An Angry Pudding

I rubbed my eyes, as the dimness I had stepped into didn't seem to be receding. There was a sense of not only visual but textural fuzziness, as my steps weren't finding purchase with any sort of solid surface and my groping hands seemed to close on cottony greyness. It was frightfully annoying. Nevertheless, I had encountered this in dreams before and knew such a condition was not likely to remain so for long. I continued to grope my way forward until I heard a sharp and pompous voice snap "Come on then! You do know how to walk don't you?"

I angrily snapped back "I most certainly do- but I have the habit of doing so ON THE FLOOR. And there doesn't seem to be one here. So I can't exactly walk very well if there's nothing to step on now can I?" The pompous voice heaved a deep sigh and I felt both hands being yanked forward- the rest of my body following like a balloon follows a string. The scene faded into view- a sun dappled hallway lined with tall pillars trimmed in golds and pale greens swam before my eyes and then solidified. "Well you're doing it ALL WRONG." The disembodied voice retorted (with considerable snark, I might add).

I looked off to my left to address the voice to find it no longer disembodied, but inhabiting a short pudding of a man dressed richly in antique looking clothing- and not surprisingly a pair of those dreadful puffy balloon pants that one sees in Elizabethan era portraits. No wonder he was so angry. Anyone in pale lavender poofy pants trimmed in green piping and copious gold ribbons had a right to be. The man rolled his eyes at me, and his nose went blue.

"Cuthbert?" I said tentatively. (and biting my lip hard so as not to laugh)
"That's SIR Cuthbert Bluenose, Palace Steward" said the little man, bowing low in a jiggly sort of way, and removing his hat (which truly did look like the top of a pudding).
"La Valtana has sent me to escort you to her chambers where the audience shall take place." I started to move forward but he stuck out a pudgey arm and snorted "NOT IN THAT."
His beady eyes addressed my pajamaed condition with disdain and he wiped his hands on his poofy pants as if he had just shaken hands with a pile of mucous. "La Valtana is to be treated with the utmost respect and therefore you shall abide by royal decree No. J-78 which clearly states that all visitors must be wearing the appropriate garb in the presence of the Royal Valtarans or they shall be forced to leave the palace."
"Alright...I would love to do so, but I haven't any other clothes."

Cuthbert's nose turned the color of smashed blueberry pie. "No. Other. Clothes. You impossible girl. Don't you know anything?"

"Apparently not, SIR, as I have never been here before and your lovely note did not make mention for me to bring any clothing. Never mind the fact that I couldn't even get-"

"RIGHT! There!!" he said gesturing impatiently at me. I looked down to see I was now wearing courtly attire- a full skirted pale green dress with violet and gold embroidery and sheer violet oversleeves. I was examining my tiny green silk slippers peeking out from beneath the skirt when Cuthbert barked"Next time, do it yourself. It's not rocket science." He turned and strode forward. "This way miss. Waste makes paste. We are not to waste La Valtana's precious time."

He wibbled forward and I followed. (Waste makes paste? Whatever little man.)

The hallway was long, lined with tall windows that were framed by marble pillars, and the floor was tiled in white and green. Sunlight spilled in, but was so bright that I couldn't get a sense of what was outside the windows themselves. There were ornate golden stands holding large flags every few feet, and wallpaper that simply writhed with purple and green brocade flowers on the wall sections behind them. The hall made a turn to the right, and while it was still lined with windows on one side, the other was covered with large portrait paintings of fascinating ladies, all of whom were wantonly encrusted with fabrics and trinkets.

Every portrait was lovelier than the next- each lady was adorned in impossible hues of decadent fabrics, with coiffures that normal gravity would not oblige. I began getting so caught up in the faces, that Cuthbert hrumphed loudly at me and clicked his heels together in frustration at my lagging behind. Continuing on, we approached an enormous door which looked as if the baroque period had vomited gold cherubs in an unseemly fashion all over the front. Cuthbert stepped forward and grasped the handle, which giggled, and pulled the door ajar slightly. He peeked about through the door crack and then turned to me, his nose fading to a pleasing periwinkle. "She is ready for you. I will announce your presence, there will be a fanfare, and you are to curtsey. You know how to curtsey, yes?"
"Yes."
"Right then. After me."
He opened the door wide for me and followed me through.

Postmarked Peili

There was an envelope adhered to the mirror. I was positive I had not seen it when I saw the mirror before, nor when I had first sat down in the seat opposite. I cautiously got up and walked slowly to the mirror, focusing as much on the reflection in it as on the envelope. I didn't trust the place to not change suddenly, as it had proved it could do so in small ways which were not settling well with me.


I pulled the envelope off the mirror surface and examined it. For all intents and purposes it very much resembled a legitimately normal letter, until the markings were examined. It was addressed to me- E. Gridelin, Waiting room No. E76....? Leeds, England. The Outer world.

Bollocks. This was a blasted dream if there ever was. One of those dreams where you try to wake up and you only arrive in another dream where it seems like you've awakened, except your bed is levitating and the ground is tiled in slices of toast slathered with alternating colors of jam.

"Fine. I'm lucid then. I'm in a dream and I know it. Let's make the best of it, shall we?"
(So, I talk to myself. It's fairly normal for me. Don't tell me you don't break into soliloquy when no one else is about?)

Anyhow...the envelope was covered with the prerequisite postmarks and cancellations, but like none I had ever seen. The stamps were lovely if not bizarre, and all of them like the sticker for the return address was for a place called Tirahvaalta. Though my geography was escaping me at the time, I was quite sure that such a place did not exist. Not in the "normal" world anyhow.

But, this was a dream, and it didn't really matter what I thought did or didn't exist. I opened the envelope carefully and pulled out a very formal looking invitation.
It read:

Salutations, Ms. Gridelin.
By great fortune and even greater necessity, Her Peculiar and Chromatic Eminence, Oriel Crespina De Carnate, La Valtana de Tirahvaalta has requested your presence
on this auspicious day;
The 34th of Glockenspiel, to report to the Royal Palace of Peili straightaway.

We look forward to your arrival,

Signed with sincere and honorable regards,
Cuthbert Bluenose, Palace Steward

.............
What does one say to such an invitation? Better yet how does one attempt to get to said destination when there are no doors to be had? Bugger.
I read the invitation again to see if it returned any clues I may have missed. I flipped over the card, peeked inside the envelope, then read the card again. I sighed deeply.

There was a note sticking to the mirror in pompous handwriting.
"My dear thing, DO try the mirror."
I picked off the note and glowered at it. "No reason to get snippy." I spoke aloud at it. I flipped it over.

"And don't forget to bring the book and keys, you silly girl."

I crumpled the paper, annoyed at being harped at by it and tossed it into a corner. I thought I may have heard the note scream quietly as I did so. It made me quite pleased.

After retrieving the book and keys, which I placed back into my pockets, I stood in front of the mirror. "Alright, " I said aloud. I've read "Through the Looking Glass". I'm not daft. All I have to do is step through, right?" Somehow, getting myself to perform the action was not nearly as easy as speaking the idea. Gingerly I put my hand on the surface of the glass, which felt solid at first but then seemed to melt like syrup... and my hand soon disappeared into the surface with a vague ripple. Gathering some courage, I decided that I should take the "quickly like pulling off a bandage approach" and stepped into the mirror.

It was less like stepping through a door than being absorbed by a gelatinous dessert. A fascinating feeling really. I felt myself inside the mirror glass, and turned to look back out of it into the room I had just been in. Everything was tinged an odd bluish green. I turned again and headed forward into the dimness.