The septuplets gasped. The Wardrobe was a jewel box of colours, the likes of which they had never seen before. Where everything in the city was white, all the costumes in the wardrobe shimmered in every possible hue of colour there was. They were so unused to this shining new radiance that they could only stand and gawp for a very long time.

“These are the infinitesimal parts of who you are, the many forms and colours that make up you, my dear White Flames,” announced the Master of Illusions, waving grandly at the costumes. “If in the play world, you can recognise that no matter what colour or disguise you wear, all are simply parts of yourself, then you will have understood the true grandness of yourselves.”

“But if we slip on a disguise, will we forever be that one tiny part of ourselves, and lose the wholeness of who we are now?” asked the second septuplet cautiously.

The enchanter laughed. “My sweet, you are a great White Flame squeezing yourself into one tint of who you are, just for the fun of it. How can you ever be anything but whole and infinite? Although of course you will not remember that once you have entered the play world, for your Sephyr would be hidden from you by then… I warned you didn’t I? It is not too late to change your minds yet – do you all still wish to play this game?”

The septuplets nodded animatedly, all the more enthused by the peculiar challenges of the game.

“Very well then. Pick a costume you fancy, my dears. You want to be dressed as fabulously as possible for your first masquerade.”

“How many costumes can we choose?” asked the third septuplet, starry-eyed.

“For the purpose of this game, just one,” answered the enchanter. “It is always better to know one shade of yourself intimately, than a thousand superficially, no?”

Twittering like subdued sparrows in that sombre hall, the septuplets began to dive into the baffling array of disguises in the wardrobe. Each costume was deeply alive with its own shares of pain, drama, happiness, fears and love, all in varying degrees.

After much careful deliberation, the septuplets eventually picked out seven disguises they thought would be fun for them to play at:

The eldest septuplet chose a crimson ballgown that was a disguise for royalty with a heart of evil.

The second septuplet chose a bright orange kaftan that was a disguise for a high-ranking bureaucrat.

The third septuplet chose a mustard pinafore that was a disguise for an ugly, cantankerous chef who could cook like a dream.

The fourth septuplet chose an olive green sundress that was a disguise for a talented artist.

The fifth septuplet chose a midnight blue tunic that was a disguise for an art dealer.

The sixth septuplet chose an indigo sarong that was a disguise for a medicine woman.

The seventh and youngest septuplet chose a violet toga that was a disguise for a dreamer and changemaker.

They slipped into their costumes and giggled to themselves, as children do who are about to embark on some new prank.

Then the septuplets turned to one another.

What they saw horrified them, for in place of the siblings they loved so well, a party of perfect strangers greeted them instead. They kept very quiet, wondering what new trick the Master of Illusions had played on them.

“The disguise is complete!” declared the Master, rubbing his hands gleefully.

And then the septuplets laughed and saw each other for who they really were.

“The amnesia will set in for real only when you step through the mirror,” he added.

“Then can we leave now?” they asked eagerly.

The enchanter shook his head. “You need to write your play world scripts first.”

“Who will be the playwright?” asked the puzzled septuplets in unison.

“Why, you of course!” said the enchanter.

They groaned. “But we thought you would write our scripts for us, so that we can pop into the dream world and be pleasantly surprised!”

“My dears!” cried the Master of Illusions. “How could I possibly be so horrid as to control your game? Why, it’s your play,” he added gently.

“But where’s the fun if we write our scripts now and know exactly what is going to happen in the play?” they grumbled.

“Ah, have you forgotten that amnesia will overtake you the moment you step through the mirror?”

“If we forget, what’s the point of writing a script to begin with?” The septuplets were genuinely baffled.

The enchanter chuckled. “You will not write a script that you will be forced to act out like puppets once you enter your play world. You only need script the many possibilities, the many forks in the road in this game. The script you write is only to help you design your play lives to be as dry or as juicy as you want them to be.”

“So we are not bound by the scripts we write now?” asked the third septuplet.

The Master of Illusions smiled. “Have you not guessed? Each costume you have chosen comes with its own script already, but it is never fixed. Oh no it isn’t, and never will be.” He shook his head sagaciously.

“You direct your own play, even as you act in it. You are at once the actor and the director of your stage lives. You choose your own destiny. And in that sense, even your costumes cannot dictate how your life will be.”

He untangled a ball of yarn and showed the septuplets a movie of all the millions of scripts they could write and play with each other: of what would happen if someone met another when, or if they did not, and what would happen in each case.

“In a world of infinite possibilities, there is also an infinite number of choices you can make at each moment. Which one will you make? Which destiny will you choose? That’s the gamble. It’s what makes life in this dream world so maddening, and also so insanely beautiful,” said the enchanter.

The septuplets looked at each other, bewildered by the complexity of lives hidden in a skein of yarn.

“How confusticating,” they muttered.

But as they settled down to script the roles they could enact, they became increasingly enthusiastic.

