Recognition 

What is ours to do

 

Cassandra knows this place.

She's been coming here for longer than

she can remember.

Perhaps longer than that.

It's hers.

Or at least Cassandra has always

thought so.

 

There are places we know without quite

knowing how.

Places that feel more familiar than

some of the ones we actually live in.

Cassandra has one of those.

She hasn't visited for a while.

Today, she's going back.

Let's follow.

A tale of water

 

I knew the place better than anything

else. A spiral staircase descending into

endless dark.

Water traced the walls - I could never

tell if it was tears or summer rain.

As always, my steps became lighter the

more I moved.

 

At the bottom, the air thickened. An

abyss opened on the left - a dark

maelstrom where perhaps everything

that ever existed ends or started. It was

hard to tell. To the right, a door.

Wooden, old, smelling of burnt

possibilities and fresh soil.

It was covered in symbols and fractals -

old runes and things without names.

 

A step and I was there. A garden - yet

more than a garden. Every landscape,

even ones unseen, seemed to stretch

across the horizon, and at its heart,

where I stood, bloomed a wild, untamed

sanctuary.

Soft green hills rose and fell, bordered

by trees older than memory.

I walked slowly through the flowers and

grass and I could name them all by

heart.

It was peaceful here - a beauty that

cracked a heart open. Nearly

unbearable to behold.

Longing made touchable.

It wrapped around me like silk, clinging

like a second skin - terrifying and

tender all at once.

 

I felt it before I saw it. Forgotten

memories walked this place in flesh, like

me. Some ancient.

Some I had never met before. Some I

knew too well. As I moved forward, a few

tried to speak to me, but today,

I would not listen to the tales they had

to tell. Today was a walk long overdue.

 

Finally, I reached the lake - the one I

had bathed in long ago, when a full

moon wrapped in eclipse

had granted me permission, to be

cleansed by its waters. The dark-blue

surface rippled softly, then faster.

Something was moving toward the

light. I saw a hand first - pale skin, silver

rings - then the rest appeared,

and she was there. Clothed in midnight

blue, droplets forming a tiara. Her eyes

were the same deep blue as the lake.

“You came,” she said, her voice like

water running over smooth stones.

I nodded, unable to look away.

“Yes,” I whispered. “I came - late,

as you called me years ago.”

She smiled.

“There is no time here. You know that.”

 

My eyes softened automatically when I

looked at her. “Why did you call me?”

I asked, almost shy - not a trait I’m

known for.

She tilted her head. “You walked the

trials and crossed the threshold,” she

said with her soft voice.

I gasped for air. “Yes,” I whispered.

“And I wrote it all down.”

 

“A wise decision,” she replied with a

knowing smile. “In case you ever run

away again - these words bind you now.

There is no going back.” She paused,

her tone half amused. “As you should

know by now.”

 

I looked at her with a crooked smile,

waiting for what would follow. 

“Your soul grew here,” she said.

“This was your sanctum.”

She gestured to the garden and its

vastness.

“Now you must open it.”

 

My heart stopped for a moment.

“Open it?” I echoed, fear threading

through my voice.

“Yes,” she said, voice warm and

compassionate.

 

“You built this over a very long time -

each flower, every cloud, every star.

Even every droplet.”

She lifted her hand, and water fell into

the lake. “But this is a place of solitude

and imagination and when you walked

behind the veil, it already began to

vanish at the edges.” Her gaze stayed

steady on mine.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “It can’t

vanish - and if it does, I’ll build it anew.”

 

She chuckled softly, a sound like waves

kissing the shore. “You know how this

place was made?

It’s built from your feelings - a mirror of

your soul. And your soul has changed

now.”

Her voice grew tender. “You must open

it to others, or it will crumble.”

I stood there, whispering, “Like me.”

Instead of answering, she brushed my

cheek with her hand. My sigh was deep.

“How can I open the borders?” I asked.

 

“He knows,” she said, and nodded

toward a silhouette on the horizon.

I turned and saw him - a dark shape

against a twilight sky with two moons.

Still, silent, eternal - mine. More than a

guardian of Thresholds.

Observing, waiting.

 

 

My gaze returned to her. 

“Are you like him?” I asked.

She laughed - silver light dancing on

water. “No,” she said.

“I am what you could be.”

I stared, trying to fathom her words,

then looked back at the dark

silhouette.

“I don’t understand,” I murmured. She

smiled gently. “You will - as will he.”

 

The lake rippled again. With a final look

and a bright smile, she whispered:

“That’s the power of stories - your

stories. They became true. And even

old places like this bow to such power

and greet the one who shaped them

anew. It is rare, but it happens.

"Use it wisely, daughter.” Her voice

softened like the fading tide.

“These places exist since the beginning.

But all must go where they belong, or

they fall - as others written in your

human myths before.

So choose wisely - and break the seal

of the door. All else - he knows.”

 

Then she slowly descended back into

the lake. I watched until the surface

grew still.

Then I looked toward the silhouette -

still standing there, watching. Finally, I

stood and walked slowly back to the

door.

The runes and fractals swirled as I

broke the seal. I didn’t look back.

I didn’t need to.

I moved upward, step by step, knowing

where I would find him.

For the first time, my steps were lighter

when I moved away from the wooden

door.

 

There is no time here.

An interesting claim.

We'll leave it at that.

Cassandra came because she

was called.

Late, according to her.

Apparently not, according to the

woman in the water.

More importantly, she leaves knowing

what she has to do.

Not why.

Not what will happen when she does.

That would be asking rather a lot.

 

She knows enough.

Break the seal.

Open the door.

And so she does.

 

There is still the woman in the water.

The figure on the horizon.

And a few rather curious things said

about stories.

They can wait.

Cassandra doesn't look back.

She knows where she's going.

For now, that's enough.