Reverie Jamboree - My Light, My Darkness

Jack knew this place.

Even overgrown: the flowers choked with weeds, the trees with dead limbs untrimmed and dragging the ground, the ivy that covered everything like a carpet except for the pond which was green with algae — Jack recognized the palace gardens.

The sky was empty, devoid of sun, moon, or stars. No clouds, no breeze, just an aching sense of emptiness that stretched on and on to a dark, muddied horizon without any of the landmarks Jack could recognize. It wasn’t dead, but it certainly wasn’t alive. It was an untouched memory, not forgotten, not gone, but left alone to rot until even the glass swans on the pond had broken, one missing a wing, one missing half of its face as it stared at them, through them, no more conscious than Jack’s body was itself.

Jack thought to clean it up or restore the swans at the very least — this was their mindscape, it must be — but they’d hardly taken a step when the ivy that had been steadily crawling over their boots suddenly fastened tight around their legs, rooting them in place.

As forgotten as this place was, a longer-forgotten word filled the empty space: a name Jack hadn’t heard, spoken by a voice that had been long-silenced, cut down before Jack had fallen into the Chronoscape.

Jack turned as much as they could, their stone-heavy heart cracking apart as Desdemona looked at them, dark eyes wide, as if it was her turn to mourn.

“That’s not who I am,” Jack said, wanting to close their eyes and shut out the ghosts, and yet unable to tear their eyes away, years of grief and growth choking them as the ivy had killed everything they’d grown together here. “Not anymore.”

Desdemona took a faltering step forward, then several more, each more certain, falling heavily until she flung herself at Jack. The ivy snapped loose, and they fell into a bed of it, grasping fumbling, fitting together as if no time had been lost between them.

“You left,” she snarled into their shoulder as they hugged her tightly. “You left.”

Jack had left. After Desdemona had died, there hadn’t been a point in staying. Had there? They couldn’t have brought her back, could they? And even if they’d come back, if they’d visited again, they wouldn’t have been the same person who left.

Selfish, Jack grimaced. They had been selfish to think only of themself, not to bring Desdemona back for her own sake, afraid of what she’d think of them now.

“I’m sorry,” they murmured into her hair. It smelled like woodsmoke and heavy perfume, grounding them to a thousand memories, a thousand moments where they’d had it before, filling their senses, and oh, oh, Jack had loved her.

Had.

Did.

“Where are you now?”

Jack closed their eyes, clinging tighter. No, they weren’t ready to wake, to think about the world beyond here, the empty void where Demona wasn’t. “As good as dead.”

“Shut up,” she said, shoving them down onto the ivy. Her eyes glistened with tears, with sorrow, with fury. “You aren’t. You’re here. And you’re— you’ve changed, so you must be alive. So where are you? What name are you going by? Give me anything, and I’ll find you.”

As terrified as they were of breaking the spell, they had never been able to deny her anything. “I’m Jack Hart. I live on an estate called Threvilla near the town of Dreckling.”

And, like that, the world began to unwind. The distant horizon that had been eaten away by time gnawed its way closer, devouring the memory, the dream, the lie.

Jack smiled weakly. “I’ve seen dragons.”

Desdemona laughed desperately even as the void tore at her clothes and licked its way across her body, pulling her away. “Me too, you perfect idiot—”

Jack bolted up in Keshet’s nest, wild-eyed and frantic. Already, the dream was fading, the memories blurring in their mind. For a moment, they believed it. For the barest moment, hope burned like the sun in their chest. They’d never let themself hope that Desdemona had somehow lived. They’d seen her body. They knew who killed her. In a trillion universes, splintering from billions of tiny decisions, they’d never let themself believe that one Desdemona had somehow found her way out of the cruel fate that had taken her from them, shattered them apart entirely.

Suddenly, Jack froze. There, in front of them, was Desdemona. Faint, like a ghost, ethereal and unreal, shifting with every memory that came to mind, projected by the dragon straining beside him.

Keshet’s scales gleamed with the effort, her eyes focused on the illusion she wove for them. “I told you,” she said with a growl in her throat. “I told you. We can save her. We can bring her back.”

Keshet couldn’t mimic the smell of her, the feel of her hands, the texture of her hair. But the reminder of what they could have stood in front of them, undeniable. “I can’t,” Jack said. “Kesh, it could break everything, if she didn’t make it out on her own.”

Keshet laughed, the illusion of Demona wavering before it disappeared. “Then break it! We’ll go to the next world and try again.” She turned her head, finned crest flaring as she stared them down with bright eyes. “The only thing stopping us is you.”

Desperately, Jack said, “And— and what about the ones we would leave behind? That would be destroyed? Eulalia and Caetus?”

Keshet rumbled a deep, unnerving laugh and said with chilling certainty. “They’ll come too.”