Once upon a time, there was a little girl who was lost in the woods.

The moonlight sparsely lit her way, and she had no idea how to get back home. The little girl saw a pure-white glow off in the distance between the trees, and decided to follow that light.

Soon, she stepped into a clearing with a rock. Atop that rock was a round white ball, bathing in the moonlight but emitting a glow of its own.

Curious, the little girl approached the white ball. Upon touching the ball, she heard a soundless voice in her head.

You seem lost, little one.

The girl retracted her hand as though burned, staring around her surroundings. But she was alone.
Or was she?

She touched the ball again, and the voice echoed within her once again.

It is just you and I.

Unsure of what to say, the girl realized the ball was soft and warm, and then the forest’s chill swept over her. She hugged onto the ball tightly.

“Can…can you hear me?” she whispered to the ball.

I can.

“I am lost.”

As any one would be, who finds themselves here.

“Where is here?” she asked.

Hmm. The best way to describe it is that it is a passage between worlds. Your world and the dream world.

“I can find dreams?” the girl became excited.

You don’t always find dreams. But dreams do seem to find you.

She was confused. “What are you?”

I guide dreams to the people that need them.

“Can you find me a dream, then? It’s been so long since I dreamt.”

Which brings us back to the topic. When one is lost, one becomes hard for dreams to find.

“I didn’t know that when we can’t dream it means we are lost.”

Those without dreams are always lost. They don’t know what they’re going for. The ball’s light glowed more brilliantly, a beacon in the dark forest. The air around them became ever colder, and the girl hugged the ball ever tighter to avoid the night’s chill. Until she realized the shadows were pointing the wrong way. All of the trees’ shadows were pointing towards the ball – towards them, instead of away.

She shifted her feet away from the shadows, but the ball’s voice was gentle in her head.

Do not be afraid of the shadows. For beyond them is the guiding light.

The girl pressed her face to the warmth of the ball, then nodded to herself and extended a cautious toe to one of the shadows. It touched her own and she dreamt.

The girl dreamt of standing on a podium in front of a crowded stadium, holding a golden trophy in her arms. The throng of people in the stands cheered wildly and she was proud of herself. Why? She had no idea. But she was proud.

Taken aback by the sudden image in her mind, she stumbled backwards and her foot touched another shadow, and she dreamt again.

She looked down upon a blue orb, speckled with clouds of white and interwoven with green and black masses. Land. She heard her own breathing. Felt her own weightlessness. She glanced out of her suit and saw the endless stars in the skies.

But the weightlessness was too much, and she panicked, flailing about only for her foot to touch another shadow.

She was covered in blood. Blood was everywhere. A blade lay askew in her lifeless right hand as she tried to command her legs to push herself up, but her body refused to listen.

A wrinkled hand gripped her own, and she looked up, exhausted. Kind, gentle eyes met hers as the old lady bowed profusely in gratitude, thanking the little girl for saving her son’s life.

“Stop! Stop!” She shouted, pulling herself closer to the warm ball as she picked up her feet away from the shadows. “I don’t want these dreams!”

Do you not like these dreams?

“These aren’t my dreams.” She said, squirming to climb atop the ball. “None of these are my dreams.”

They are wonderful dreams.

“They are. But they’re not mine. I want my dream.”

What is your dream then, little one?

She paused. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

We have all sorts of dreams here. I’m sure the right one will find you.

“No, all of these are someone else’s dreams.”

How do you know if a dream is your own?

She hesitated again. “I don’t know,” she said again. Then she bristled. “Where did these dreams come from? They can’t all be my dreams.”

The ball became silent.

These dreams were lost here too.

“Which means they once belonged to someone else?” the girl demanded.

Yes. But I can promise you that your dream is here too.

She looked around at the multitude of shadows emanating from the forest.

Dreams, illuminated by an ethereal glow that she did not know the source of.

Then she looked down. “Ah. There it is.”

She sat down on the ball and crossed her legs, seeing the small dark imprint she made on top of the ball, where the moonlight shone down on her. She touched her shadow.

Is that your dream, little one?

“Yes. It’s my dream.”

The shadow darkened and spread out, large enough to engulf her. But it was warm, and the little girl could control her panic.

“Thank you.” She laid a hand on the warm ball. “It seems you helped me find my dream.”

Don’t lose it again, little one.

The ball’s glow flickered and everything disappeared. Then the little girl dreamt her own dream.