To Walk Through a Dream Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven With Wavering Footsteps Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Stone Song Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three A Tale of Winter Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Destiny Inescapable Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Epilogue The Cycle's Continuing Beginnings Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Two Spirits Akin

[A/N: A Short Note: Michael Eisner has laid claim to the name and likeness of Clopin Trouillefou, but we'll ignore that. My thanks to everyone on the CGB forum, who have given me a home and continuous inspiration, but most especially Shiri (Autumn Loweck) for too many reasons to name here.] Destiny Inescapable By ~Reya Cil~ Prologue The distant cries of playing children echo through the streets on this beautiful summer evening. You wander the streets of Paris, watching as bakers and butchers sweep out their shops before closing up. Far away you can hear mothers calling to their young ones and the children's cries dissolve into grumbles and the sounds of "Meet me here again tomorrow!" There is a warning cry from above and you dodge swiftly to one side as a woman in a white apron and lace cap dumps the dirty water from the evening's dishes out the window. The gray cobblestones shine and glisten in the golden evening sunlight after she has wetted them. All the houses seem to reflect this light and they glow with a feel of cheerful domesticity. But suddenly you are distracted from all this as you catch a faint scent on the wind that does not quite seem to fit in. The smell is exotic and vaguely foreign, rich and dark, like night in an Egyptian desert, and you find images of mysterious fortune-tellers and brightly coloured scarves emerging in your mind. The scent is gone from the air, but lingers in your mind and, trying to follow it by memory, you turn down a side street which opens into a large square over which the cathedral of Notre Dame looms. You catch the scent again and, turning to find the source you see a brightly painted wagon nearby. One side of the wagon is open, like a very large window, with curtains as blue as the night sky, and one magical word is brought to mind: gypsies. Several older children have seated themselves expectantly before this window, and as unobtrusively as possible, you join them. There is a faint rustling from inside the wagon and you see the tip of a yellow feather stick up above the window frame for a moment, then a man pops up into the window and smiles spread across all the children's faces. The man is dressed in bright colours which contrast sharply with the black gloves that go nearly up to his elbows. On his head he wears a battered blue hat that looks to have seen better days, and has a yellow feather tucked into the band. There is a large gold hoop earring in his left ear, and he wears a pink mask with an absurdly large nose. He leans out of the wagon and whispers to the children in a conspiratorial tone, "Tonight I have a very special tale to tell. There are no puppets for this story though, so you will have to use your imaginations!" Some of the children look a little disappointed at this, but their faces brighten again as he begins. "Now this is a legend which may or may not be true, I'll let you judge that for yourself, but as I myself have seen some very strange things indeed around the person concerned, I'm inclined to believe it myself. Once, many years ago, when Clopin had just recently come to Paris, a friend introduced him to a mysterious woman, and now after many years, she is no less mysterious than she was when I knew only her name. But some time after I had met her, this tale was told in her absence of how it was she came to be. This woman is known to most as 'the DreamWalker'. Perhaps you have heard of her, no?" Let the tale begin....... Chapter One