Prancing through the fields full of delight

A creature of pure beauty that illuminates at night

Through the breeze it fights

Survival is its goal

Most are dreamed about with a pure soul

Magic at its purest escapes from their horns

Rarely are such beings ever born

Rebel it does against the darkness of war

Yet still does it fight, even if it may be done for

_____

Her eyes lids slowly opened to reveal warm chocolate coloured eyes. Her breathing sounded calm despite her raging inner conflict and her eyes looked disinterested and bored but if you looked closer you could see the sad glint in her eyes and the red rim around her iris in her to show she’d been crying and the slight hitched in her breathing every few minutes.

She watched the pale blue sky devoid of any white clouds as she lay on the grass, the wind blowing gently across her petite form. The sky looked so lonely as it endless stretched out with no birds flocking by and no clouds floating and it reminded her so much of herself.

On a day like this as the sun’s scorching heat beat against her form and the summer wind was gently blowing by she would be overjoyed. She would have been all laughed and smiles by now— though she wasn't. Her lips were thinned into a straight line and as time passed by it was slowly turning into a visible frown. The aura around her was grey and depressed.

And all her mind was occupied with him.

__________

A year had passed by as the girl had grown up. She had turned seventeen this year. There were subtle changes to her appearance as time passed. Her long, lengthy black hair was now always worn in a ponytail than before when she had it always in a bun and sometimes just open. She had also gotten taller by a few inches. The most visible change one would really notice was her necklace.

She stopped wearing the locker necklace he gave to her. A momentum and a single reminder to what could've been. Her resolve to put behind her past and repress her memories of him.

It never worked.

___________

It was during the season of autumn as the earth colours filled the area and the plants and trees were slowly dying that she had met Lucas.

She was in front of her house sweeping up the piled leaves on the pathway when she moved her head up and saw an old couple moving in next doors. She was reminded of the previous day when her mother told her about how they would get new neighbours.

She dropped the broomstick on the floor and moved towards her new neighbours. She flashed the old couple a smile as she offered to give a hand with moving in. The old couple looked at the age of sixty, wrinkled and warm with smiles. Her heart warmed as she helped them moving in.

“Oh thank you, dear, ” The old women smiled at her as they dropped the last box into the house.

“It’s nothing really. Isn't it normal to help your neighbours?” She replied with a soft look.

“Do you want to stay for tea?” Peaking out of the kitchen and into the hallway, the old man asked her.

“Tea?”

“Do you not like tea? Then do you prefer something else?”

“Oh no, no. Tea is perfectly fine. Thank you,” And with that, she soon found herself sat in the chair in the living room gazing out the window as she drank tea. A solemn look in her eyes as she watched the autumn leaves falling, saturated colours of green and yellows painting the ground and everywhere as she reminisced of him.

The sound of knocking disturbed her from her past as she looked up to see the old women walk into the living room with a bright smile. “Oh, that must be my grandson. He was supposed to becoming earlier to move in with us but he was caught up with something. I have a feeling you will both get along really well, ” She felt the old women knew more than she let on as she felt her eyes had crinkled knowingly at her but she only met this old couple so how could they know anything about her. She shook her at her silly ideas as she sipped the last of the tea and got up.

She walked into the hallway where she saw the old man greeting a young man into the house. She paused in her footsteps as the young man also paused when he saw her.

For a moment brown eyes met hazel.

__________

“I like you,”

Her eyes widen a fraction as she couldn't find her voice anymore. She flinched under his warm gaze. She felt his hand caress her cheek in affection as waited for her answer. She gave none. “I’m not asking for your love back, ” He continued. “I just wanted to tell you this. You don't have to do anything. I won't mind if you still want to be friends, ”

She knew he was lying. It had been a few months since Lucas moved in with his grandparents and they had gotten closer over time so she could tell when he was lying. She knew this well as— she has been through this before.

