This dream was more like a narrated story. There once was an alchemist. She had lived alone in her family house in the middle of the forest. a large brown 1800s style house with 2.5 floors and a large circular corner room that went up into a tower. she had learned many great secrets of reality, having set ruin to the entire area around the house transporting it into it’s own pocket dimension where she lives still. she learned a path to immortality quite early on. having started a family in this pocket dimension after molding it into a medieval age of knights and castles. it may have been long lived for her family but not for her, as quickly she out lived her sons and daughters, then outliving the grandchildren and great grandchildren. people questioned her eventually as she did not age. so she was cast to exile from what she spent centuries building. now back alone in her house she works to maintain and perfect this pocket realm, keeping it from it’s own destruction. when I was visiting, she showed me around to all the science she has done. mixing every known element in every combination of every state of matter and more. the house was a mess of obsessive working. tools and notes scattered on all the surfaces, yet the floor was perfectly clean dark brown wood. she was incredibly kind and extraordinarily smart. she had said what her latest project was but I can’t seem to remember it, though it was quite grand, I had faith she’d handle it. I woke up shortly after.