Forsaken Dreamscape (Nevermor)
Read Forsaken Dreamscape (Nevermor) Online
Authors: Lani Lenore
The Second Book in the
Nevermor
Trilogy
Forsaken Dreamscape
By Lani Lenore
Text © Lani Lenore 2001-2013
All Rights Reserved. No part of this
publication may be produced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any
means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical
methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case
of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other
noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Cover art by Omri Koresh © 2013
Table of Contents
Introduction
I’ve
always been drawn to the darker side of things. Especially in writing, it
seems that my fondest wish is to take something light and then find the hidden
darkness within it. Therefore, it seemed only natural for me to take stories
that were innocent in childhood and uncover the way that they might appeal to
my adult senses.
On
this note,
Forsaken Dreamscape
was born, and it began as a twisted, dark
fantasy sequel to Peter Pan.
I
began this book as an original project around late 2001. At that time, it was
simply called
Neverland
. I began posting it online and it was
well-received, but I didn't finish it until years later when I reworked the
entire thing, finished it, and posted it again as
Neverland: Forsaken
Dreamscape
.
For
years, it has lived online and has been merely a fanfiction – until now.
In
September 2012, I decided that I would be brave and set myself on the road to
self-publishing. I've rewritten many fairytales into darker versions over the
past several years, also penned a few original works, and yet none have been
quite as popular as my dark fantasy sequel to Peter Pan. I decided that
perhaps this was a good one to start with, but despite how popular it was among
readers, I was never happy with it myself. There were good things about it,
but there was something wrong, and I couldn’t quite pick it out.
I
looked at it again, and after researching the copyright on Peter Pan as well as
examining my own unhappiness with the story, I decided that the only way to
solve my problem was to change it so that it wasn’t Peter Pan anymore. I
wanted to do something new – to break away from the old story and make
something of my own. I realized that in order to do that, I had to create my
own story as a base, to put in front of the ‘sequel’ volume I had already written.
To
resolve these issues, I wrote the book Nevermor in order to create a new story
to set the stage for
Forsaken Dreamscape
, now the second book in the
Nevermor
trilogy. I changed it from being Peter Pan into something of my own.
For
those who have read it before in its original form, you will no doubt notice a
few changes, but I feel that changing the story to Nevermor has given the
entire project a new life that I could not help but nurture. I know readers
will still see the same passion in the words that they respect me for.
That
is the brief history of this book. That said, I simply hope you enjoy the dark
side of fairytales as much as I do.
-
Lani Lenore
Forsaken
Years
have passed, the seasons fade
A
sacred world bleeds; dark decay
The
angels weep for ruined dreams
As
demons choke the land to screams
An
aged wonder, all forsaken
A
missing force forgotten,
Awakened
Storms…
This is a night of storms
. That was all Wren could think as she walked along
the narrow ridge of the roof beneath the darkened sky. A vicious wind blew her
fair curls all about as the moon shone down on her from beyond a cloudy haze.
The beacon winked at her mischievously, and she began to feel doubt.
Wren
remembered the tempest – the way lightning had flashed so violently as thunder
growled in the amber sky. She had not been away so long that she had
forgotten. She could recall the storm – though perhaps not as well as the way
Rifter’s face had looked when he’d peered adoringly into her eyes.
Rifter…
He was the one
who cared about her – the only one who could save her now. She wanted to see
him again, desperately, but he was not here. Wren did not understand, and
could not quite ignore the circumstances. Could this not be put off until the
storm was over? A soothing flow of whispers discouraged her from thinking.
Through her tangling hair, she saw a tiny spot of light dancing before her, and
though she could not understand the language of the fairy creature, she
understood the message.
It
was from Rifter. He was inviting her back to his world of dreams. Nevermor
was calling.
The
line of orphans – all eighteen of them from Miss Nora’s Home – marched along
the roof, guided by the light of the fairy wisp. Dark tendrils of smoke rose
from chimneys in London’s twilight, adding to the dark shadow of night
overhead. She could smell the smoke, a sure sign of warning on most occasions,
but no alarms were set off in her mind.
Rifter
had promised to come back for her – had promised not to forget – but yet he had
sent his companion to retrieve her instead. Wren was almost certain that this
wasn’t right, but she could not question it, perhaps for the soft reassurance
of the fairy’s spell, urging her forward.
I
will go
,
Wren thought languidly.
Yes, I will fly there
.