“I’ll torture you…”

“I’ll be your wicked boss…”

“I’ll be your mother…”

“I’ll be your lover…”

“I’ll be… I’ll be…”

They chirruped feverishly as they plotted all the possible trajectories of their play lives.

When everything was decided on, the septuplets agreed that their three oldest siblings were terribly brave for consenting to play some of the most unpleasant parts to be found in the Wardrobe.

But the most courageous of all, they agreed, was their eldest sibling, whose role was so vile that no one else had dared take it. Everyone praised its heroism so much, that the first septuplet was quite embarrassed, and blushed to the same shade of crimson on its costume.

When the eldest septuplet had recovered sufficiently from its fit of bashfulness, it ventured, “I suppose this is the only way for us to understand the light we really are… by playing at what it isn’t. But my dear siblings, I must confess that I cannot bear to be so reviled for too long, and would like to play this game for the shortest time possible.”

“That is quite convenient,” broke in the Master of Illusions. “The costume you chose comes with a curse that grants you an early death in your play world.”

“What does that mean – ‘death’?” asked the septuplets curiously. Being immortal, they did not know what it meant to die.

“Death in this game is the only way for you to return home to the White City. It is a means for you to make a permanent exit from the play, to retire to the wings. If you don’t die, you remain in the game, wearing your disguise, acting your part still.”

“How quaint,” they murmured.

“I hope we remember all the strange customs of this play world,” added the second septuplet anxiously.

The enchanter laughed. “Don’t worry. You will know them like your Sephyr the moment you step through the mirror.”

But the eldest septuplet remained uneasy.

“My dearest siblings,” it began timidly, “now that we have all chosen a costume for ourselves, I promise to play my part as well as I can while we are in our game world and can no longer remember each other. But,” and here, its voice trembled a little, “wouldn’t you all hate me so much for what I will do to you?”

A thoughtful silence ensued.

“I suppose so,” said the youngest septuplet. “But if we’re just acting, it will be alright won’t it?”

“But will you promise me that no matter how horrid I may seem to all of you while in disguise, you will at least try to remember who I really am? Just the thought that any of you could possibly hate me… oh, it breaks my heart so!”

Everyone embraced their poor, brave sibling, and swore that they would try their best to remember.

“And promise me that when we finally return to the White City, we will once again be the dearest of siblings that we are now?” persisted the eldest septuplet.

They promised, then they all followed the first septuplet’s lead, and made similar vows of their own to the others, whose paths were going to cross in ways that might hurt them while in the play world.

Having sworn their eternal love to each other, they lined up reverentially in front of the mirror pointed out by the Master of Illusions as the portal to the dream world they had chosen.

“Why do we need to go through a mirror to get to this game world?” asked the fifth septuplet.

“Because a mirror shows you who you are,” replied the enchanter.

“And by playing the game, we will learn something more of who we really are…” added the youngest septuplet wisely.

“Indeed,” agreed the enchanter. “In each game world, everything you see is a mirror, even if it doesn’t look like one. Every fellow player you meet, everything you encounter is going to be a looking glass, a deep pool in which you see the essence of who you really are.”

“And then perhaps we will see our Sephyr when we look at another?”

The enchanter smiled. “It depends on how well hidden your Sephyr is.”

“Don’t tell us where you’re going to hide ours!” said the septuplets hurriedly. “We really want to forget!”

“No, I won’t tell you if you don’t wish to know,” replied the enchanter. “But remember, you are the sum of all the colours and costumes that spill out of the Wardrobe of Disguises. If at any time during your play, you encounter another you don’t like, try to remember that it is your chosen differences that make you beautiful. Honour the dream for what it is. Play well with each other, dear children. Try to remember who you really are, behind your disguises.”

They laughed and said, “But that would spoil the game, if we remember too well!”

With a last fond wave to the enchanter, the septuplets drew near the mirror, which shimmered like a wall of water as they stepped through, then vanished into the dream world. After each septuplet had gone through, the mirror turned hard and glassy again.

“One last question: what is the name of this dream world you are sending us to?” asked the youngest septuplet, who was the only one that hadn’t left yet.

“Why, I do believe – ” The Master of Illusions looked lost as he racked his memory for the name. “Why yes, I do believe it is called the planet Earth…”

But in its impatience to begin the game at once, the youngest septuplet had already disappeared through the mirror.

The enchanter shook his head, smiling wistfully as a fond parent might who has just seen the last of his children grow up and leave home.

“Well, well,” he said to himself, “I have done what I can, and now these children will forget all about me and the White City. But they will constantly be looking for their Sephyr anyway. They will search and scrabble in the dark, on mountaintops, in cities and buildings, and still they will not find it. What a pity they will keep looking outside themselves.”

He laughed ironically.

“Only a few, yes, only a few will discover at the end of their searching, that their Sephyr was all the while in them, right inside their hearts…”

And he turned back to the White City, to await other White Flames who might also have begun to feel a little bored with their perfect lives.

-
If you wish to read The Little Dreamer before everyone else, you can buy the entire eBook right now for just $1.99 in B&W or $2.99 in technicoloured glory! »