The theater curtains closed and we settled in for what I thought was sleep. Disappointment was getting easier to swallow and was becoming the favorite bedtime story. My mind was racing, and the exhaustion felt more like fried frizzled speed. I noticed Dye watching me, and he looked nervous, or concerned. It's so hard to tell with him. I tried not to look uncomfortable and sit there, but panic and self-doubt had its grip, and I couldn't free myself from its grasp. I heard Wizard speak softly and more profoundly than his usual high pitched stutter. I closed my eyes and did what he asked. That's when it happened.
Everything went white, the primer. The deep water of the mind isn't dark here, its white. It's the unimagined, the clean canvas. The white began to crack and streak giving away to soft handwritten poetry in red. Someone asked me to explain what I was seeing. I believe it was Dye. I told him about the poem and the white decay. Different spots of sheen and texture became noticeable. I felt calm, peaceful. I was slipping in and out of consciousness. I tried to maintain focus. Three large circles appeared in red. Half moons would materialize then fade out along with three pyramid shapes. It reminded me of Appalla. Blue and red lines would fall like rain, and the entire vision would start over again. I must have fallen asleep after that, the experience was remarkable. When I woke Dye had painted a piece using my descriptions, it was perfect. Utterly confusing and magical, just how I've grown to love.