Lucía and the Lost Dream

Lucía and the Lost Dream

Lucía liked walking home from school along the pavement with the loose tiles: if she stepped right in the middle, they didn’t clack. In her village, at that hour, the shutters yawned and the air smelt of early supper. At home she put down her schoolbag, opened her book and laid her purple ribbon inside it, perfectly straight, like a secret ruler. If you look closely, something answers you. That was what she thought when she saw the ribbon tremble, even though the window was shut.

At first it sounded like a sigh under the bed. Lucía stayed very still. It wasn’t the neighbour, or the pipes, or her imagination putting on a play. It was a sigh with little bells in it. The purple ribbon slipped out of the book and pointed at the wall, stiff as an arrow. “All right,” murmured Lucía. “But if you’re a monster, do warn me.” The wall answered with a slit of light. It was a little frightening. It also made her want, very much, to know more.

Lucía stepped through, and the night opened a door inside another door.

The doors of the Castle of Dreams opened without being touched. Inside, the great hall breathed slowly. Every tile held a different reflection: a mountain, a laugh, an umbrella flying away. Three wonders were waiting in three corners, but Lucía heard a tiny sneeze. Piff! Green, blue and violet sparks leapt beside a broken golden egg. Lucía crept closer. The little dragon who had come out of it blinked, as if he had just been dreaming of her.

The little dragon tried to stand up and ended up sitting inside half an eggshell. Lucía snorted with laughter, the sort of laugh that isn’t unkind. “I’m Lucía.” “Chispa,” he said, and sneezed a flower of smoke. She carefully picked a bit of shell from his ear. Chispa sighed so hard he blew out three floating candles. Then he looked around, alarmed. “My first dream… it’s got away.”

Chispa explained, in fits and starts, that this was the Night of Dreams. Each dragon gave theirs to the kingdom, so that someone, on some pillow, might find an adventure. Lucía bit her lip. A newly born dream probably didn’t understand corridors. She looked at the shining floor. Among the reflections she saw a little white cloud stuck to a floury footprint. If you look closely, something answers you. Chispa tilted his head. “Is that magic?” “Almost. It’s noticing.”

They followed the footprints to a staircase that smelt of butter. The castle kitchen was bigger than a square. The pots sang softly and clouds of sugar floated near the ceiling. “It’s hidden here,” said Chispa. “Or it came here because it was hungry,” Lucía corrected him. A cook rushed past with a tray and the air filled with flour. Lucía coughed, lost sight of the footprints and felt a little stab of doubt. Thinking in a hurry was like reading with the book shut.

They moved aside under a table, where the world sounded slower: plop of honey, ting of spoons, whoosh of nervous dragon. Lucía looked up. Among the sugar clouds, something shone and hid. She didn’t want Chispa to be left without his gift. “Dreams aren’t caught,” she whispered. “They’re invited.”

Then the dream rose up to the highest beam.

Master Crumb appeared with a huge spoon. “If it falls up there, it will sleep for a hundred years among sweet cobwebs.” Lucía’s tummy tightened. A hundred years was too long, even for a dream. “I need honey, flour… and quiet that won’t frighten it.” The cooks obeyed as if this were an ancient recipe. Lucía mixed, Chispa warmed the oven with the tiniest puff, and the honey cake began to smell like a feast-day morning. Up above, the dream hesitated.

The dream floated down, drawn by the sweet smell. It came down… and stopped halfway, trembling above a swirl of hot air. Lucía felt her purple ribbon in her pocket. Of course. She tied it between two ladles like a tiny swing and put the honey cake beneath it. “Whenever you’re ready,” she said, without pushing. The dream settled on the ribbon, tasted the scent and became round and calm. Chispa opened his mouth so wide that another spark almost fell out.

Chispa gave his dream to the castle, and the great hall filled with a purring of stars. After that, the same door inside another door carried Lucía back to her room. The book was still open. The purple ribbon rested between its pages, with a smell of honey that couldn’t be there. Outside, the village was as it always was: shutters, rooftops, a flickering streetlamp. Lucía smiled. If you look closely, something answers you. And that night, before she went to sleep, she looked very closely.