Oneiro was a realm built on the hopes and dreams of others, a land that had flourished and created a home for those who sought it. And it was by Sorvynia and her kin that Oneiro had strengthened and grown into a kingdom. Despite it being a land of dreams, Verial Akilara, the youthful prince who was slightly past 14 years of age, found himself quite the insomniac. Too scared to face the ebony colored dragon that haunted his dreams and unable to block out the little sounds that his elvish hearing picked up at night, he was left with scarce hours of sleep.

In the darkness of his bedroom, Verial pushed himself away from the mattress and his hand wrapped around the amethyst jewel that hung on a thin, silver chain about his neck. It was one of the few factors, and a dainty one at that, that had kept the great beast inside of him from surfacing and causing destruction. A small sigh could be heard escaping his lips as he moved from bed, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress and placing bare feet on the ground.

Most of the time when he moved about at night, there were only a few castle servants up and about doing late night cleaning and guards that kept post outside doors. No one asked or made queries when Verial was found to be walking about the halls; it had become quite obvious through whispers and rumors that the first prince of Oneiro had issues.

In the early hours of the morning though, as he crept down the stairs and headed towards the great living room, he found that he was not alone in his late night expedition. Sitting on a plush couch, illuminated by the light of crackling flames in the fireplace, was the little, orphan girl his brother Angelus had brought home to live in the palace. It was her first night in the castle and Verial, moving closer and slowly behind her, could hear the unmistakable sound of a quill scratching across parchment. She seemed to be absorbed in her writing and didn't notice him entering the living room.

Briefly, Verial recalled the circumstances which had brought the girl to Angelus, which were ironic, at least for him anyway. Angelus, born two years after Verial, had been making an attempt at poking fun of his older brother for having a girl, Necia Starfyre, as his best friend. To which Verial retorted by chasing after Angelus, tackling him and promptly giving him cooties. Running out the palace doors in what could be considered fear, Angelus went out to play that day and returned later that evening, his head turned towards the floor as if quite embarrassed.

At the time, Verial had thought it was hilarious once he figured out what Angelus was so keen on hiding. Angelus had made friends... with a girl no less. But many hours later, as Verial watched the girl in the living, he wondered if there was some strange magic about. It was almost as if his thoughts, his wish for Angelus to find a friend, had conjured this feminine creature into existence. But Verial knew that was silly, because obviously she was a being of flesh and blood and not a vision or unearthly spirit that was magically produced.

"Aursra...?" Verial said a bit slowly, remembering the girl's name that he had been told earlier. He moved around the corner of the couch so as to not be behind her any more. "We haven't been introduced yet... I'm Verial, Angelus' brother. I take it you're not tired either?"

The girl-child had been offered a lovely room all her own. The bed was made of finer stuff than what she’d ever had the privilege of laying upon. It certainly wasn’t the tree limbs where she would often take shelter with little more than the starry night sky as a blanket, or the loud pubs where she would occasionally try to fall asleep when in need of the hearth’s warmth. It wasn’t even the simple but cozy straw mattress in the little cabin she’d shared with her father. No, it was much grander than anything even the dreamy eyed Aursra could imagine.

To her credit, she had tried to lay down and go to sleep. It should have been the best night’s sleep that she’d had in months, but she just couldn’t get her thoughts to slow or silence. She knew there was only one cure for this particular malady. She had to write.

And so, clutching her leather bound journal—that most cherished possession—and the nearly as precious bottle of ink and quill, she had crept out of her new room and wandered about until she had found the cheerful fire crackling in the great room. There was a welcoming looking sofa and near it was a table that would be just the right height to set the inkwell upon.

By the time the young Mr. Akilara had made his way downstairs and into that same room, Aursra was completely lost to her writing. The quill moved almost furiously across the page, stopping only when she had to pause to refill the tip with ink. (This she did very carefully, not wanting to spill any of said ink on the fancy chair). As was usually the case during that part of her life, the writing was in the form of a letter. Instead of keeping a more traditional journal, she had found a certain comfort in writing letters to that beloved father who had been claimed by illness months before.

She was spilling her dear little heart upon those pages as she gave descriptions of the beautiful, kind Sorvynia… the sweet, brave lad who had befriended her and brought her home not unlike most children might a lost puppy.

When you told me that I had to go off on my own, you said that I wouldn’t be alone, Papa… that there would be angels looking out for me… She was writing. She had not realized that it would become so literal.

It wasn’t until the older lad spoke her own name that she realized she was no longer alone, and she jumped, turning wide eyes in the direction of the new voice. She regarded Verial with a gaze that seemed to miss nothing. It was as if she gently appraised every nuance, every feature to see how he, like so many other people, places, and things, might one day be immortalized on one of her pages.

