I did not weave dreams for him for a number of nights. I could not deny that something beyond appropriate had happened, and I did not know how I would react to seeing him again, so I asked a good friend of mine   to take his dreams. During my absence I continued to form ideas of how to push him in the right direction, so eventually, once I had collected myself, I again wove a dream for him.

The dream was prepared using the symbolism of a journey — woven with the deep feeling of an imminent trip to places distant and alluring. Subtly imbued was the idea of a crossroads, a point at which he must decide whether to embark on this journey or turn back.

If he was paying enough attention to his dreams, I hoped he would grasp the implication and perhaps act on it in waking life. I did not spend any particular time looking at his thoughts that night, so I was unprepared for what was to happen.

I had him set on a train platform — a familiar station from his daily routine, but in an area that did not exist, lined with long-distance trains to exotic destinations. He seemed uncertain, so I approached him as a conductor to challenge him to buy an exceedingly expensive ticket for the lengthy journey.

I greeted him with a courteous “May I help you, sir?” at which point his face lit up.

“You certainly can. What’s your name?”

I was taken aback, and came up with something at random — Sandhya.

“Sandh… Sandy? Thanks. This is going to sound silly, but…” He stared directly into my eyes and his voice trailed off. He then looked about with his brow creased. “Wait, this is a dream again, isn’t it. Dangit.”

Now, lucid dreaming is a kind of occupational hazard for us sylphs. The illusion, of course, is that the dreamer is in control. Which they are when the dream is their own, or they are left alone in it. But those are shallow dreams, not unlike daydreams. When we weave a dream proper, it is an involved, fragile thing, and keeping up with a dreamer with his waking wits about him is quite a challenge. Many sylphs will force the dreamer awake on the spot, while others will leave the dreamscape to its own devices and wait for the dreamer’s awareness of their shallowly slumbering body to pull them away more naturally.

I, however, did neither. “Why would you think that, sir?”

“Because you can’t be real. Man, I thought I’d finally found you. Hey, I don’t suppose you can tell me where to look for you when I’m awake?”

I should have woken him that instant, but I was lost to my emotions. The train station was absorbed into somewhere full of swirling mists, reflecting my own state of mind more than his, but he did not seem to notice.

“How could you be looking for me? You’ve never met me before.” His answer would become my snare.

“Well, I haven’t met you exactly, but I keep seeing you in my dreams, and I need to know who you really are. Sure you can’t give me a hint or something?”

I was fumbling desperately. “You can’t… how do you know it was me?”

“Your eyes. It took me I don’t know how long to figure that out.”

“But… you should not be able to tell. Why? Why would you look for me?”

“Because I’m in love with you.”

In an instant the grey confusion was replaced by whatever joyous place I felt — I cannot honestly say I remember what it was, only that there was a sunset to reflect my own color.

He grasped my hands in his. “Can’t you give me some clue about who you are? Anything at all — I need to know. Please, I don’t know how I’ll find you otherwise.”

And with that, the snare had constricted, and my fate was sealed. “You can only find me in your dreams.”

I then broke the dream. I was at a loss for what to do next. There was nothing he could have said that would have sent my spirits higher, for he had confirmed that it was me — the real me, not the shadows in the dreams I had woven for him — that he was seeking. Yet there was nothing more painful, for now I knew that I had violated that sacred, unspoken pact between dreamer and sylph, and there was no way to undo what I had done.