Her mind was still occupied by another and she didn't want to give Lucas some half-hearted feelings of maybes and hopes that might be broken. Her eyebrows borrowed and her lips thinned into a straight line as she looked into black eyes. Her mouth prepared to form the words for his rejection but as they started to move— no words came out. Her mouth left hanging slightly open as she looked at Lucas.

She didn't want to lose him because of this.

He just smiled knowingly at her as he pulled her a hug. She felt tears prickle the corner of her eyes as she borrowed her face into his neck. He just held her close as she sobbed quietly.

She knew he understood her. Her hesitation and everything else and she knew that he liked her for some time and he knew that she knew.

And they both knew why she didn't say anything and still couldn't say anything.

She knew when every time that she looked at Lucas and spent every moment with him, there was less pain in her heart as she looked at the locket hanging on her wardrobe. There were fewer times that she found herself grieving and swallowing her self in her past, thinking of him.

It was a gradual build-up to when she found herself every time she looked at the pale blue sky or saw the locket she no longer felt any pain. But there was lingering guilt because even if she got what she wanted to forget him and everything she could help but feel like she was just replacing him. (even if she knew that was not the case.)

She didn't want that for Lucas.

“You’re not replacing me with anyone, ” The soft voice of Lucas pulled her out of her thoughts. “You don't have to completely forget him, I'm not asking you do to that, ” He nuzzled her head. “I just didn't want to dance around anymore around us and this— I just wanted to tell you...”

“I love you, ”

Her breath hitched as she daringly picked her her head and looked up to his face. He smiled warmly at her. His eyes crinkling slightly. She brought her hand to his cheek as her eyes dropped to his lips.

Is this fine? Am I doing the right thing?

She glanced back into his eyes fearful and uncertain. His smile never wavered as he held her closer, his arms wrapped around her like a blanket. She knew he was waiting for her answer and she knew he knew what she was going to choose as she saw the knowingly glint his eyes.

But— No Buts!

With a swallow, she threw away all her doubts and everything else. She clutched her eyes tight shut as she crashed her lips into his.

She ignored the whispering echo of her past in the back of the head, all that could go wrong in the distant future. Instead, she focussed on how his lips felt against hers. The constant beating of her heart against her rib cage. This feeling of euphoria— as she pulled him tighter. As he held her close.

“I love you too,” she murmured. He smiled against her lips.

18 years is all it takes. Once you are 18 years, you stop aging until you find your soulmate. Once you find your soulmate, you can both grow old together. It’s a perfect utopia for some. For me, it’s not. I aspire to find my soulmate. I don’t know how to search or what to look for.

My friends from kindergarten agreed to never grow old without each other. One person grew up with his wife. Another guy grew old with his beloved dog. That one girl from 1st grade… found love in 2nd grade and soon moved out of my life when she was 18. I met a guy in middle school, he was a great friend. Turns out he had gray hairs at 20 years… after his cat died he stopped aging. So many romance stories, I am never part of them.

Love isn’t on my agenda. Love would only permeate feelings and emotions throughout myself and I would care too much. That’s not to say I haven’t dated or tried to find a love for my soulmate. I’ve tried, I’ve failed, I gave up. I would get up and see couples on the street. My community usually had frail and old men and women, everyone had a soulmate here. I was an outcast by my neighborhood. They tried not to see me without a soulmate, however the signs were obvious at times.

The oldest people on the block had a mother who baked all sorts of cookies and a father who painted for a living. They were too old to walk on two feet, not to mention they were wrinkly and had gray hairs over themselves. I would affably talk to them. Showing good discretion towards them. They were loving and caring, I was a child to them. However, they treated me as the child I am. The lady would bake cookies and frost “Love” or “Finding” on them. I caught onto the hints quickly.

The man was worse. He’d ask me to stay still for a portrait. He would paint me and a random lady they saw walking next to me towards my house. I was confused on who the ladies in the portrait were sometimes. The tacit hints got to me in a way. I wouldn’t confess to them but rather thought to myself.

