The clouds amassed in front of her feet in a sinuously warped staircase. Lightning bolts tore open the teal-green sky, and there, in the ineffaceable murkiness of the ethereal calm, stood the doorway to the landscape of the cedarn covers. It was a tough choice. She stepped towards the sight of the verdant pleasure-dome, and heard the wailing crescendos of the bellowing vault, which cried within the forged manacles of her mind, urging her to stop.
But she listened to the loudest of them all–herself. She descended the measureless chasm, and sank into the sunny spots of vernal freshness. Undulating seas of russets, and greens were a surprise to her empyrean eyes of blue. She looked back at the way she had come. It was an azure world of composed stillness, one which tinkled with absolute bliss; the world she had left behind–a dreamscape.
Here she was, in another world, which constantly changed, and evolved through mankind’s stygian dreams. Marked with suffering, yet prepossessing; one which was beautifully dark.
She was gladly accepted, as if she’d always been a part of it. A lone tear-drop glistened on her cheek; it sparkled like a sapphire, not molten silver. The orb plinked to the ground, and burst into the river of Hope, for Hope was her name; and that was how mankind was blessed with Hope.