Hit the jump for a short teaser.

Hundreds of people all around the world have been experiencing the same dream – dreams of a mysterious and peaceful place they call “Avalon.” A team of three scientists is created to study these people, using Hypnosis and Sensory-Deprivation tanks to help these Dreamers remember what they’ve seen. When some of the deeper dreamers begin to experience bouts amnesia, slowly losing touch with their own personalities and taking on new ones, four “Core” dreamers emerge. The only four capable of delving deeply into the dream world of Avalon without losing themselves in the process, they discover something stunning:

Avalon is facing a destruction, and the threat begins in our own world.

‘Once upon a time’ they say, hah!  They only say such a thing because they do not know the correct date.  They heard this ‘thrilling tale’ from someone who heard it from someone who eavesdropped in on someone else’s conversation.  Heaven only knows where that person heard it from.

Now, there is a very specific story that irks me at the moment.  Perhaps you have heard of it – the story of the sleeping curse, and the castle of roses?

The tale, as it is told by the easily-deceived common folk, goes like this:

Once upon a time, there was a lovely Royal couple who desperately wanted to have a child.  For years they hoped, and when their wish was finally granted, they rejoiced by throwing a massive celebration.  Everyone was invited, all throughout their land and the nearby kingdoms.  The Fairies of the land were invited, of course.  This particular land was home to four Faries, three of them sweet and kindly and wise.  The fourth, however, was wicked and horrid, and was not invited.  She appeared at the celebration anyway, and cast a spell upon the unborn child, that the baby girl would fall asleep on their 16th birthday, and never wake again.  The days go on, turning into weeks and months and years, and the panic wears off.  The little princess is alive and full of merriment, preparing for her 16th birthday.  The next morning, the nurse-maid cannot wake her.  No voice, no noise, no smell and no plead can awake the princess.  Before the castle falls into panic, one of the good fairies sends the entire castle into a deep sleep.  Roses are coaxed over the castle, and hundreds of years go by before a handsome young prince arrives, hacks his way into the castle, and upon seeing the sleeping princess, falls madly in love.  He kisses her, and thus breaks her spell.  The entire castle is awakened, and they live happily for the rest of their lives.

Bah!  Twaddle!  Sit sit sit, I will tell you the true story!

There was indeed a Royal couple who longed for a child, but they were not King and Queen.  The woman, whose name was Amera, was the second cousin of the Queen of the land (this was Partenon, just north of the Great Western Port, by-the-by).  Her husband, Luden, had been granted lordhood at the age of twelve for burning down the campsite of an hostile raiding party.  They were very happy, except that they so dearly wanted a little girl.  They had four sons, all wonderful young men, grown and married and off on their own, but they wanted another.  Amera and Luden wanted to have a daughter, but were unable to have any more children, having aged past their time.  So Amera made a plea to the fairies of the land, of which there were eleven.  She begged them to allow her to have a child, but they turned her away.  It was not their business to give children to happy couples who already had plenty.  But as she returned home in tears, the eleventh faerie followed her, hidden under the disguise of an old woman.  She told Amera that if she truly wished it, she would give them a child – but it would not be their own, though it would be born to them.  Amera did not understand, but agreed.  So the fairy in disguise, the Eleventh Fairy, created a child of magic and blood within the woman, that it would be born as her own.

When the child was born, most people were confounded.  Amera and Luden were a bit dull, with thin faces, grey eyes and black hair.  Their sons were the same as well.  But the child – the little girl that Amera gave birth to – had hair as white and soft as clouds, a lovely round face and flashing green eyes.  She was as giggling and sweet and as joyful a baby as any had seen.  They loved her, and they named her Aurura, after the dawn-fairies of the east.

On the child’s first birthday, the traditional celebration was held, and everyone was invited.

The fairies, however, discovered what the eleventh fairy had done, and were angry at her for it.  The eleventh, you see, was a bit of an outcast.  She was not native, but rather had been given the gift of Fairy lineage as an infant, as an unwanted child left out to die.

This was all well and good, and truth be told she was not very different from the others, but she was a bit of a troublemaker and the other Fae despised her.  One of them, who had a particularly deep grudge against the eleventh fae (a story which we shall not go into right now) convinced the Amera that it was best not to invite the impish fairy.  Of course, since it was a celebration about children, the fairies were automatically invited by their very nature and birthright.

