Fame. Part five.

Without opening his eyes, Moonlight quickly got out of the car and stepped forward.

But as soon as the wooden door opened, the trembling passed, and he again shone with his light of kindness and sincerity.

"Welcome to Shakespeare's Dreams!" Albert exclaimed, raising his hand and solemnly froze in one place.

As I expected and imagined, the dimension called Shakespeare's Dreams was a small town with small wooden houses that stretched far ahead along the trees.

The "sky" of this place was pale blue, in places white, reminiscent of a blurred canvas of some artist.

The trees, although they were grown artificially, were still not a hologram. And the air here was real. Cool and fresh. Inhaling the scent of foliage and flowers, for the first time in a long time, I felt alive and one with nature. With this planet.

Following Albert, the first thing I did was look at Moonlight, at his reaction. And only then, through the prism of his happy smile, I looked at the world around me.

"It's so beautiful. Just like out of your dream," he said quietly.

"And it's very quiet here. Perfect for a writer," Albert added. "These houses, trees, sky, all this was created with love and there is not a drop of a hologram here."

Hearing the ground crunching under my feet, I felt the presence of the Muse, who was already whispering in my ear about the future book.

This was not the world where robots lived and where everyone laughed when it wasn't funny, it was a quiet world that had its own values. A world where time still existed, a world where Shakespeare could create his next masterpiece.

"I wonder where are all the people?" I asked, only now noticing that there was not a soul around.

"This is a city of creators. This is a city where everyone is immersed in their thoughts. Therefore, you rarely see someone walking down the street and talking loudly. Writers, poets, artists, quiet people."

"So unusual."

"Exactly. And so, this is your house," he said, stopping opposite a small wooden house that stood between trees and rose bushes.

I knew that Moonlight would be interested in these flowers, and I knew that he would bend down to breathe in the scent of this flower.

"Caution. Roses have thorns."

Most of all, I loved watching Moonlight study every detail of the world around him.

"The house is not big. This is not your mirrored villa. But I assure you, here you will find the comfort that is necessary for a creative person."

"Everything is fine here," I said, still looking at Moonlight.

"Are you talking about him, or about this place?" Albert asked quietly and laughed. "Well, I have my own business. And you get used to your new home. Moonlight, be careful with the roses. And remember, everything that is beautiful is always dangerous."

Leaving us alone among the bushes with scarlet roses, which kept in themselves eternity, Albert quickly walked away.

Suddenly, breaking the perfect silence, breaking it with his loud, but at the same time quiet, slightly aloof voice, Moonlight waved his hand and immediately hid his hand in his pocket.

His voice was unpleasant to me. Although no, hearing the sound of pain from his lips made me feel pain and remind me that after five years ...

"What's the matter?"

"It's okay. Just a scratch. Albert was right. These lovely roses can hurt," he said.

So this is how it feels when you see how someone so dear to you is in pain. Even if this pain is insignificant, temporary.

So this is what you feel when someone close to your heart writhes in pain, even if this twitching of the facial muscles is only a matter of seconds.

I was scared, it hurt and most of all, I felt hopelessness and lack of any strength. I could not save this creature from pain, from death.

Still in a panic, still hearing his voice in my head, or a scream, or a slight cry, I grabbed his hand and saw a thin line of blood that stopped at his wrist.

"It's okay. It doesn't hurt."

This is the first time I've seen the blood of a Wizard. Rather than that of a man, his blood was light red. Slightly orange tinged. Just like the sunset.

And the worst thing was that this little scratch was not going to heal.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have admired and touched these flowers. I ruined your mood," he muttered quietly and now, he seemed guilty, as if he was just a slave.

Now, I felt angry. And I screamed, "Don't make that face!"

Suddenly, hatred, anger carried me away from him, just to calm my ardor.

I walked forward without knowing where. I walked quickly, along a quiet street, along even rows of trees, under a pale sky.

I don't know how long I walked like that, but over time I noticed that I was already running.

It was hard to run in shoes and a suit, but I ran. Because, this way, I wanted to escape from the pain, from the reality that is hidden in the eyes of Moonlight.

But I was stopped by another voice that belonged to someone who must have followed me.

"Okinizeus! I knew you would come here."

This was Venice.

"What happened?" she asked. She had a basket full of books in her hands.

"Nothing. I just, it doesn't matter anymore."

"The writers are so strange. So many emotions. Especially you," she said, as if she knew me better than anyone.

Not feeling the need to play the role of a happy modern person next to her, I sat down right on the ground, under a tall tree.

"Why does this world always bring so much pain and disappointment? Is this really the main law of the universe?"

Looking at me knowingly, she put her hand on my shoulder. Her thin, small face radiated sincerity and tenderness.

"For people like you, this world is full of difficulties and sadness. But for many, this world is just a stage."

"Do you live here?"

"Yes. Since this dimension was created. This is my home."

Feeling the coolness, the fresh wind that suddenly surprised me, I wanted to protect Moonlight from the cold.

"I think I should go. I haven't even seen home yet."

"Let me give you a tour. This place is actually mysterious."

"What do you mean? There are only houses and trees here. And nothing else."

"Come on," she said and took my hand. "This house belongs to one poet. And these rows of houses belong to a whole family of writers who write mostly historical works. They are trying to write down what is happening now. Well, in short, here, all the people are like you."

"What's so mysterious about that?"

"You will find out later. All the mystery is in people."