All following copyright Rebecca Ethington and Imdalind Press. All text unedited and subject to change.
I feared my dreams, I feared the red skies that dripped blood when it rained, I feared the white lady that followed my every move, the spines of ice that rested on her head more a warning that the crown I knew she supposed it to be. I feared the way the world inside my dreams felt real, the way my mind thought on its own and created a life I knew wasn’t there. A life I prayed wasn’t mine. I feared the way the dreams never left anymore. Weather I was awake or asleep they were always there, fueled by the heavy dosages of medications. I watched people that had always lived in my dreams walk in and out of the white room I was confined in, as if they had always been there, as if they were real. They would look at me as if they saw me, their mouths moving as they tried to speak to me. But they weren’t real, and with only the slightest touch they would shatter into air in spirals of mist. Even though they tried, they never spoke, making me wonder if I was as insane as they told me I was.
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It all started with a birthday present: a little book I wrote for my grandfather, helped along by a little bit of performing experience and a whole lot of love. It has since evolved. Get to know the woman behind the words. 