I did want love. My parents died since they found each other. My friends are gone since they all spent their lives with their soulmates. My sister turned 20 and, since she found her soulmate, started growing weaker by age. I was born 7 years before her, I still looked like I was 18. I had no one left except the elderly couple.

Soon they died. First the husband, then the wife a few days later. I was devastated, I couldn’t operate. I started lacking in my job and soon got fired. My repertoire was small, I couldn’t get back on my feet that easily. My neighborhood held a small ceremony for the elderly couple’s death. They obligated me to clean their house.

A day after the ceremony, I went to their house. I opened to a darkened environment. It wasn’t bright and lively anymore. I roamed to the kitchen. All her baking supplies were out. She still had cookies on the tray. It must’ve been stale by now. I went down to the basement to see all the paintings the husband did. His older paintings were on smaller canvases and in notebooks. The larger portion of portraits were me with random ladies and men. I was embarrassed, however… happy he had thought of me finding my love soon. I could feel myself tear. They had to have at least 20-30 paintings of me. Some were of his family, others were of me with them. Most were of me finding love.

His chaste personally. I missed them. I wish I could have them back, that’s too selfish to wish for. They probably wanted to die together and live in peace among the stars.

My thoughts were interrupted by a small rustle in a dark corner. I was not aware someone else was here. I took a cautious approach towards the noise. A few steps towards the rustle, a canvas of the elderly couple fell onto the ground. I rushed to pick up the painting and noticed a small note behind the canvas.

I could tell the wife wrote this. Her handwriting was like cursive, only more legible to read. It was eloquent and magnificent to read. The note was larger than I’d expected.

Todd, our beloved Todd.

Todd? That was my name. Was this note intended for me?

I do believe we have died, sorry for your loss in advance. This note was made to tell you, we want you to possess the homestead and our lovely son. We may have not told you about him, he was very shy around new people and didn’t return to us when you arrived here. Both Don and I know you have not found a soulmate, maybe this will change that. Do not forget we love you very much, our last years were the best because of you. Take care of yourself and of our son. He would be very lonely without us too.

With love and hope, we will miss you.

From, Hillary and Don

You can see the difference between their handwriting. I saw a small dampened spot, a tear of mine. I folded the paper following the creases and placed the note in my pocket.

Son? I don’t remember hearing about their son. They had two daughters, both grown up and lived away from their parents with their soulmates. I don’t remember anything about a son. The rustling grew louder until knocking a loud steel bowl of water. The splash hit the painting and ruined it. I felt angered, I don’t know who did it though. I went closer to the bowl and noticed the open window. I close that as well.

A soft mew came from under the desk. My brain could only think of their son. I knelt to see a small calico kitten meowing for help. My thoughts fled away and focus onto the kitten in front of me. I looked on the tag.

Ace. Ace was their son? Why would they ask for this? I don’t see why they would trust their decision onto me. Ace’s tag had their phone number and their address, this had to be who they referred.

I had no where to run and I can’t break the couple’s hearts. I took the cat in for my own. He was so cute as he tried to climb the stairs. He would slip and fell onto the steps below. I swooped in and carried him up. A few days turned by and I noticed he really liked chicken. Funny, we both love chicken. I bought chicken for weeks on end. He started to love my delicious chicken nuggets in cat-safe breading. It was a hit with the neighborhood stray cats as well!

I started to grow really close to Ace. When I was sick, he stood close and made sure I would get better. When he was sick, I helped him to the vet and had him fixed up immediately. Although, he never liked the vet. The vets were nice enough to feed and pamper while he stayed for the hour. Ace would walk with me when we went out. He’d follow me and allowed me to be myself. He wouldn’t leave the house anymore, he’d stay close to me. Those days turned to weeks. Weeks to months. Months to years.

He was the best. He trained himself to walk up the stairs. However, I grew more tired as I went up. I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth. A gray hair. A gray hair was on my counter. I looked in the mirror to see I had gray, aging hair. I looked at Ace who walked away. He went back down the stairs. I finished brushing my teeth and heard a soft meow downstairs. I followed the sound and saw him waiting for his food.

