I’d spent too much time not only searching, but in studying the dreams I’d captured in hopes they’d be the key to better understanding myself, and as a result I’d neglected my studies to improve my Weavings. Now I was left with only an hour to cram.
I again tried duplicating the stitches outlined in the diagram, but the steps were difficult to follow and my threads quickly became tangled. A bubble of blood stained my fingertip as I pricked my finger.
“Ow!” My cry interrupted Angel and Iris’s argument and they glanced over. I used some of my precious dream dust reserve to roughly heal my cut and jammed my needle into my bag.
“I’m a terrible Weaver. I thought these new books would help, but I can’t even follow them. Just look at this mess.”
Stardust—who’d been slinking around the studio slipping crayons away from distracted Nature Artists—eagerly zipped over to seize the opportunity to lecture. “As if a handful of hours cramming could teach you a craft that takes years to master.”
I shifted guiltily, knowing my time spent in the library had forced me to cut corners. Iris laid a gentle hand on my arm. “Maybe you should practice from a different book.”
But studying from another book would only put me further behind. “The stitch can’t be too difficult; I’ve seen Darius use it dozens of times.”
“But he attended the Academy.” Stardust flipped open her coloring book and began coloring an owl with one of her newly-acquired crayons. “Maybe the problem isn’t your stitchery. Have you even tried creating your own dreams rather than copy another’s?”
Iris gasped while Angel stared open-mouthed, her half-raised paint brush dripping crimson paint in polka-dot splotches onto her cupcake dress. She and Iris exchanged wary glances. “You’re copying others’ dreams? Where are you finding them?”
“From her journal.” Stardust ignored my warning glare, and before I could stop her, she snatched my weaving bag, rummaged through it, and dropped one of my dream journals into Angel’s lap. Angel wasted no time in flipping it open and beginning to read. After a moment of polite hesitation, Iris stole a peek over her shoulder.
“These are dreams,” Iris said faintly.
“Not just any dreams.” Angel turned back a few pages and jabbed at one entry. “This is a dream I gave Alice a year ago. Why is it written down?”
My pulse pounded in panic as I scrambled for any possible explanation. “I’ve always been fascinated with dreams, so while living on Earth I asked my friends to share theirs with me.”
Angel frowned at the bookmarks tucked between the pages. “Have you been copying others' dreams this entire time? No wonder you're always losing. A dream is more than just details sewn together. Although the stitches and techniques are important, they alone don’t give a dream its power. Even if you managed to recreate these dreams with your current abilities, they weren’t originally created by you for your specific Mortal. Magic chose you to be Maci’s Weaver; merely copying another’s dream eliminates the touch that only comes from your unique connection to your Mortal. You must be willing to put in the extra effort.”
I was trying to, but it was difficult when there were so many other things vying for my attention—the mystery of my origins and powers, the tipping balance, and now the increased dream dust thefts. As much as I loved constructing dreams for my Mortal, they seemed almost inconsequential compared to everything else. Surely there was something that could be done about the darkness slowly seeping into the Dream Realm…
An idea suddenly lit my mind.
I shoved my butchered attempts to recreate the star stitch into my bag, ignoring Angel’s offended expression. There were a few hours remaining until the Weaving, just enough time to put my hypothesis into action.
I stood in front of the shelves laden with all the dreams I’d captured, a wall of glistening lights, for I’d gone dream viewing nearly every morning since my arrival in the Dream World, going to different villages each time and being careful to leave as soon as I captured one, knowing the burst of magic might be detected. Though I knew it was likely unwise to use my limited magic on such a hobby, I felt the investment worthwhile; studying an actual dream, even one incomplete—for I’d yet been unable to capture a full one—was far more valuable than reading about dreams in a dusty volume. The sooner I increased my skills, the sooner Maci would be able to see a dream of her own.
I caressed each jar, as if by touching them I could discover how to use them. An idea tantalized my thoughts, but despite the urgency coursing through me, compelling me to act, it remained unformed.
During my hours of perusal in the library, I’d discovered no information about my powers. My research had confirmed what I’d always suspected: my ability to see and capture dreams must be unique to me. While I’d previously only used my powers to satisfy my curiosity and unquenchable fascination with the dreams I’d never been able to experience on my own, could I possibly use them for more?
My trailing fingers paused on a jar containing an aqua dream. I plucked it from the shelf to study it more closely. The dream swirled within its glassed prison like a bubble of colored fog, while speckles of dream dust coated the bottom, glistening in the dream’s light.
I blinked in surprise. “Look, Stardust.” I turned the jar towards her. Although she couldn’t see the dream, her eyes widened at the magic it’d left behind. “Dream dust.”
My brow furrowed as I continued to examine it. No, it wasn’t quite like dream dust, but instead some sort of substance that almost felt like it. Stardust’s blank stare confirmed I was the only one who could see it. Though I was unsure what this lingering dream residue was, its presence