You must understand: to be left out of a party is a very disheartening thing, but to be un-invited is wounding in a particularly grievous way.  The mischievous fairy felt slighted and her temper flared up, as she had been the one to break the rules and give the woman a child in the first place.

Fairies, while they are good creatures, are known in many places as evil, horrid things.  This is due to fairies’ temperaments.  They are easily offended, quick to anger, and delight in any opportunity to hold a grudge.

So when this eleventh fairy discovered she was not allowed to attend the celebration, she fumed.  In the middle of the party, she arrived and placed a curse upon the child:  

What life was given to the little girl so unnaturally, shall be taken away.  Not now, not in a year, not in ten.  It will happen at the exact moment that you forget this, that you forget me, that you forget this threat.

The eleventh Fairy vanished,  leaving the celebrators silent, terrified, and unhappy.

The years went on, and the little girl grew up lovely and sweet, unnaturally beautiful and gracefully kind.  At the age of fifteen she fell madly in love with a nobleman of a neighboring land, and he with her.  It was said to be a perfect match, and they were to be formally betrothed on the girl’s sixteenth birthday, which was growing near.

But the night before the celebration, just as Aurura was falling asleep, something happened:

Not a single person in the estate, in the kingdom, or in the world was thinking about the curse of the eleventh fairy.

The next morning, as the house buzzed in preparation for the party, the girl’s maid went to fetch her.  The girl would not wake.  The household was thrown into a panic – she did not appear to be dead, yet no amount of shaking or pleading would bring her around to consciousness.

At the instant the curse came about, the eleventh fairy was aware of it.  Still clinging to her old grudge with a vengeance, she grew angry and guilty as she heard the wails of grief calling from Aurura’s family and friends.  The fae silenced the household, sending everyone inside into a deep sleep.  Still filled with guilt, the fairy ordered her flowerless roses – all iron branches and thorns – to grow up over the entire estate, to seal it like a tomb forever so that she would have peace.

But Aurua’s beau, whose name was Lieven, had been traveling with his family for near a day to reach her home, and arrived shortly after all of this had taken place.  Upon discovering the curses that entangled the estate of his beloved, Lieven took up his sword and began to hack away at the iron vines.  The stony plants cracked and chipped the blade, eventually weakening it so that it snapped in half.

So the boy took up his father’s sword, and swung it against the vines until it too snapped.

He took up the sword of the coachman, and it snapped.

Finally he took his knife, desperately trying to cut through the imprisoning vines.

The eleventh fairy was still wracked with guilt, and thought she might get rid of the boy and finally have peace.  She opened up a pathway through the vines for him, that he may enter the home and be trapped inside.  When Leiven saw this, he ran forward into the estate, only to have the vines entangle again once he was through.  He ran into the home to find the occupants struck still, as if turned to stone where they stood and sat.  The eleventh fairy found herself waiting, unable to strike him still as well as he ran through the home shouting the name of his beloved.

Eventually he found her, asleep in her bed, dead yet living and still as beautiful as he remembered.  He thought her lost, and wept at the sight of her.
Leiven knew, looking at the iron thorns grown up to block the light from the windows, that he would never escape the prison of the rose-estate.  So he stilled his tears, sat at the bedside of his love, took her hand, and kissed her softly one last time.

At this, the eleventh fairy’s heart was softened, and she could not bear the sadness of the young man.  In a very un-fae-like gesture, she returned Aurura’s life to her.

The girl sat up in bed, astonished to see Leiven and unaware of what had happened.

“Was I ill?”  She asked him.

“No,”  He cried, holding her close.  “Only sleeping, my dear.”

The Eleventh fairy awoke the household, and peeled back the stony vines from the building walls.

When Aurua’s family ran to her room to find young Leiven there, they might’ve killed him were it not for the testament of his family to the curse that had befallen the estate while they slept.  As it was, they believed the boy, and were grateful, thinking that he had broken the curse.

Aurua and Leiven were married two years later, and a series of events began which led to the ascension of Leiven to the title of Duke of Pushire.  You may remember a tale about the Dutchess of Pushire, who adopted a little red-headed child from the streets.  That child, you should know, grew to become the Heroine of Ridding by killing the wicked lycanthrope Hoode who lived in the surrounding woods.

