The following is a description of a place I once knew in Dream. There are many places like it; and I have learned to walk among them, though only clumsily for now. If it were my choice, I would say that these are True Dreams; places and events from behind and beyond the veil of sleep that do not change as much as the rest of Dream. Read on, I invite you. Don't get lost.
The Black Abbey of the Folded Rose:
No Sin Too Decadent
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The hallowed halls of Dreamland are not like our own churches and ministries. They have not forgotten that All is Holy. And there is much more for them to dedicate themselves to. The denizens of dream are almost all dedicated to a faith, at least nominally. This is one of the oldest- and most macabre. Read on, if you have the nerve. Don't get lost.
The black and twining halls of the Sisterhood are expertly crafted with an elfin quality; they catch at darkness, both of the sight and of the mind, and keep it snared within the Abbey's walls. Grottoes leading off of the entrance hall are ringed with twisted iron spikes which thrum excitedly, and the sound of hungry, elated panting issues from within. Now and then, a deafening scream somewhere between agony and bliss pierces the night.
The Sisterhood is founded on a single principle: that desire is divine, the more debauched, the better. And though the high gothic halls, silver-and-iron fixtures, and delicately sculpted statues are impressive, so too are the adherents of carnal Desire. They are cloaked in deep maroon or black habit, and veils obscure faces from which drip sparkling, heavy piercings. Intricate tattoos of a thousand unclothed bodies snake up their perfect arms, and each carries a small satchel on their enticing hips, which no outsider may gaze into.
Any dreamer who begs entry at the door- and it is begging, on hands and knees, until your palms and shins are scraped and sore and your voice fails through a trickle of escaping blood- will eventually be met by two of these beautiful creatures. And inside the Black Abbey are a thousand rooms, each more decadent than the next, filled with greater and greater scenes of debauchery and hedonism- here a screaming man is whipped by frenzied adherents, until his blood drips gold upon the stone and he collapses, weeping his gratitude into the arms of a gentle-handed initiate. Here a woman stares as fire dances across her skin, searing it slowly into charcoal as she laughs in wonderment. "I always wondered what it would be like if it didn't hurt." Here, a line of dreamers, led by leashes and clothed in pure white linen, eat scraps that fall from a table- above, the diners tear into dribbling chunks of red flesh, redder than anything has a right to be, and suck marrow out of disturbingly familiar bones, wiping their faces and hands with torn scraps of that same linen.
Here, there are no consequences. Here, you may beg and be beaten, tear and shatter and laugh with manic glee, find your pleasure as torturer or meal. The Sisterhood provides. The Sisterhood understands. The Sisterhood will give you what you desire, hand-wrapped and perfect and utterly worthless, and then send you back to the Material world with a jolt, covered in cold sweat and the tingling sensation that you have broken some deep and unspoken taboo. And then their hymn will lull you back to sleep, cradled against the soft breast of ignorance, and comforted by the notion that no-one else can ever know what you see in your sleep.
Until I can get pictures for each of the locations, the Observatory stars will have to suffice. Look out for a change soon!
Return to the Observatory...