I can barely remember the beginning. It involves a plane crash in the jungle. One wing caught in the canopy as our massive plane descended to the runway, and we span, flipped, crashed down into the darkness. Nobody was hurt, but the plane was split open like an overripe fruit. Everybody descended and headed out to find help, while I decided to stay behind and lie down in one of the aisles between the seats and gaze up at the stars.
Things shifted, changed.
A band of friends, trying to pass through a strange and stylized land. We were rogues, and the land was composed of talking walls, ancient and tumbling down inns, mountain passes and strange talking creatures. At one point we descended a broken cliff who’s face was adorned with the remnants of architectural details: part of a battlement, a winding stair, all at strange angles. Finally we reached the ground below, and found ourselves within the ruins of a vast dining hall.
Wandering forward, our guide lifted her hand and an enchantment fell upon the place, or was lifted; the tables were suddenly filled with dining guests, servers moved too and fro, dust and desolation disappeared and the place became filled with bustle and fire light. Delighted, my friends and I moved to a table, where we sat and gazed upon a wall of expensive bottles of drinks. Fine sake in ancient porcelain bottles filled the section before us, and we were greatly cheered by the prospect of a meal.
Unfortunately I had left my credit card at the previous place we had eaten, and so arose from the table to head back and retrieve it. It would be quicker returning then getting here had proved, because on the final part of the way down the cliff face a large staircase had shifted and lowered itself into an angle that allowed easy usage. Even as I arose people were climbing up the three concentric levels set against the far wall to use the stairs to climb aloft.
I joined the procession, eager to make my way and return, only to realize that there was a tour of sorts underway, composed of about fifty people who were climbing the stairs. The stairway widened, became a vast and curling thing, and a guide, Astarte, a beautiful young woman, was narrating how we were undertaking a quest. We moved as if in a dream, slowly and in flowing circles, past endless tables set up with chocolates and confectionary. Astarte indicated that we should try a few samples, and eagerly we began to take up small gourmet delicacies to try.
They were delicious! One was had glazed slivers of kiwi arrayed on the top like the face of a shattered clock. We moved along, slower and slower, till one by one each person stopped and began to simply gobble what was before them, not caring if they were picking sweets from the sample tray or not. I had manuevered myself so as to be standing behind Astarte, and told her that it was like being in the land of Faerie. No sense of past or future. Simply a sense of the now, of a desire to be glutted the could not be sated no matter how much we ate. Of beauty and enchantment, a forgetting of self as we pursued what we thought we most wanted.
She laughed, and moved away. I gave chase, sought to capture her. She burst out from each spell I cast, shining with white light as she did so.