I suppose you could say, if you must, that they lived happily ever and ever until the end of their days.

If you must.

They order their shoes to fit, their sashes measured perfectly, and choose colored fabric just right for their skin.  All of this to convince themselves that the world is built, tailored, and structured to fit snugly around their silly little beings.

Amelia never could abide such a concept:  as if the world would fit your hand like a smooth silk glove, airy and light with little sensation.

In her opinion, the world was meant to be bumped into, scraped up against, tumbled about in, and thrashed upside down on top of.

Silk gloves and darling slippers – these things she never truly understood.

When she expressed this to her study partner, Ned, he replied quite cooly:  “Then it is a good thing you do not live in this century.”

“But… I don’t think I can deal with even a week in this place.”  Amelia said, contorting her arm in order to reach back and itch at the corset-laces under her gown.
“I beg your pardon?”  Ned said, raising an eyebrow.
Amelia scowled.  “Oh bother,”  she said, slipping into a well-practiced english accent.  “I daresay I’m…. rather more out of my element than I should like.”  A very audible tone of annoyance ran through the words she obviously detested.
“Yet you still agreed to come?”  Ned said, keeping.
“It was not a difficult decision.”  Amelia’s tone changed to hurt.  “If I didn’t attend the draft trips, my funds would have been pulled.  My own research would be high and dry.”
“I hardly see the sense in drafting an early twentieth-century American culture student for an excursion to 1850’s England.”  Ned said, his voice trailing off as he was distracted by a young woman in a blue silk dress.  She flitted her fan coyly from where she stood across the street, with several other young people.
“I believe with all my heart that The Dean of Excursions despises me.”  Amelia’s bitter sentiment brought Ned back to the conversation.
“There is a distinct possibility that a certain… incident has provoked her.”  He said impishly, waiting to see her reaction.
“Nobody knows about that, Ned.”  Amelia’s eyes widened as she spoke the words carefully, waiting to see his reaction.  “Nobody but you… and Frog.”  Her mouth snapped shut, her jaw clenched, and she started to twist her little coin-purse in her hands.
“Yes… Frog.”  Ned said, wishing to quickly extinguish the idea that he had broken the confidence.
“You should have stopped him.”  Amelia dropped her accent for the moment, hissing and pulling Ned to a halt on the busy shopping street.
“How, exactly?”
“Ned, the Dean of Excursion is the head of the review board.  I’ll have to defend my Thesis to her!”
“He blabbed!”  Ned hissed back.  “Its not my fault you blew up a church!”
“Oh!”  Amelia stomped her foot in frustration.  “It was just the tower, and you…. know it…..”  She stopped, raising an eyebrow.  “You know it very well, don’t you?  Who exactly was it…”
“Amelia… no…”  Ned realized the thought brewing behind her eyes.
“You’re doing the write-up for this excursion, right?  I want a glowing review.”
“Amelia!”
“Yes, I’m shameless.  Glowing, Ned.  Glowing.”
Ned stood in the street with his mouth agape as people pushed by.  Amelia gave a smug little smile, and slipped back into her accent.  “Do come, Ned.  We’ve an appointment that simply must be kept.”  She gave him a condescending pat on the shoulder and turned back on her way down the street, off into 1842.

Her name is Sadie, and she believes she can fly.

She plans to take off some day – just run up to the beach cliffs near her house and fly away.  She’ll run right off the edge of the cliff, dip down, catch her breath and shoot away into the sky.

One day the sun dawned to find Sadie already awake.  She was lying in bed with all her day clothes already on, staring at the ceiling.  The sunshine was glowing through the blue curtains in her room, and she waited for the sun to rise high enough to cast a ray of light across her face.

She jumped out of bed, pulled on her socks, grabbed her backpack, and quietly walked down the stairs.  Her aunt was cooking scrambled eggs in the kitchen.  Sadie wrinkled her nose at the smell and resolved to skip breakfast.  It was probably difficult to fly on a full stomach anyway, she figured.  Still in her socks, she crept across the wood floor of the entryway, carefully opened the front door, and stepped out into the morning sunshine.

