Dreams Come True

Drystan had a dream.

He dreamt of mornings where light crept over his face in his bedroom, winking past the gentle flap of the curtain on the huge glass window. He dreamt of the rising hum of excitement from his toes to his fingers in anticipation of the evening's festivities as well as the day's preparations. He dreamt of the bustle of the kitchen, the noises in the halls, and the chatters in the common area. 

The presence of silver and gold tinsels, the aroma of steamed fish and fresh vegetables, the warm glow of lights twinkling like fireflies – the feeling of being home. Most of all, Drystan dreamt of the snow, fresh and delicate like morning dew settling over the blades of grass in leaping stretches across the field – and in this is Ercilia. She's dancing across his thoughts, his visions, and his imagination as though she's a constant in every variable-ridden equation.

"Oh, good morning, Chairman."

"May you have a nice day ahead, Sir."