A subtle sketch, only a thread that lays out a silhouette separating darkness from darkness - a sharp feather with white, almost shining paint slides through the dried ink of the night. Gradually, the flesh gradually builds up, becomes tangible, and receives a face and voice. I see a young and beautiful woman standing before me, the creation of night, smiling, and dying stars drowning in my eyes.
- Who are you? I'm not the one asking the question, she's the one who speaks, not to me, but to herself. She doesn't know the difference between "I" and "you" yet. - Who... you? - Now she's looking at me, and the pause, the subtlest moment of aspiration between "who" and "you", makes it clear that she has finally separated one from the other.
- Your guide," I find the answer, though now we're both in a sleeping state where no one can lead, because the dream is not created by either of us, but exists somewhere outside. Only we are in it.
But she accepts my answer, nods, puts her palm on her chest.
- And I, - and this gesture is actually meant to emphasize her self-consciousness once again - am young.
- And beautiful - I nod. Such a name here and now is more than enough for her. And she doesn't need to know my name.
Now we go through almost unchanging spaces of sleep. We walk next to each other, but not together, and the world around us gives almost no answers. The young woman is silent, she is new, but she doesn't notice the interest in her eyes - when real stars are dying inside you, curiosity can only be quite out of line.
- Why here? - she finally asks. We stand on a cliff that falls into the dark. At the bottom, there is probably water, a deep darkness in which everything will drown, even the dream itself.
- Why not?
My answer is to become this dream. And I'm starting to dissolve here myself, I'm almost not here, and why would I be here? Someone pulled me into a dreamy reality and forgot why.
- Because there was no light? - She doesn't ask, doesn't answer, but at the end of her sentence, a question mark is too clearly drawn. It sounds like a little bit of a fake note. She's here because she can't ask questions, now I know it.
- The stars are also light," I hint. Above us, the dome of the starry sky falls apart, breaks and crumbles, starts to spin and fall in fine sand, snow, shards of stars.
Here comes the dawn.
On her lips, you can read the unspoken "What is it?
The dawn is for her first time. The night was also the first night, but Young herself is part of the night. But the rising sun is something completely new.
- The sunrise is not my voice. I turn around to see the Snow Witness hiding in the clouds.
A whimsical creator here, but modesty is even good.
- The sun," she repeats, "is the best way to remember. She throws her hands apart, suddenly gaining wings too. It's just hard for her to understand how to turn them around, how to catch the dawn wind.
Now I'm retreating into the shadows. I have nothing to do here.
I wake up.
I wonder if Snow Witness has the strength to give her life...
Somewhere they beat the clock, demanding four in the morning. And you can try to fall asleep again, but instead, I go up and go to the kitchen - to brew coffee, dream of the first dawn, feed early breakfast suddenly knocked on the light of the worlds. Routine, so pleasant and soothing.
When I turn to the table with the coffee pot, suddenly I see it at the door. She looks back embarrassed, having lost that sudden omniscience which prevented the sprouts of curiosity from breaking through.
- Are you here? - I am surprised myself.
- Yes, - she sits down at the table, nods silently on the cup. Of course, my portion of coffee is not mine anymore.
- Did you let go? - I ask to understand at least a little bit how it is connected with Snow Witness.
- She ran away," she grins. And I understand why she had wings.
The dreamer did everything right. Inside, she even throws her head in a soft desire to meet him again. In his worlds or mine, on the roads among the hills, on the coast or even in the city, why not. But how can I ask him out?
She drinks coffee, thoughtfully considering the translucent sphere: a newborn world has swum into the kitchen with a soap bubble. In it the lights wink - the tiny sun, the small moon...
- Does the sun know how to make dawn, too? - clarifies Young. - How funny.
- You can check - I beckon the world to myself, he approaches, thinks, and then settles down on my lap.
- How do I get there, I mean... - she looks at her palm - the sun, inside the sphere, is smaller than her smallest nail.
- It's easy if you want to.
She looks so distrustful that even though I would like to be in her company for a little longer, I still send her to this world. However, dawn will definitely come there.
When it's morning time and the sleepy city lets the smoke out with a sigh into the bright sky, I fall asleep again, even if only for five minutes.
A dreamer stands next to me, in white. His eyes are full of stars and flashes.
- Hello," he said.
And I, who lost my voice, smile.