The cliffs were only a few minutes away, beyond the out-of-place grove of trees and down the road.  She’d forgotten to grab her shoes, but didn’t even care.  The morning breeze grew stronger as she neared the cliffs, the wind from the ocean breaking against the rock and sending the scent of salt water high up into the air.

Some twenty yards from the cliff edge, she came to a stop.  Letting her backpack slide off of her shoulders, she closed her eyes, paying attention to the timing of the wind.  Gust, quiet, gust, quiet, gust, quiet.  She waited for perfect timing, so that the wind would push her up just as her feet left the cliff’s edge.

Gust, quiet, gust, quiet, gust, run.

Sadie bolted towards the edge of the cliff.  She ran as fast as she could, pulling deep breaths of salt air into her lungs, beating the sandy ground with her feet, propelling herself towards the edge.

The point of the cliff grew closer with unnerving speed, the ground disappearing from sight with every breath she took.

The edge continued to race towards her, and Sadie readied herself to launch off.  One more step, one more step, one more step, jump.

The gust of wind that was meant to carry her into flight carried something else.  Just as Sadie reached the terminal edge of the cliff, she was thrown back with a yelp as a giant contraption of wood and fabric shot up the cliff face.

Flat on her back in the sand and completely out of breath, she watched the contraption arc up into the sky, dip back down, and glide to a stop some yards away.  She sat up, watching as a boy climbed out of the contraption and stood, watching her.

“You ruined it!”  She shouted hoarsely, still very much out of breath.  The boy took off his goggles.  “What is that?”  She asked.

“My glider.  The ridge lift on these cliffs are amazing.”  He responded.  He tilted his head.  “Why aren’t you wearing shoes?”

Sadie got to her feet, brushing off the sand that stuck to her shirt.

“What exactly were you doing, standing on the edge of the cliff?”

“Nothing.”  She said bitterly.  “How does it work?”

“Catches the wind.”  He replied.

Sadie waited for a moment, itching to know more about the contraption.  There was a long, strange silence as the wind blew.

“I should be going.”  The boy said finally, putting on his goggles again.  Sadie didn’t want him to go, she wanted to know about the glider.  She wanted to know how to fly.

“Do you want some breakfast?”  She asked quickly.

He stopped, pushing his goggles up on his forehead.  “What are you having?”  He asked curiously.

“Eggs.”  Sadie replied.  “We’re having eggs.”

______________

“Do you remember Avalon?”

The young man was slumped over in his chair, dressed in green-grey pajamas and bare feet.  He didn’t answer.

“Terry?”  The voice asked again.  “Mr. Theodore Chance?”

“I want to go home.”  The young man muttered into the table, refusing to sit up.  Across the table sat a man in a lab coat, a man in a suit, and a woman casual clothes.  To the right hand of the woman sat a video camera, with a large microphone pointed at the young man.  All of them – man, woman, camera – were watching him and waiting.

“Terry, we need to know if you remember Avalon.”  The man said.

“I want to go home.”  The young man repeated, more firmly.  Still slouching over the table, he lifted up his head to glare at each of them in turn.

“You want to go back to your bunk, Terry?”  The woman asked, her words thick with an accent.

“What?”  He looked up at her.  There was a silver circle on his temple, with a bit of medical tape across it.  “What?  No, I want to go home.  What are you talking about?”

“Miss Diane, he’s growing agitated.”  The man in the labcoat said.

“Yes I am!”  The young man shouted, slamming his fists into the table.  When he did so, he noticed the IV line in his arm, and followed the line back up to the IV bag hanging above his head.  “And what is this?!”  He shouted, starting to pull the tape off of the IV needle.

“Stop!”  The man in the labcoat shouted.  “You’ll harm yourself – “  He let out a long sigh as Terry tore away the tape and pulled out the needle.

Terry pushed his seat away from the table, ready to stand, watching the other people.  “I want to go home.”  He said firmly.

“Terry, this is your home.  For now.”  The woman said calmly.  “Do you remember coming to live here?”

“I did no such thing!”  He shouted.

“Do you remember Avalon?”

“Stop asking me that!  I don’t remember this place, and I don’t remember any of you people.”  He said, exasperated and confused.

“Doctor Rabe, could I speak to you outside?”  The man in the suit asked in an imposing monotone voice.  The man in the labcoat nodded, and the two men left the room.

