Dreamer (The Dream World Chronicles Book 1) by Camille Peters (thriller books to read .txt) 📕

Each building’s bricks looked to have been dipped in paints representing different times of day—from the cheerful hues of sunrise, to the pure alabaster white of midday, to the vibrant colors of sunset.

Rainbow bridges crossed twisting streams of golden water. Glowing trees lined the mosaic paths, all blooming in different seasons, leaves carved from emeralds adorning their branches, with jewels growing like plump fruit. The perfume of vibrant blossoming roses—tall as redwoods and surrounding the city in a crescent—permeated the air.

Stardust monitored my reaction with an elated expression. “Isn’t it stunning?”

There were no words to describe the warm wonder I felt would burst from my chest.

Stardust explained everything we passed at a rapid clip. “This is the Dream Realm’s capital, Rosewood, named for the forest that borders it, which is home to unicorns and other magical creatures; we’ll definitely need to pay a visit. That group of buildings right on the border is the Magic Academy, which spans both realms, and is where Dreamers and Nightmares train together in Weaving and various side professions. Next to it are the apartments where the majority of Dreamers in Rosewood live. That building is where the Nature Artists work, and the one over there is where all seasons and weather are created.” Rainbows danced from these windows as we flew past.

“Where do those paths lead?” I asked, pointing.

“The Milky Way Pool, the Enchanted Gardens, and Silver Lake, all of which are some of my favorite places.” She pointed to each in turn. “But that one”—she motioned to a crumbling stone path that ran alongside the forest until it twisted out of sight—“is to be avoided at all costs; it leads to the gate dividing the Dream and Nightmare Realms. You wouldn’t want anyone to catch you poking around there.”

Dreamers dotted the wondrous landscape like wildflowers—strolling the curving paths, relaxing on the manicured silver and gold lawns dotted with star-shaped flowers, or zipping around on clouds, their cheerful murmurs of conversation mingling with the symphony of birdsong that filled the air.

Every Dreamer had colored hair like mine. Several shared my purple ringlets or Mother’s aquamarine waves, but all colors and styles were represented—from magenta tresses and golden locks to vibrant orange braids. All matched the distinct style each Dreamer possessed in their clothing and the designs they painted on their skin, some simple, others with a distinct theme, which were the ones that drew my notice. One male Dreamer resembled an ocean, one female’s style was that of winter and snowflakes; another’s was that of the night sky, complete with miniature stars woven through her hair.

My simple cotton dress and lack of any particular style screamed foreigner, and several Dreamers stared at me with polite yet puzzled expressions as we flew past. I squirmed beneath their curious gazes, but Stardust took no notice. We flew by a cluster of charming but squashy buildings that looked like fluffy pillows, which encircled a fountain spurting multi-colored water synchronized to soft music.

“This is Main Street, home to all sorts of shops and tasty cafés,” Stardust said. “We'll come back later so you can explore them and choose a style. Floating above it is the grand Dream Library, which features the largest collection of books in the Dream World—just over seven million volumes. And do you see the tallest turret in the city center?” It was impossible to miss, as it towered over the surrounding shops like a king over his subjects. “That’s where the Dream Council for the entire Dream Realm resides.”

I could scarcely take it all in; there was too much to see and not enough time to absorb it all. Although everywhere Stardust showed me for the remainder of the afternoon seemed fascinating, there was one place I was most anxious to visit—the one place I knew was connected to Mother.

“Where are the Cultivating Fields?” I finally asked at dusk.

“Ooh, that would be the perfect place to take you.” Stardust immediately changed direction mid-flight and zipped towards a large field on the outskirts of the city, enclosed by floating violet mountains.

The Cultivating Fields were more spectacular than I’d imagined. Sloping fields stretched infinitely in all directions, hedges twisted in ornate designs around plots of flowerbeds, and moonlight spilled across the transparent soil, a glistening window to the vast canopy of stars pinpricking the night below, creating the illusion that the flowers patterning the meadow were rainbows sprouting from the sky itself. Cultivators knelt between the plots and faithfully tended the plants—all in various stages of growth—and Dreamers wandered the rows, carefully examining each flower and filling their baskets with their plucked selections.

I followed as Stardust floated along the cobblestone pathways that wove through the fields like ribbons, my outstretched fingers grazing the flowers we passed as they leaned into my touch, beckoning for my attention. Swirling in the midst of the glowing auras haloing each bud was a unique sensory detail—the lacy layers of frost caressing a windowpane; the soft hum of bumblebees; the sweet perfume of a meadow quilted with wildflowers; and the sweet, juicy taste of a plump raspberry. It was impossible to know which detail to focus on, all as vivid as if someone had bottled them up and locked them within the flowers for safekeeping.

“There are so many,” I murmured. “What are they used for?“

“Dream Weaving, of course,” a sweet voice answered softly.

I turned. A Dreamer about my age smiled at me. She seemed to have sprouted from the field itself, looking like a giant flower in her rosy dress cut in a petal design over shamrock-green tights. Wildflowers were woven through her wavy fern-green hair, with matching blossoms painted across her arms and face. Lush eyelashes surrounded unusually round moss-green eyes, making her appear uncannily curious. With her petite form and windswept hair, she was like a dandelion prepared to blow away at the slightest breeze.

She studied me, head tilted. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in the fields before. Are you freshly graduated from the Academy?”

My cheeks warmed