it was your choice alone -- wether driven by novelty, or inclination, you brought yourself to the Lair.

"Welcome," murmurs a voice -- hushed.  a candle she holds reveals the identity:  the Dreamer herself.  short brown hair intelligebly falls to her shoulders, somewhat touseled.  her gaze is tenebrous, even though it is coloured an euphonious shade of azure.  all-in-all, her appearance seems ordinary, and her age ranges from about thirteen to sixteen.  who could know the real age can extend to, and from.  her voice is raucous -- sultry, and rasped in a vocal clarity; a ravishing pair, if it could be described.  "Yes.  I am the Dreamer.  Popular to contradictory tales, I do, in fact, reside here.  In the mind of an adolescent girl -- taciturn, and reclusive.  Shall I tell you about her?"

Absently, you nod in reply.

"Her name is Elaine.  That is all she would like me to reveal.  She lives in what she calls The Middle of Nowhere -- which, in turn, must be somewhere.  She calls it The Forsaken Land of Oblivion or No Return.  How descriptive is she, with that."  ooh.  she has some wry sarcasm.  "Though, of course, that is not the name.  She is an artist -- visually, and mentally, and that is what she likes to be referred to.  Although others of low intelligence settle upon thinking she is a midget because of her somewhat short height."  she snorts.  "How disrespectful, eh?"  canadian, she must be.

oh.  she must be able to read your thoughts.  "No, no.  I am a figment of creativity and imagination.  I have no beginning, nor end -- just essence in the form of Elaine's writing."

she offers an equivocal quirk of a smile, and dissapates from sight.  gone.  out of sight, but not out of mind.

my.  wasn't that encounter odd?  off the wall?  insane?

now, i leave you to determine what sanity you have, and what insanity you have.  take the chances.