One year turned to two. Two to three. Three to five. Five to ten. His system started failing, his joint grew weaker and weaker. Ten years went to 15, this is when he needed medicine for his joints. He had trouble going up the stairs now. He had trouble walking in general. 15 to 20, I grew weaker as well. His legs stopped functioning and I had to get constant pills and surgery. I had a head of gray hair. Ace, he was aging too.

He collapsed one day. I took him to the vet and the vet euthanized him. He grew too old with me. He was my soulmate. I missed him, I missed the couple as well. It was the best experience I could have felt. I found my soulmate, and he died happily.

I felt my knees go weak as well. My time has come as well. Goodbye. I’ll see you soon, Ace.

Author's Note: Ongoing story. Old discovery from some archives of mine. Could definitely use some renewal and comments are highly appreciated.

“It’s powerful, it’s gorgeous, nothing comes close to such a positive force as such.” The man had cried out, pleading to rescue the object, “Iridus’ Heart, if we shatter its everything, Iridus would fall. Iridus would be nothing but rubble.”

Only screams and mumbles echoed the darkened cavern. The man stomped his foot, shutting every noise off with his echoes. “Enough!” The man viciously growled, “This is our ticket out! This will free you all and you refuse this? We are strong, we are too powerful for such a miniscule kingdom. We know pain that they wouldn’t even begin to process. But, you’re scared? You have nothing to worry about, I will make them pay.” The man angrily said as he took one step forward. The black shadows around him sprawled at his foot, making sure none touched him. “Is something wrong?”

The ring of screams and whispers echoed in the cavern once again. The man held his hand up and the sound quieted immediately. “The King is too pitiful to send out warriors. Even if he does, they’ll fail upon my sight. We can turn them into nothing but dust if we wanted, they cannot touch us. We’re unstoppable.” He looked at the ground and grinned genuinely, “Now, may I?” The once sprawled shadows absorbed into a giant blob underneath his foot. He smiled upon contact and fell through the hole of darkness.

The void dropped the man into a nicely dressed hallway. Golden frames and a red carpet elegantly hung from the walls, the floor clicked with every footstep around. “Shall we have some fun with this mission?” The man whispered menacingly to avoid any suspicion. He looked at a door, light leaked through the bottom of the frame. “Yes, we shall.” The man casually walked over and saw a cutely dress girl wearing a clown costume.

The girl was halfway into painting her face white, until seeing the darkened hallway leak in to the mirror. She turned to see the man, the eerie atmosphere surrounding the pale white man. He was skinny, tall. He wore black rags and gray dust. “Sir?” She whimpered.

“I’m sorry to announce, the show has been cancelled.” The man slowly raised his hand at the girl, black matter and shadows sprawled everywhere, dashing up and muffling the girl. She let out a small squeak before suffocating under the weight of the shadowy appearance. Her peach face turned a pale white in a matter of seconds, the color of her outfit disappeared as easily as the shadows leached onto her. The shadows dashed back towards the man, engulfing him in the black blob of matter.

Shadows had disappeared into his own, casted by the light near the mirror. He stood there in awe at the new transformation. “Brilliant work.” His outfit was that of a jester, black and gray toned. His eyes of maroon set himself apart. “Not my usual attire, but it’ll be a fun… surprise.” He chuckled as he exited. The light had turned off without the man touching it and the door slammed shut behind his exit.

“Where could it be?” The man whispered to himself. A trail of blackened spots aligned onto the floor, whispering right back. The high walls coated in black, the gold being painted with shadows and voids. The man followed, seeing the golden gated doors. “How easy.” The man smiled. He pointed at the door with his left palm, a shot of black matter jetted out and broke the door in. A loud bang echoed through the entire castle as the door clanged to the walls. “Oh, this will be fun.”

