Conversations with Christopher: Rhane Part 1

Christopher has returned in his stone seat within the mist and fog of the Cauldron. A young woman a little older than himself. Fine strands of honey-wheaten hair fall around her face and shoulders of her loose black tunic. A clear crystal, somewhat smudged hangs around her neck on a tarnished silver chain. She gazes at him with dreamy blue eyes, not quite focusing upon him. 

Christopher: I know you, don’t I? You came to the Navel once.

Rhane: Did I? I’m Rhane by the way. 

Christopher: I’m Christopher, but I’m sure we’ve met. I led you to a doll, a doll with long, loose amber curls. 

Rhane: Seldom had you seen such a beautiful head of hair. No one has curls like my Amberwyne. 

Christopher: So you did visit. 

Rhane: No, but it’s strange. I have a character in a roleplaying game with that very head of hair. 

For a moment, the mists clear. Christopher and Rhane to turn to see a young woman the same age as Rhane, dressed in a russet vest over a green tunic, brown trousers, and scuffed brown boots, pointing at a faraway horizon. The hair in question falls from her head in loose curls and full waves, pouring over her shoulders. The owner of this hair radiates a strength and confidence Rhane doesn’t have. 

Rhane gazes at her character, blue eyes swimming with the admiration and affection. Amberwyne looks away from the horizon to gaze at her player with the same blue eyes. 

Rhane: Beautiful, isn’t she? I was drinking amber wine when I named her. This is why I decided to call her Amberwyne.

Amberwyne smiles, lips parting as if she’s about to say something when the mists swirl around her, replacing her with another image. An image of a doll with the same head of hair as Amberwyne, dressed in a gown the same shade of green as Amber’s tunic sitting on a shelf. 

Christopher: You said something similar when you found this doll in Gabrielle’s shop, the Navel. You said her hair was like amber wine, so you were going to name her Amberwyne. 

Hands reached out to claim the doll on the shelf. Rhane gazed at an image of herself, lifting the doll into the air, the face radiant. Another Christopher stood leaning against a nearby shelf, watching her with a wistful expression. 

Christopher: You were so happy to find her. It was one of those moments I felt like the Navel had done something good, bringing you and your doll together. (He ducked his head in the vision.) 

The Rhane in the chair seems to look, really look at Christopher for the first time. The Rhane in the vision was too absorbed with her doll to notice.

Rhane: It’s a lovely memory, but I don’t remember it.

The image of Rhane holding the doll, Christopher watching fades, leaving nothing but the two people in the chairs and the mist.

Rhane: I’m not part of your world or your story, Christopher. I’m from a different one our scribbler is working on; The Players Are the Thing.

Christopher: You were part of my world. You visited the Navel. I’m sure of it.

Rhane: Maybe in a past draft. We have the same scribbler, after all. Amberwyne and I are in a different story now. A story in which I’m not sure how real she is.

Christopher: Are any of us real?

Rhane: (smiles) A very good point. Let’s say I’m not sure how real she is in my world.

Christopher: (rubs his eyes) I sometimes feel the same way. About myself and everyone.

Rhane: Oh, I have these doubts. I’m not sure if she does. 

Amberwyne: (appears out of the mist to whisper into Rhane’s ear) I do.

Rhane turns to look at her creation, but her character is already disappearing.

Rhane: This place, this Cauldron is disturbing. It heightens our sense of unreality, making me hope for the impossible. 

Christopher: It reflects our scribbler’s imagination. Characters and concept pop into existence, churn, boil, and disappear in an instant. 

Rhane: With all that churning and boiling, I guess we’re lucky we’re not burning. Or the ground beneath us isn’t shaking. 

Christopher: You’re right. (He looks around nervously, hoping Rhane isn’t giving me ideas. Lucky for my characters, I’m too tired to boil them. Besides I’ve got plans for them, mwah, hah, hah.)

Wondering what those plans are? Wait and see next Monday…

Like my style of writing? Here are links to my published works…

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