It was a wild place, this garden. Rose bushes usually so neatly trimmed were let free to grow wild, their thorns a greater danger then ever. The grass was green- or would be, if the sun was out- but had been allowed to grow to greater heights then considered civilized. In the shades and shadows and curious dark places of the night, tree branches swung and danced to a tune she could not quite hear.

There is a myth, they say.

Walking in this place she must be careful, for a careless step could bring great pain. The roses and grass were not the only wild things in this place. The insects, usually so strictly removed, were here allowed to wander as they wanted. The rocks were not the smooth rounded stones of the formal gardens- rather, they were sharp, and hard edged.

The Dark of this world is different.

She took her time, in her wander through the wild place. In here, there was no need to rush, no need to cater to the whims of the outside world. In here, this wild, unrestrained land hidden in the midst of so much civilization, there was only the dark, and the moon, and a calling of a command she could not ignore.

In this place, the Dark is not a sanctuary. In this world, The Dark is not our Mother. In this Realm, The Dark is not merciful.

She was nearing the center of the garden, if it could still be called that. Her breathe came faster, the burden and blessing she carried with her making her passage harder then it had been in the past. The twists and turns of the place became sharper, much harder to navigate with her belly swollen with child, and she tread carefully, aware that no one would be able to help her if she fell.

The Dreams of this Realm are different.

Finally, she came to the center of the garden, and carefully set down the burden she had brought with her. It took her a few moments to settle herself in the grass, and to spread out the contents of her basket. When she had finished, she pushed her pale blonde hair behind her ears, and sharp silver eyes looked to the moon in contentment.

Cries of agony and betrayal, Dreams of a child and of a Savior. Hope that an end shall come.

She burned. Her blood burned in her veins, spurring her to create what she had been called her to do. Sapphire glittered on her hand, the only adornment she'd allowed herself. It sparked and flashed as she reached inside of herself, putting her all into this effort. All this magic she had saved, all this power she had forgone, went into her creation. Bathed in moonlight, Narcissa smiled as she weaved a tangled web.

Dreams made flesh will come.