Now only the woman sat across the table from Terry.  She watched him for a moment before reaching over and switching off the camera.

“Please sit down, Terry.”  She said calmly.  He sat back down, waiting to see what she had to say.

“I want – “ He began, but was interrupted when she said:

“You had a dream last night.”

The statement was matter-of-fact, cool and smooth as it left her lips.  She was right, of course, but Terry didn’t think much of it.

“A dream about a place.  A place you’ve been before.”  She continued.  She was right.  Terry looked confused, his brow furrowing and his expression becoming less annoyed.  He looked curious.

“A place that you really, really want to get to.”  The woman lowered her voice, leaning in slightly.  Terry unknowingly mirrored her actions, hanging on each word.  It fit so perfectly with the thoughts in his mind.  He did have a dream.  He did want to go back there.

“And if you think really, really hard -”  She was whispering now, leaning in closer.  “ – thinking all the way back into the dream, you’ll remember what it was called.”

Terry sighed, partly in relief and partly in confusion.  His eyes raced back and forth across the tabletop, grasping at the shreds of dream-thoughts that sat at the back of his mind.

“Avalon.”  He whispered.  “It was called Avalon.”

The silent moment of revelation was interrupted when the woman smacked the tabletop with her open palm.

“I told you, Roy!”  She shouted.  Terry jumped at the noise.  “Oh, sorry.”  She patted his hand, getting up from her seat.  The man in the labcoat re-entered the room, looking excited.

“Complete recall of visual and audio details?”  He asked.

“Complete.”  The woman nodded.  The man in the suit walked back in, and the woman looked triumphant.  “No memory of the past seven days, or of the hypnotic session.  But he still had the dream.”

“What?!”  Terry jumped up from his seat, not understanding the sudden statements.

“Sit down, Terry.”  The woman ordered.  He did so.  “Terry, go home.  Go back to Avalon.”  She said firmly, holding her hand out to him, palm up.  “Go home.”  She snapped her fingers.

Terry fell asleep.

“Oo, same year as last night.  How daring.”

“Hey, I have my methods for choosing.”

“A spinning wheel?  A dart board?”

“Very funny.  Put me down for it.”

The woman shook her head, her fingers racing over the softly glowing keys.  “Nineteen Sixty-two.”  She confirmed.  The man smirked, nodded, and folded his arms.  They were standing at the information console, a wide, C-shaped desk of white-stained metal.  The thin monitors above the desk reached up to the low, curving ceiling of the bridge.

The man assumed a guarded pose, leaning against the desk with his arms still cross, glancing down out of the corner of his eye at the woman.  She, in turn, steadily typed away while ignoring him completely.

Another woman walked by the desk.  “Lara, put me down for nineteen fifty-four.”

“Have a hunch?”  The woman at the desk grinned.

“Just a guess.”  The second woman said.  “And Roy says to put him down for nineteen fifty-nine.”

“You tell Roy that he knows the rules.  All bets must be made in person.”

“He said you’d say that.  And to tell you it was worth a try.”  She laughed, walking away.

“He’s avoiding you?”  The man asked.

“He’s avoiding you.”  She corrected.  “And he knows that you’re usually with me.”

“No I’m not.”

“Its ok Charlie.”  She grinned, still not taking her eyes from the monitor.  “Its a big ship.  Nice to know I’ll never have to wonder where my number one stalker is.”

“Aw c’mon Lara…”  Charlie seemed hurt.

“I’m joking, I’m joking!”  She laughed, patting his hand and still typing with the other.  “You’re my favorite stalker.”

Charlie began to take this as a compliment, when a shadow crossed his face.  “Wait – you have others?”

Lara laughed.

“What’s this?”  A new voice boomed.  Charlie jumped to attention, even straightening his uniform.  Lara didn’t flinch, except to tighten her lips into a stern line.

“Another illegal betting ring cropped up, eh?”  The new man asked.  He stood straight as a board, a little bit taller than Charlie and much more imposing.

“No sir, commander.”  Lara said.

The man raised an eyebrow.  “Movie night, correct?”  He asked quietly.

“No…”  Lara said, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Then… cease this highly illegal action.”  He said.  He leaned close and whispered quickly:  “And put me down for nineteen sixty-one.”

Charlie broke into a guffaw as the Commander strode away quickly.