Remembering her manners, though, the lass blushed, tucking a curled tendril of mahogany hair behind her ear. “It… it’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness.” She murmured. Should she get up and curtsy? It seemed strange with Angelus, since she’d gotten to know him before she’d known he was a prince. All of the storybooks, though, suggested curtsying and a lot of uses of titles and such. She made to get up, leaving her journal carefully open so the ink could dry—though she pushed it, subtly, out of his direct line of vision. She’d never shared her letters to her papa with anyone. She bobbed a small curtsy—a passable effort for someone who’d never been taught a proper one before, but at his comment, she was nibbling at her lower lip.

“I would hate for you to think I’m not grateful. The room your mother says I can call my own is just lovely!” She rushed to say. “I guess it’s just… a lot to take in.”

The line of Verial's mouth turned into that half smile, half frown he was so good at making after Aursra had made her introduction. Verial lifted two hands in front of him, making a sort of hectic signal for Aursra to stop as she was already midway in curtsy, and shook his head quickly. There wasn't anything wrong with the way she had presented herself; Verial was still not accepting to formalities no matter what his mother or other palace officials said to him.

"No, no," Verial said gently. "I'm Verial. Please?" His "please" was more of a question; he knew how difficult it could be for some people to accept calling royalty by first name no matter who much you begged them too.

Verial restrained himself from letting out a sigh; he didn't want her to think he was angry for her not being in bed, or for curtsying wrong, or for calling him "Your Highness". It took a lot, since he was so used to groaning or muttering in response about not being addressed as just Verial. But finally, his lips seemed to turn into a soft smile as Aursra apologized.

"It's okay. You can stay up as late as you'd like," Verial started.

Verial watched her nervousness with his odd colored eyes for a moment, realizing at some point that her small fingers were stained with black ink. His gaze then shifted to her journal which lay open on one of the couch cushions. He couldn't read the words at all, but he could tell that most of the ink on the pages was fresh, so he knew she'd been writing with an excited mind.

"You like to write then?" Verial asked turning his gaze back towards Aursra. A hand came to rest on his chin as if in thought; he couldn't help but be mildly curious about what the words on those pages told. After all, a girl's journal could be an interesting thing. "So... were you writing about my brother in there?"

Despite any curiosities, he did not reach for her journal or make to take it away for his own personal enjoyment. It seemed as if he wasn't going to give her the chance to respond either. Verial's hand fell away from his face and he waved, sort of gesturing to the ceiling of the great living room.

"Did Angelus give you a tour? There's so many other places to write in the Palace and outside," Verial began, raven feathered wings shifting behind his back. "Not that our Living Area is terrible, but I'm sure I could help you find some other place that you'd like even better. What do you say?"

The girl-child’s eyes shone with distinct amusement, despite the still-timid smile on her lips, at his gentle protests of her curtsying and the use of titles. It would seem that both of Sorvynia’s sons were fairly modest about their princely heritage. Aursra wasn’t one who liked making others uncomfortable, and so she nodded, storing away this preference for later use.

She was glad when he was no longer frowning. She certainly had meant no offense. She was gladder still when he didn’t lord the four years or so of age difference between them as justification to pat her on the head and send her off to bed. His scrutiny, though, did make her fidget. Especially when his attentions turned to her ink stained fingers and the nearby journal.

Hands clasped behind her back, apparently embarrassed. The other children at the school she had sometimes attended when she’d not been helping to take care of her ill father had always thought her a bit odd. She often did not talk about the same sorts of things as other children. She was always too busy spouting about the prettiness of a particular flower or too busy scribbling away in her little book.

It took every ounce of willpower not to reach out and grab up her journal and run off. A particularly cruel teacher had once caught her writing during class and had decided that it would be appropriate to read her writings aloud to the class and make fun of every little error and all of the fanciful phrases that Aursra had been so proud of when she’d put them on the pages. She’d been less proud when the experience was over. If that’d not been bad enough, the teacher had then labeled the nearly filled book as “absolute rubbish” and thrown it into the stove used for heating the little schoolhouse.

Aursra was pretty sure she’d burn these letters to her father herself before she’d let someone else tear her down that way again. Not that she, necessarily, felt that Verial would do such a thing, but her sensitive little soul had been grievously wounded already by the aforementioned experience. She just didn’t know the older lad well enough to be sure there wouldn’t be a repeat performance.

Her face was pale and drawn, but her eyes were defiant. The look softened, though, at his question about writing, and without thinking, she responded, “One might say that… but ‘like’ doesn’t really cover it well enough. I… need to write. I’m not myself when I don’t.” She blushed at her own words, but the blush was more pronounced still as he inquired about the subject matter.

Well, she might not want him reading it, but she wasn’t going to lie either. “Yes. And your mother. Even some of the staff.” She gestured to the book. “They’re letters to my Papa. Even though he’s not with me any longer, it helps me feel close to him still, and I think he’d like to know about the people I meet and the places I see.”

