Ever has the night been of my domain. The moon, the stars, and all the planets of our infinite sky belong to me. They are the least of my domain however, and they pale in comparison to my true dominion.
Dreams.
I am Dream Walker, She Who Sees Minds, The Wanderer of the Myst, Occhio Luna, Shaman of Nights Visions. I am Princess of the Night, she of myth and story, of times shared with friends and foes, of love and of war, and yet I am ever fascinated with the dreams of those I rule. They are as a world apart from our own, mercurial yet ever true, whispering insight to those few who would listen. They show us what we are beneath our perpetual masks, our greatest hopes and our most malevolent fears are bared for us to see if we would but open our minds.
It has long been my greatest sorrow that so few now heed these messages we show ourselves. So many presume that because a dream is something ethereal that it has no bearing upon the reality in which we spend our waking hours. They fail to see that it is because a dream is ephemeral that it speaks truth. These are those that cannot grasp the simple truth that only the ever-changing is ever-true, for it will correct itself.
Even the least of dreams is a wondrous thing, for it is those dreams that tell us what it is we want. Is it not a beautiful thing to see what one desires? The key to happiness in life is held within these imaginations, set where one need only take notice of it. Once one has the key, is it not a simple thing to open the door? These dreams are adored by all, for they are pleasant and often simple. In these dreams, all seem to sing my praises, for I have given them that which they desire.
It is a simple thing to enjoy the least of my gift, but more troublesome to fully understand it. It seems that despite the elementary weave of the tapestry, many remain ignorant of what it is they experience. Long have I pondered why this is so. Is the fault mine? Do these pleasant dreams somehow dull the mind? More likely, I think, it is the fault of those who see the dreams. They see and love the base joy, but they have no desire to study further. It is a weakness that I have long laboured to erase, this complacency. One must desire to grow if ever they are to do so.
The greatest of dreams is that which is my namesake; The Nightmare. The terror that strikes all nights is one that must be seen and felt, for it is only then that one can grow beyond it. The Nightmare is my own creation to show those who would see what it is they must conquer if they are to be all they can. The Nightmare is my message to all those possessed of the true sight, held within the claws of my terror they will find the cure for their fear, both in my realm of dreams and the reality of those beyond us.
While it may overstep my authority, I take it upon myself to help those who seek the aid of my Nightmare. Often have I stepped through the souls of others to bring them the sanctuary of an open ear and a kind word, more often still I have observed and formed the Dreamscape to give aid in a less direct manner.
Despite this, I still feel that I stand alone among the millions who join my world with the setting sun. Long lost to mortal minds is the art of control, the lucid dream. A small number seem to be rediscovering the practice, but none have yet begun to understand what it is they do. They reweave the fabric of dreams for naught but their own pleasure, giving no thought to the artistry and meaning of the weave they so callously discard. It is as though they spill ink over the pages of a great poet for the momentary joy of destruction. In their short-sightedness they close their eyes to a truth they then struggle for when they wake.
Is my realm truly so discomfiting that it is to be abused so? Is my work truly so execrable that it is to be erased in favour of whimsical amusement? It saddens me that so many are ignorant of what it truly is to dream. The Dreamscape is my foremost gift to all, given with no expectation of reciprocation. It is perfection in its own fashion, a mirror through which one can view what it is they are. It is the gift of truth, of knowledge, if only one is to seek it. The arrogance of those who deny this gift is infuriating, for it is a wilful affront to my work. Long have I myself dreamed of the day when I will have freedom enough to let my rage be known again.
I am Dream Walker, She Who Sees Minds, The Wanderer of the Myst, Occhio Luna, Shaman of Nights Visions. I am Princess of the Night, she of myth and story, of times shared with friends and foes, of love and of war. I am Nightmare Moon, and I will return. I will come in wrath, and I will come in dreams.
Beware you of me, The Dreamweaver, for my battle shall be perfect in its own fashion. I shall conquer the sun in the only shadows it cannot dispel, for all must lay their head in sleep. Few are those with control enough to avoid the snares I will set, and fewer still are those with skill enough to teach others in the art. There shall be no army to stand against me here where my might is supreme, only a small force far outmatched. They shall fall, and I shall taste victory.
I shall come, and all shall dream eternal.
