injured

The first time I almost died, my friend--arguably the only real friend I had in the whole ragtag lot of us--gave me a charm to keep me safe. That night I had a strange, beautiful dream, full of doors leading to a world more beautiful than my mind could comprehend. All I remember of that world is my emotion upon seeing it, an overpowering sadness that I could only access it in dreams. I awoke the following morning in tears, still overwhelmed with the sorrow and beauty of it all. And for some reason, I could only glimpse the world these doors led to.

The dream lingered in my mind through the day, distracting me from the thoughts I should have been having, like the fact that I felt much better than I had previously, far better than a single night's rest should have been able to accomplish. And more importantly, it made me forget about the charm. I still wore it, of course, because it was a gift from a friend, but nothing else about it struck me as noteworthy.

Two things changed from that point on: every now and then I'd have some variation on that dream--never exactly the same, but always just as powerful as the first time; and I seemed to bear a charmed life. Every time I should have taken serious injury, whether due to my own mistakes or some misfortune, I somehow escaped . . . if not entirely unharmed, then at least with less harm than I ought to have taken.

I came to rely on it, without entirely realizing it. I could use it to protect my comrades, to keep everyone safe, to make sure we all made it through to the end. It seemed important, somehow, as if maybe if everyone made it out alive I could finally access the beautiful world of my dreams.

I couldn't, of course, and as the years wore on I found that the charm didn't extend to my friends and allies. Sometimes, no matter how I tried, I couldn't protect them. And every time I'd walk away and wonder why I had been spared, what I was supposed to see, or do, or if it wasn't just there to torment me.

It was years later that I finally ran into my friend again, and from the look in her eyes they had been no kinder to her than they were to me. She smiled when she saw the charm, though. "I'm glad it's kept you safe all these years." And like a spell being broken, I remembered. A few weeks later I met a traveler who still had the spirit to fight, and gave her the charm--"For good luck on the road," I told her. "It's kept me safe over the years, but the fight's gone out of me." She smiled, and thanked me, and continued on her way.

The dream never changed. Every time I had it, I would awake with the conviction that there was something vast and beautiful out there that would be forever beyond my reach. But there was a hope behind the sorrow now. This world didn't seem quite so bleak as it once did.