“What’s your bet?”  He asked Lara, watching as she entered in the commander’s bet with the others.  With the flick of a key, she made the list disappear.

“None of your business.”

“You bet on sixty-nine, didn’t you.”  Charlie grinned.  “The moon landing.  You are dying to see the moon landing.”

Lara bit her lip.  She turned in her seat to face him, blushing.  “We just passed Zeta Reticuli.  By all measurements, we ought to be picking up the broadcasts of the moon landing any day now.”

He gasped, pretending to be shocked.  “You’re suppose to guess, Lara.  No calculations allowed.”

Lara grinned.

Charlie nodded.  “Put me down for nineteen sixty-nine.”

Writer’s note:  Yes, if you reached the star Zeta Reticuli, you really would be picking up Earth’s TV broadcasts from around 1969.  Fun fact for the day!

The cheery voice startled Abby out of her daze.  She closed her eyes, previously unaware that anyone else was in the room.

“Hello?”  The voice asked again.  It was a boy’s voice, and sounded fairly young.

“Leave it off.”  A second voice said, gravelly and weak.

“She’s blind.  Do you think she’s mute or deaf too?”  The cheery voice asked.

“Maybe she just doesn’t want to talk to you.”  The tired voice snapped.

“Why not?”  The cheery voice sounded like an imbecile.  Abby chose to stay quiet.  She’d been in the hospital for only two days now, and her mood had soured considerably.

Not that she was ever in a good mood.  Hardly.

“Being locked up in a psych ward probably doesn’t make a person very chatty.  Except for you, of course.”  The tired voice said bitterly.

“We aren’t in a psych ward!”  Abby protested.

“I told you she could speak!”  The cheery voice said triumphantly, clearly not understanding the apprehension in Abby’s voice.

“How would you know, little blind girl?”  The weak voice croaked in response to Abby’s exclamation.

“I’m here to get my eyes looked at.”  Abby said quietly, her sudden bout of boldness now passed.

“Who looks at blind eyes?”  The voice said hoarsely, a little amused.

“Poetry.”  The cheery voice said.

“Isn’t it?”

“Beautiful.”

“Ought to write it down.”

“Have a pen an paper, blind girl?”  The cheery voice asked.

“She’s blind, you idiot.”

“Sorry.”

“What does the room look like?”  Abby asked, swallowing hard.

“Like the waiting room of a psych ward.”  Was the blunt reply.  “White walls.  No windows.  No carpet.”

“Doesn’t make it a psych ward.”  Abby insisted nervously.

“Its the chairs.”  The tired voice said.  “No screws.  No nails.  No parts you could disassemble.  Psych ward chairs.”

Abby shifted a little in her plastic seat, unconvinced but increasingly unnerved.

“Plus, if this idiot is here, its definitely a psych ward.”  The tired voice said.

“That was unneeded.”  The cheery voice replied.  “You are a very rude person.”

“Says the guy who asked a blind girl for a pen and paper.”

“I didn’t do that on purpose!”  The voice sounded hurt.  “I didn’t do it on purpose, little blind girl.  I didn’t mean to be rude!”

Abby didn’t care that he sounded truly remorseful.  She was in too foul a mood.  “Then you might stop calling me ‘blind girl.’”  She said bitterly.

“Is that rude too?”

“Yes, imbecile.”  The tired voice said.

“But you said it!”

“I was being rude on purpose.  I’m English, I can do that.”

The two men continued to bicker, and Abby began to count away the seconds as she waited for something to happen.  After a few minutes, she could hear the sound of a door opening.

“Miss Abigail?  Doctor Lauren will see you now.”

“Thank goodness.”  Abby gasped.  She stood, felt the nurse’s hand take hers, and followed the woman from the room.  “I’m glad to be free of those two idiots.”  She whispered to the nurse.

“Oh, was it Tony bothering you?  Tony?”  The nurse said in a reproachful tone.

“He started it.”  The cheery voice accused.

“He’s a liar.  You know that.”  The tired voice sighed.

“Tony.”  The nurse said again.

“Sorry.”  The cheery voice apologized.

“Victor?”

“Sorry.”  The tired voice sighed.

Shutting the door, the nurse shook her head.  “I have never seen multiple personalities bicker quite as much as those two.”

