Madeleine Hancey, also known as Fancy, was a fatherless child without direction or purpose. She spent her days not in quixotic daydreams but in a sort of fog that permeated mind and soul. The haze served as both a protector of unpleasantries and stifler of intrigues.
In early adulthood Fancy was awakened out of her slumber and carried away into the world of indulgence, excitement, and merriment. The once dreamless sleeper began to envision many possibilities. It was in her twenties that she acquired the endearment, Fancy, a spin on her surname.
Fancy romanticized every aspect of her life. She wore long flowing dresses and imagined herself as though at a European market when simply picking up flowers at the grocery store, something she did weekly. Fancy hosted dinner parties to enjoy the eclectic array of personalities found among her friends.
She lodged in a modest home lined by a thin tree line but to Fancy it was something like a cottage in the woods from her favorite childhood fairytale. Her getaway always smelled of lavender, glowed with many lit candles, and hummed with soft soothing ambient music.
In the morning she arose to an alarm of cheerful chirping bird sounds and tried to savor every sunset.
In midlife, some of Fancy's aspirations began to materialize. The dreamer felt more alive than ever. Every facet of her life beamed with success, meaning, and hope.
As Fancy enjoyed her idyllic life, she began to feel the pull to reach beyond herself. She remembered her years of dozing and desired to pluck others out of their smog and into the glorious light she now so enjoyed.
For the first time in her life, Fancy employed strict practices of learning, planning, and discipline. She leaned away from the creative and into the practical. At first her efforts seemed to work. She was no longer rewarded by daily fulfilled whims, but looked to the future for the rewards others would be afforded by this endeavor.
Progress faded and the responsibilities wearied Fancy but she persevered.
Finally after years, our heroine, could continue no longer. Toil triumphed leaving her with little to offer others.
After tears and mourning, the once lost child settled on gratitude. She looked around at what remained of her blissful life and was satisfied. A relief filled her heart and letting go of the striving made room, once more, for playfulness.
Fancy appreciated the wisdom she acquired and decided that the time spent must have produced some maturity.
Coming to terms with her failure aged the starry eyed visionary. The thought did not terrify but surprisingly eased. There was a comfort in completion. She still had many years left of her life, perhaps as many as she had already lived, but pressures subsided.
Just as the notion of an expiration date calmed, Fancy supernaturally glimpse into a changed future. The lifespan was not of a hundred years, but that of a thousand! Worse yet, Fancy's life was not coasting toward an end, but barely just beginning!
All her darkness, excitement, happiness, understanding, and frustration amounted to very little. She was scarcely a dreamer out of the dungeon of disillusionment, and there was much to do.
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