The
others had already gone on before her – had already taken flight off the eaves
of the house, laughing gleefully. Wren would join them. Without questioning
further, she closed her eyes, and with a contented smile on her lips, she prepared
to step from the roof.
One
LONDON,
1877
1
It
was the sound of screaming that drew Wren back from the outer nothingness.
Peering
through the dark of her room, she could hear nurses bustling down the hallway,
muted as nuns in their soft-soled shoes. Shadows of hulking orderlies played
along the bricks as they fought with the shrieking inmate in the cell across
the hall. A screeching door gave way to tears, and the patient’s shadow
flailed about, her limbs slinging violently in all directions.
Wren
lay still in her own cell, and after a few moments, the screaming faded in the
distant corridors. The manic patient had been silenced, unconscious now; off
to dreamland and the bloodletting chambers. The ward was quiet once again.
Wren kept herself quiet as well. She did not want to be next. Instead, she
rolled over and pulled the thin blanket up to her chin.
I
must try to sleep
,
she told herself, but she never did sleep – not anymore.
Perhaps
it was impossible that she did not sleep at all, even though she was convinced
she did not, but she was even more certain that she did not dream. She could
not remember the last dream she’d had – not a sensation of wonder, impossible
fantasy, or whisper of a kiss – especially now that she was here in this place.
This discouraged her, and at that thought, she felt trouble brewing in her
stomach until she could no longer lay still.
Wren
sat up on the thin mattress, through which every spring of the iron frame
twisted into her back. She reached beneath the bed to retrieve the journal
she’d been allowed to keep, along with a blunt pencil. It was her only
possession within the stark room that could offer her solace. The pages would
be her confession.
Turning
to a fresh page, she began a new entry of her thoughts, though she did not know
the date.
Once
again it has been a night without dreams
, she wrote,
and therefore no
nightmares, but I awaken with the same fear. I fear that
…
Her
hand hesitated on the page. She thought of what she would write next – thought
of Witherspoon reading it – and she could not bring herself to go further. She
closed the journal, put it away with the dust, and rested back against the bed
in resignation.
But
her fear did not leave her.
Wren’s
inability to dream kept her constantly troubled, for if she could not dream,
then she could not hope to get back to the place where she belonged.
I
may not find Nevermor again
, she thought sadly. It was not the first time.
Wren
had never forgotten it, that secret land beyond the sea of dreams. She longed
for it daily, but could not get back, no matter how hard she wished or how
often she tried. It could only be found through dreams, after all, but since
Rifter had brought her back from that place as a last favor, it had been
impossible for her to create her own dreams, let alone see that sandy beach
where she had first washed ashore.
Was
it her own fault that she could not find that world? If she'd ever sought
escape, she needed it now more than ever. Never in all her life – despite what
other fears she’d had – had she ever imagined that she would be locked away in
an asylum, accused of a debilitating madness. Then again, she’d not predicted
most of the details of her life beyond her father’s house.
She
remembered the first days here, crammed in a cell with many other girls – some
as timid and frightened as she was, others explosive – and yet they were all
the same in the eyes of their captors. They were faceless and less than
human. They were a collection of pretty dolls with long hair and glass eyes,
meant to be observed and occasionally toyed with.
Though
she had been caged like an animal, she was thankful to have been ignored.
She’d kept quiet and let herself blend in, and while some of the other inmates
might occasionally keep too close or try to eat her hair, Wren knew there were
worse things in the world. She had seen some of them with her own eyes.
Here,
the creatures in the dark are of a different sort
.
Wren
had dealt with what she was given, relieved to still have her life after what
had happened at the orphanage, telling herself every day that this trial would
not be for long. Rifter would not abandon her. He would come.
She
had held onto that belief, but it had begun to slip over time.
As
in Nevermor, time seemed to have no relevance at the asylum. All of the days
blurred together into masses of vaporous nothing. There was no hope of gaining
and no fear of losing. Her existence spun like wheels in mud. Though she
could not quite say when it had happened – after weeks, perhaps months of being
locked away – eventually the quality of her life within the asylum began to
change.
Overcrowding
had become a problem, and it was decided that the ranks of inmates should be
thinned. Some were to be sent off to distant country asylums, and Wren had
feared being taken to another place. She’d wanted to keep herself constant
until Rifter had found her.
As
fate would have it, she got her salvation in the form of a doctor named
Witherspoon, a logical man with an intelligent forehead and deep-set eyes.
While the directors had been sorting through the patients, he’d become
interested in her story, insisting she stay close. Though she was not quite
ignored any longer because of him, things got a bit better for her after that.