Her relief when the subject was changed was obvious. She was a child whose emotions were often all too plainly writ upon naturally expressive features. “We’d not had time as it was getting late already when he… erm… brought me here to meet your mother.” It would seem that she was still unsure of what to think about her place here. “But I suppose since we’re both still awake, and so long as you’re sure it isn’t any trouble…”

He couldn't help but be a bit envious of Aursra's passion for writing. Part of him wished he had something like that to cling onto, but lately his mind was too scattered to focus on any one ability. He was definitely good at certain things, like playing the piano and even swordplay now, but nothing that he felt had any sort of hold or depth in his soul. Perhaps it had been due to his being a Dreamer and not to mention, the dragon which he constantly tried to stuff away inside of himself.

"Oh," Verial began to Aursra finally, resting his hand on his chin momentarily, "I'm sure he still reads them. Anyway, come follow me. It's no trouble at all."

Verial's hand fell away from his face and with Aursra in tow, he started through the halls of the castle. Door after door flowed by them; some Verial skipped and others he opened to show her. There were quite a few places that Aursra might have found interest in, but Verial had no idea what else she liked besides writing... and maybe his brother, Angelus. Studies complete with desks, shelves, maps of the land and enough spare parchment for the frequent writer; the servant's quarters which they only peeked into due to the late hour; gaming rooms with quite a few chess boards; and expansive wardrobes stuffed with clothes for both male and female, decorative shoes and hats that Verial couldn't even remember where they came from.

After all of this, the hallway started to widen and the pair came to a bar made from walnut that created an L-shape against a wall. Of course neither was old enough to enjoy or want to drink, but beyond this bar was the kitchen. Verial pushed two double doors that swung open with ease and started about the kitchen, as if he knew it like the back of his hand. Strangely he did, though half of his eating habbits currently consisted of a diet of blood.

"This is the kitchen," Verial said. No cooks were about and the place was almost eerily quiet. Pots and pans were either hung up or neatly stacked away, the fires in the stoves had just lost their glowing embers and any baking and cooking ingredients were placed in cabinets. There were, however, some croissants that had been left out and baked before the closing of the kitchen. Still soft, Verial grabbed for two and handed one to Aursra who looked like she could use an extra bite to eat.

"There are pantries over there," Verial began pointing in more than one direction. "And ice chests. There's set eating times of course, but really, just help yourself to anything you'd like."

Aursra was mystified by all of this. Oh, she had imagined palaces plenty of times, but she’d never stayed anywhere so extravagant. How, she couldn’t help but wonder, had she wound up here of all places? It was all a lot to take in. A peek into an unoccupied room in the servant’s quarters was a little more like what she’d be comfortable with; as opposed to the extensive bedchambers that had been assigned to her. The multiple studies were, of course, quite the draw for the young writer, but with a longing look, she would follow Verial.

“How do you keep from getting lost?” She finally piped up; the question an earnest one. She stepped a bit closer to the older lad at the way her small voice echoed a bit in the long, empty corridor. Yes, this was all definitely quite the culture shock.

It was with no lack of curiosity that she followed him past the bar and into the kitchen. It was quiet and practically gleamed after its nightly cleaning, but the smells of baked goods and spices and herbs still lingered. She looked around with wide, hazel eyes. “This kitchen alone is five times the size of the cottage where I lived with Papa.” She murmured.

She caught sight of the croissants and nipped at her lower lip. Dinner had been saved back for Angelus, naturally, and there’d been plenty for Aursra too, but the girl had been too overwhelmed to do much more than nibble at what had been offered. She regretted that a bit now. Bless Verial for guessing that she might be up for a midnight snack. “Thank you, Verial.” Setting her journal, which she’d been clutching to her chest down as she took the soft bit of baked yumminess and tore off a piece to chew up and swallow down.

“You never told me why you were having trouble getting to sleep…” It wasn’t an accusation. It was an observation. One got the feeling that she wouldn’t press the issue, but that she would listen and take it all in and never tell a soul; save perhaps her dearly departed dad in one of those letters of hers. She was such a serious little thing.

Together the two of them stood in the kitchen nibbling at their croissants. At Aursra's question to his being up late, he stopped chewing and his lips pursed together for a moment in thought. Verial's insomnia was not necessarily a touchy subject, but one he did not really feel the need to divulge to most people.

He could have told Aursra it was because he was born into a family of Dreamers and he often lost his way in the subconscious of his mind. Sometimes his dreams took him into unexpected and frightful journeys, as if he had strayed terribly from the path of solitude. On the occasion, he ended up in other people's dreams as well, which was something he was not comfortable with at all. His dreams also tended to play memories over and over again that he would have rather not relived. The wandering, sleeping mind could certainly be a scary thing and clearly he had not learned to manage that yet.

