We were all born with a crown upon our heads
gleaming and unadorned.
And we can decorate ours however we like.

Some choose to thread it through with blooming ivy and vines
knowing their connection to the nature around them is inescapable
and that when the world thrives, so do we.

Others have adorned theirs with thorns of gold sharpened with diamonds
never happy with how high it rises
or how many pieces of others' broken crowns they've stolen to build it.

I've also seen some that are barely visible
just lightly glowing from where they rest
but that radiate love and care in waves strong enough to beat any devil back.

How much thought have you given
to what yours is made of?
Because it's never too late to start redecorating.

Where have you found yourself this time?

You assume it's a dream
as you typically don't frequent underground places.
At least, that's where you assume you've found yourself
considering the absolute darkness and absence of anything even remotely resembling light.

It's then that you realize
with the ache in your neck
that you've been looking up for some time.
And as if the taut thread that had trapped your gaze in that absolute darkness has snapped
your neck relaxes
letting your head return to a natural position once more.

You open your eyes.

Not sure if you had simply just blinked
or if your eyes had been closed for so long you'd lost track of time.

Either way, now that there is something to see
you realize you are in fact underground.
The rough-hewn wood of a fragile little boat sits beneath you
sitting motionless atop what you first assume is black glass
maybe obsidian
that stretches in all directions.

It's not until you lean over to get a better look
that its surface is disturbed
and a ripple radiates out from you across its surface.

A pit in your stomach forms instantly
and you grip the wood around you.
The disturbance was a mistake.

Rocky, shuddering groans erupt above and below as another ripple flees.

You watch as the water below becomes mottled with glinting, glowing orbs of every shape and size.
They rise from the depths and burst upwards
threatening your boat's tenuous grip on stability
and your quickly diminishing thought
that if this was a dream you'd be able to control it.

They hover around you with slow, uneven movements
like lungs only slightly out of breath,
brightening and dimming all in time with one another.

A hissing voice echoes from all around you
each consonant rattling painfully within your ribs.

"Who are you? Why are you here?"

You take the pause as an invitation to speak
hoping to explain that this isn't the first time something like this has happened.
That it's never really within your control.
That really, if you'd never stumbled upon that witch's cabin in the woods when you were twelve none of this would have ever happened-

But your words are stopped by the voice ringing out again
a note of tired resignation in it that lends your own muscles an air of exhaustion.

"No- do not speak. Your thoughts are loud enough, and you have far too many."

A cold breeze rustles the water and makes you shiver
like the sigh of a corpse.

"Whatever lesson the witch meant for you to learn here, I do not care. Leave now, before I command time itself to tear you into fissures."

In the moment it takes your mind to begin to wonder what gory details that would involve,
you again open your eyes
to the blinding white light of your computer screen.

You blink and sigh
groaning in-sync with your office chair as your stretch your arms above your head.

The clock says your shift is almost over.
Almost an hour since last you checked.
The muscles in your neck twinging in protest of your sudden movement.

You always go the strangest places when you fall asleep on shift...

Ever since it appeared,
I haven't been able to hear the roar of traffic
or the honking of the train.

Now when I open my window
I hear the chirping of birds and rustle of grass
until, of course, the ringing of steal and braying of horses replaces them.

I can never quite see whatever battle is raging behind the stone walls.
Just the waving and toppling of banners
and the occasional red streak that drips down the battlements
from a now limp hand.

I can't sit here not knowing for much longer.

I know I should probably call someone.
Use the tools of this modern age to see if anyone else sees it
or if it's just a fluke.
But when I reach for my phone
it sits in my hand, cold and wrong
like it no longer belongs to me.
Like it's the one out of time and place here
more than the castle outside my window.

I don't really need it anyway.
I've been meaning to unplug.

And what could possibly go wrong
with just a short trip into my own backyard?

People are always saying that they're looking for their "someone".
But of all the people I've asked for details from,
none have been able to tell me more than
they're looking for "the one".

Sounds to me that powerful magics are being worked here,
and I would guess the fae will probably appear soon.
That's what happened last time I sniffed around too near
the sharpened steel trap they were setting.

Whenever my fingers start typing or scribbling
I never know what's going to happen

They might drag me down through underground caverns lined with swinging blades
or lead me gently through flowered meadows to the sound of fae in flight

They might decide I'm in for a scare and toss a score of ghouls my way
or drop me neck-deep into a memory that's far beyond my sight

Either way, the urge to type and scribble is always nibbling at my mind
and even when I try to plan
I really never know what's going to happen.

Okay... so I know how this is supposed to go.

I- the hesitant hero- am called on a grand quest,
wherein the fate of the world is at stake.
But I am reluctant to give up my perfectly content life,
so my home is destroyed
or an army approaches,
or something like that.

Blah blah, blahbitty blah!
Can we just skip all this intro stuff?

I'm ready to fight now.
Yeah, where's this great evil?

What- what do you mean I'm not ready yet?
I'm the hero!
That's how this works!

No- don't- all this "training" is pointless-
oh come on!
You're really going to ditch the only hope you have
in the middle of a dark forest,
just so I can prove myself?!
Asshole.

Toughened boots come down
cracking the ancient bone floor.
The beast's eye opens.

I revel in the dust motes
dancing in the sunlight
amidst the giggles of fae

glints of earth and sky alight
float around and above
without touching a mortal soul
but briefly drawing the eye
before our attention unwavers once more.

their flinty smiles have cut away my blindness
peeled away the attachments my forefathers forged

I've decided
that I enjoy their ever-shifting world far more
than this one of concrete

no, you can't come
unless they invite you along

but​ don't worry
maybe you'll catch a glimpse of them
and they'll grow to fancy you
​
maybe your graceful hands and pretty face
are exactly what they're craving

Far below the mountaintops
where no songbird has ever sung
lower than even the most persistent of raindrops reach
sits a tree.

No- not a tree even.
A sapling.
Not yet tall enough to be called grown
but carrying a small fistful of leaves upon its stem.

It sits amidst a darkened copse of its elders
listening to their creaking
taking in their every word
but not quite loud enough to speak.
At least- not with the towering trees above it.

But its voice does reach the tiny insects skittering
and the rodents chittering 'round it
down there on the forest floor.

And while it may not have the stature of its family
or bare sweet fruit
or give off cool shade,
it does hold a certain power within it
that none else do.

If you kneel down next to it
and press your ear to its thin bark
you can just make out its tiny voice.

But what does it say? I'm sure you wonder.
Well... I don't actually know.
I've only heard rumors myself.

Its message is different to everyone who listens though
that one thing's for certain.
Some hear the echos of their lost love
or feel the rekindling of their passions.
Others are shored up by compliments and truths
and come away with a spring in their step.

One day, I'll make it there.
And in the shadows of all those monstrous trees
I'll lay there in the dirt
and we'll have a nice chat,
the sapling and me.

I found another one today.
A spot of darkness on the wall
no more than an inch wide
pulsing silently in time with my heartbeat.

That's three now.

I think they're portals
gateways or something.
One of my pencils slid in easily
then ripped out of my hand
disappearing into the darkness.

I wasn't sure if I'd imagined it or not,
but I could've sworn after it was gone
I heard the sound of lips smacking.

I'm starting to wonder
if they all go somewhere different
or if one day they'll morph into one giant chasm into nothingness.

Who do you call to get rid of spontaneous interdimensional gateways?
Would that be under in the yellow pages under
Supernatural Removal Services?
Or maybe the Eldritch Travel Agency?