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I stood at the outcropping staring at the tiny bridge. The wind whipped my hair and cloak, streaming them behind me like tethers to my old life. Across a chasm that seemed as physically immense as it was spiritually was the Tower of the Dreamer, and etched into its side a narrow cut that watered my eyes to see it.
The tiny bridge seemed to narrow to a thread as it sought that opening. I blinked my eyes, forcing the tears to spill down my cheeks and dry up in the wind, evaporating like my past as I stood on the cusp of tomorrow. All I needed to do was cross that bridge and leave the world I knew behind. The Tower of Dreams could make my heart's true desire manifest, but at the cost of my past.
Was the price one I could pay? Was the reward worthy of the price?
I knew not these things as I stood, the wind beating at me; pushing me away at times, as if to say "
do not forsake all that you are," and at other times pushing me toward taking that fateful step and whispering, "go, now, and take what you crave most!"
I rolled my thumb over the crude ring on my left hand, my mind wandering back to the woman who had given it to me. My lost love. She whom I desired most. Could I throw away my past with her to regain our future together?
I lifted my foot ...