There was a great book, with leather covers and golden inscriptions. The depth of millennias was an echo of tramping feet inside the pages. Iron-clad feet. Battle-weary hands clutching swords, bad jokes bantered to fend off the fear of Death.
The dream had many shapes. The majestic dragons and formidable magics inspired an yearning inside me. Pointless but comforting yearning.
We awaken from one dream to another. Let us say that I got chafed. So many things chafed me: the pointless violence and bitter cynicism, demi-god beings that so carelessly squandered human lifes. I guess they had a place in my heart. It was easy to read about an illusion of power in my pitiful loneliness. It was fodder for the fantasy of wielding such power myself.
The dream-world has changed with my awakening. It is better suited to a human being. Small enough and full of hope. It is more concerned with beauty, not power.

I guess my old dream resurfaces from time to time. When I feel disheartened and lonely it comforts me to delve where my former self found solace. Such was the story of the High King. And many others.

I have decided to do a cleansing. It will concern some of my most favourited pictures. Every one of them where I recognize the dream of power hiding behind the fantasy.
I have a small, piteous hope that it will help me to cleanse my heart also.