall windows, the cold faded blue-gray stonewalls forming a perfect circle, the fountain, on whose edge she sat, it all seemed to be part of a painting. A mystical painting wich seemed to be ageless, and in the center of all, there she was, standing in the middle of the room, her long ivory hair reaching the ground.

Her presence was undoubtable, yet, she wasn't there. Her gaze reached into the wilderness and cried for a nameless freedom, a pure desire of escape was crawling trough her veins and into her soul. The more deeper she sank into her thaughts, the more unbearable became the silence around her. Wildflowers were growing over the circular collumns, invading the room with twisting scents, the atmosphere was becoming unbearable while the fireflies were gathering to celebrate another sundown.

„You still can't remember anything?”
The oracle approached her with slow steps. Small of height but not short, bald and wearing a long lighten togue, he seemed to be floating in all his graceless elegance. He seemd to be neither dead, nor alive, and his precence gave her a feeling of lucid dream. A rather unique being, the oracle was known for his capability to enlighten those who seek guidance, by any mysterious way he'd like to use upon them, either trick or decieval, alltough his judgement was not to question. He once had a great influence at the royal court, but had to withdraw under suspicious circumstances, reason for he had left the capital in secrecy, seeking refugee behind the safe walls of the fortress, where he had planned to remain for the rest of his countless days.
No one knew for shore if his presence had brought any benefit to the fortress, neither did anyone know if he should be feard or trusted. Apart from this, Aaniah had a constant feeling that the oracle could somehow help her regain her lost memories. After all, he was an oracle, a mediator between the gods and the mortals. But his intentions seemed to be questionable.

She looked into his empty eyes and answered:
„There's a part of me, a part I'm trying to discover with each passing day, but it all seems to be unreachable, as if my memories were locked away and I'm forcing myself to remember, but no matter how hard I try, something blocks my way...”
A sheer sigh escaped her.
Three years have passed since she awoke at the fortress, having no memories from before, only the constat feeling of being under a spell...

clocks ticked but time did not pass
the sun rose and the sun set
but the shadows remained
when once there was sound, now there was silence
what once was whole, is now shattered

INTRO ...pentru cunoscatori.

...si in cele din urma m-am decis sa scriu...

ideea de la care pornise totul:
mdah.o provocare serioasa, si in acelasi timp patetica, avand in vedere ca ideea in sine ma chinuie de nenumarate zile [si nopti], si prima data cand i-am povestit-o cuiva, odata in Zorki, [Iza nu cred ca iti mai amintesti da nu-i bai :p], am ramas surprinsa de cum am rezistat atata timp fara sa zic cuiva.
stii, sentimentul ala de vinovatie ce rugineste in tine si te roade la stomac ca setea de a doua zi de dupa betie, sau ca un secret ce iti taie constiinta bucata cu bucata. da, asa eram.
cu ceva timp in urma, vorbesc de luni, poate chiar ani, oricum, pe atunci eram intr-o stare profunda de atemporalitate, imi veni mie inspiratia sa scriu ditamai povestirea.
si zic asta pentru ca nu era genul de senzatie artistica, ca atuncea cand te trazneste inspiratia si you've got to do something about it ca de nu, viata-si pierde sensul. nu, nu era deloc asa. caci ideea, in cea mai pura si nerafinata stare, veni la mine asemenea unei scrisori ce-au controlat-o comunistii: un puzzle de analogii adunate de ici de colo, depinde cum ma inspira si pe mine ambientul, si acestea, puse cap la cap si legate cu insusi firul vietii mele [viata asta macar sa te inspire daca altceva nu face... da, mentalitate de 18 ani ce sa zic], toate acestea au degenerat in idee.
dupa cum vezi, "vorba multa, saracia omului" nu se prea aplica la mine, caci odata nascuta, ideea incepuse sa-si formeze radacini si pasaje prin creierul meu, influentandu-mi, paremi-se, gandirea, sau sa fi fost gandirea-mi cea care o directiona? oricum, a fost ceva mutual, de genul "viata bate filmul", doar ca in cazul meu era "viata bate ideea".
adica, hai sa fim sinceri: in ultimii doi ani am incercat sa o dezvolt, sa o cultiv, dar ea a ramas stagnanta acolo, in neantul materiei mele cenusii, datorita faptului ca nu am avut un motiv sa o transpun intr-un cuvant.

bine, poate stii ca eu desenez.
si cred ca asta a fost de altfel si scuza mea principala pentru care nu am lasat ideea sa se dezlantuie, nu, am schitat-o doar. si asta deoarece atunci cand desenez, eu nu folosesti linii impuse de vre-un criteriu, precum sunt cuvintele impuse de un vocabular. de aceea mi-a fost mai usor sa desenez. si, desi majoritatea desenelor mele nu sunt foarte complicate sau iesite din comun, eu, uitandu-ma la ele, am realizat ca simplele linii trasate dupa cum ma taie pe mine capul nu reprezinta in totalitate ceea ce vreau eu sa exprim defapt. nu puteam sa trec dincolo de ele, sa creez ceva mai mult decat o reprezentare fizica a unui personaj, fie el fantasy sau nu, dar nu, nu puteam sa ii dau individualitatea pe care o merita.
si, intorcandu-ma la primele randuri ale INTRO-ului scris pe sleau, mai subtil, ce-i drept, am incercat sa ma dezbrac de tiparuri; intr-adevar, mi-a fost frica sa ma apuc sa scriu dupa un tipar, sa scriu asa incat sa ma inteleaga majoritatea, insa am stat si m-am gandit, si am ajuns la urmatoarea concluzie: ideea e o reprezentare a individualitatii mele, eu incercand-o sa o redau prin desen sau muzica, [cant la pian. dar deja stiai asta] si acum prin scris. cel putin, voi incerca. si sper ca ma va ajuta sa keep it all real, acuma, ca ma aflu in epicentrul cliseului de clasa a 12-a. nu regret ca am ezitat de nenumarate ori pana acuma, ci privesc inainte spre progres. si sper, ca ideea mea va progresa, cu ajutorul criticilor tale, desigur :D. si chiar daca nu ma prea stiu la scris, trebuie s-o fac, pentru ca am incredere in cei care m-au indemnat s-o fac. si, totodata, vreau sa-mi inving teama de mine insumi. ma opresc aici cu detalile, care si asa au fost insuficiente, dar trebuie sa mentin si eu suspansul cumva, nu?