That is what people say.  They see someone who is too old, or too weather-worn, or too sad to be beautiful.  And they say:  “They’ve seen things.”

“Look at her eyes.”

“So deep.  Such things he’s seen.”

But its all silly blubber and twaddle.  Of course they’ve seen things – who hasn’t?  Everyone has seen something. Even a newborn child has had experiences and dreams.

Silly people who think in such ways – people who think the most unnerving eyes are those that have ‘seen things.’

Far from it.

Truth be told, Amery Sommers was one of those people.  He used to see a pair of intense eyes and think “What experiences they must have had.”  Those were the most beautiful, haunting eyes, he thought.

He was wrong.

Amery is a new breed of Optometrist.  He works not with the eyes of living people, but with ‘orphan eyes.’

That is, Amery creates human eyes.  Clones of real eyes, born and brought to life in a lab.  They were creepy, to be sure, but…. they were just organs.

When you see a pair of eyes that have ‘seen things,’ you aren’t unnerved by the eyes themselves.  You’re unnerved by the person the eye’s belong to.  So these orphan eyes, alone on a petri dish, mean nothing.

In Avery’s mind, those deep eyes that had ‘seen things’ were still the most frightening.  He’d held this unconscious belief his whole life.

But today, he saw something that made him change his mind.

Today, a pair of orphan eyes found a home.

Now, these eyes were created with the intent to be transplanted into living people who were blind, or had lost their eyes to an accident.  So when, eighteen months ago, the Synamic corporation – a well-known pharmaceutical company – offered to buy the unusable Orphan eyes, nothing was thought of it.

Two days ago they asked Dr. Amery Sommers to travel to their Oregon laboratory.

We require assistance with the optical organs you previously sold us.  This is not a threat of lawsuit, but rather a request for consultation.

It was the strangest message Amery had ever received.  But Synamic was a big-league company, and he obliged to comply.

Besides, he was curious.

He arrived yesterday, and today he was escorted to the main laboratory.  Today, he discovered that when one company makes livers, and another company makes hearts, another company makes artificial bone, and so on – its only a matter of time until yet another company puts the pieces together.

Synamic was the final company, the ones who had put everything together.

Synamic had made a human being from scratch.

The orphan eyes had found a home with an orphan liver, an orphan heart and orphan bones.  Skin grafts were grown, nerves were trained, and everything was hobbled together like the strangest of dolls.

Amery learned how eyes became truly haunting.  He helped resolve the problems with the optical nerves, as he’d been asked.

And then the Absolute Orphan opened her eyes and saw for the first time.

Those were truly haunting eyes.  Eyes that had never seen.  Not the inside of a womb, not the mist of infant dreams – nothing.

“Oh my word.”  He breathed, unable to look away, yet in agony as long as he looked into those eyes.  “What has she seen?”

She began to shelve the books, carefully reading the spine of each book before putting it into the correct location.  As she pushed aside a stack of books on one shelf, she jumped back in surprise.  Richard was standing on the other side of the bookshelf, looking through at her.
“But I believe I could be ever so good if you simply help me out this one final time.”  He said leisurely.  “A true upstanding citizen.”  He put on a pitiful face.  “Please, Lorry?”
Lorry looked as if she might be considering his proposition.  Instead, she gave a smug smile and shoved the rest of the book onto the shelf, blocking Richard’s face.
“I would be happy to help you… find a book.”  She called through the bookshelf, assuming her well-practiced librarian attitude.
“Sure sure,”  Richard grinned, walking around into her aisle.  “I’d like one on 12th century Persian relics, please.”
“No, Richard!  You promised never to steal from a museum again!”  Lorry protested.
“Its not a museum.”
“No artifacts, Richard.  Only things with intrinsic value!”
“But it’s just sitting there.”  He said sadly.
“No.”
“You didn’t have any qualms about non-intrinsic values when we were in Prague.”  He crossed his arms.
“That was…”  Lorry trailed off.  “That was…”  She tried again, but was distracted by the memories.
“It was fun.”  Richard grinned.
“Oh… it was fun.”  Lorry sighed, looking off into the distance as if lost in another world.  Richard seemed to have won the battle, and was excited because of it.
“So…”  He rubbed his hands together with glee, looking around the library, “12th century Persia?”