Verial could have also told the poet that it was because of his dragon, the beast that called to him at night telling him to destroy everything and just fly away. This creature that dwelled inside him had ill objectives which Verial fought to convince himself not to bend to the demon's will. It was the only voice Verial couldn't consistently block out no matter how much he tried.

Instead, he opted to tell Aursra an answer which was part of the truth to his sleepless nights, but definitely not the full of it. His lips turned into a smile as he finally swallowed his food and nodded to her.

"My father was a Drow," Verial said and pushed back some of his raven colored hair to show Aursra slightly pointed ears. It was in this action that she might also realize this was something Angelus lacked; that Verial and his younger sibling were not full brothers and had different fathers. "I can hear better than most people... however, I take after my mother more."

Unlike most people with Drow blood in their veins, Verial was pale skinned and not dark skinned, inheriting that from his mother. Thanks to Sorvynia, he was also the recipient of a set of ebony feathered wings. The two brothers were almost contrasting to one another; one with dark hair and wings, the other with blonde hair and light colored wings. Still, they shared some of the same mannerisms and emotional thought processes which Verial guessed came from their eccentric family line of Dreamers.

"That's how I don't get lost in the castle; by just hearing things," Verial added. "And also because I've been here a while."

After they would finish eating their croissants, Verial waved Aursra onward to whatever unexpected surprise awaited her next. Their late night adventure took them out of the kitchen and further down the castle hall where two double doors were. Verial placed his hands out in front of him and pushed both doors open. Swinging outward, these two wooden doors revealed a flourishing garden.

The garden was separated into two parts; on one side there were flowers and fauna and on the other side there were vegetables. A steady trickle of water could be heard not far off. Verial moved to this sound which turned out to be a stone fountain, located in the middle of the two halves of the garden. Here Aursra could get a better picture of things. To her left, she would see flowers of nearly every color blooming in harmony on bushes, vines and from the earth. And to her right, vegetables were plentiful, as if the place had never seen a drought or insects.

"I like to visit here a lot," Verial said and he sat down for a moment on the edge of the fountain, the tips of his feathered wings skimming the top of the water. "It's surprisingly quiet most of the time. That's kind of rare in a castle like this."

The girl listened to his response, but she had a rather thoughtful expression. There was more to this story, but if he didn’t want to share, that was his business. Sometimes it was more interesting not to know anyhow. Then she got to dream up her own reasoning for why things were the way in which they were. Perhaps he couldn’t sleep because there really were monsters in the closet! She didn’t really think that was the reason in this case, but it would make a good story.

Regardless, it was intriguing to learn more about his heritage. How, she wondered, did this differ from Angelus? Somehow, she couldn’t see the two brothers, so dissimilar in appearance having the same parentage… not wholly, though she could see Sorvynia in them both in different ways. Her eyes lingered a moment on the tapered points of his ears and those darkly feathered wings.

It wasn’t hard to imagine up monsters and other beasties in this castle where the supernatural seemed commonplace. It was definitely a good deal of culture shock from the humble little one room cottage to bedding down in the corners of pubs or amongst the branches of fragrant trees in bloom when the weather was nice enough to this.

She nibbled at the croissant in silence for quite a while, not really sure what to say. When Verial stood to go, she hesitated, but he was beckoning her to follow, and so she did, clutching her journal to her chest. The heavy oak doors were regarded with open curiosity, but there was an audible gasp when she got that first sight of the incredible castle gardens. She moved forward almost in a trance, moving toward the middle of the gardens so that she could turn slowly to take it all in.

Then, her eyes closed as she tried to put her thoughts into words… tried to remember those words to put down on parchment later. She wanted to remember the exact way that the moon illuminated the water flowing from the fountain… the way it cast everything with a silver-white glow. Nature had always been one of her main inspirations.

It was the most beautiful thing she’d seen since leaving home, where she and her father had spent countless hours tending to their gardens and taking long walks through the surrounding forest and meadows until he’d gotten too ill to do so.

Her eyes finally opened, and the hazel orbs settled on Verial. One of her slow-blossoming smiles began to transform her face, but she likely surprised the both of them when she sat down beside him on the fountain edge to wrap her arms around his middle as children are wont to do with such impulsiveness sometimes. It wasn’t some lengthy thing, and she was soon pulling away sheepishly to murmur an apology and her gratitude all in the same rush of words. “I’m sorry. It’s just so lovely…” Her cheeks were a-flame. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

One could easily think that she’d rather sleep out here like some woodland sprite as opposed to suite of rooms bestowed upon her, and they’d probably be right. Flowers and trees and the hum of insects… that just felt more like home to the girl who had spent so much time feeling so very lost.