On the pedestal ahead was a heart. A beauteous heart with a rainbow morphing along the sides. It was glorious, it was magnificent. “It’s hideous.” The man said clearly with a hiss. He reached his hand out but the shadows sprawled away at the blinding object. Upon contact, the man’s hand was burned viciously. “Ow!” He pushed the heart off the pedestal, causing more noise to the terror. “What damned heart.” He growled under his breath. He showed his palm at the heart and started making the object levitate. “Pay for the price of my flesh.”

“Halt!” A new voice appeared. At the door aligned men with swords and pale blue outfits. “You are committing a crime to the Iridus Kingdom, you will be sent to prison for breaking and entering as well as multiple oth…” His voice was cut off as the man pointed his palm and started choking the man. He levitated the royal guard off his feet until his limp body would stop squirming. The sword dropped and the shadow man slowly gripped his hand into a fist.

“Go! Go! Go!” The royal guards started flooding in, trying to stop the man in his tracks.

The man laughed as he slammed the heart onto the ground. 8 shards shattered, one of each color represented in the Iridus kingdom. He released the man from his grip, knowing he’s long dead now. “Let’s have fun.” The man’s eyes morphed into a bright teal blue. Glowing eyes pierced the guards as the floor was coated in blackened holes. The shards fell into the voids and taken out of sight. The man ominously started rising, a black shadow mass rising behind him. The sudden movements of the shadows flashed to the guards, absorbing them and leaving them for dead. Some guards fell out of order as they fled, but the group that charged in was surely dead by now. The man fell down and smiled, “Thanks for the game.” He fell through the void underneath him, the shadows chasing after him.

A mess, the kingdom was left rampant. Civilians being too scared and alerting the King at any notice. The Shadow Mage became the rumor, a terrorizing man lining up newspapers and articles. Every corner had a conversation of panic, every person was left on edge.

“The Shadow Mage?” The man smiled at the sound, resting in his cavern. “That has a nice ring to it.” He calmly turned to the purple shard behind him. “What a perfected plan, isn’t that right?” The shard glistened as the man stared. “Perfect.” The man grinned at delight. 8 shards drifted around the Iridus Kingdom, almost impossible to find but easy to detect. 8 shards broken out of balance.

8 shards, and little time to find them.

I have a garden

growing zuchini, lettuce, peas

i squat barefoot

to weed the plots

planting marigolds

that keep the skeeters away

dirt gets under my fingernails

cakes to my feet

and i believe

this is the way

i was meant to be

magic

atop soil

under sky

Magic

One word

A small word

A single word,

But sometime it is the small things with big meanings,

Magic

It can be anything you imagine

Think it

Magic will do it

You want to fly?

You fly

You want to swim?

You swim.

The only limitation is your imagination

Life is magic

I am magic

You are magic

Magic

Some will say it is fantasy

But magic is everywhere

It is everything

We are magic.

Magic happened. But not all at once.

Reality was gone. Or reborn, depending on who you were talking to.

Flickers here and there. Signs. Beautiful, yet mischievous.

Many who had, abused it. Sociopaths? No. Bad people? Opinions, opinions.

But destruction was inevitable, and beautiful. Crystalized water. Thundering colors of plants dancing in the rain.

Moutains crashing in the reflection of your golden pink sunglasses carved from the sunset.

Beautiful.

You walk on the ceiling of your mansion. You wonder how you got there.

You wonder how to get down.

From the bottom of the stairs I couldn’t see her, but I could clearly hear her say, “Parlez-vous Francias....Parlez-vous Francias?” My eyes searched for the young female voice reminiscent of my sister, but then again, unknown to me, because the foreign words spoken couldn’t possibly be her own. Was there a stranger in my house?

For a moment, the drafty walls closed in on my five year old self and my feety pajamas steadfastly held me to the first step. Gripping the newel post as if it were my protector, it never entered my five year old mind to call out for help. No one would come. All the lights in the house were out, but the full moon gave off enough light through the second floor landing window for me to see the sudden appearance of either a debutante or a spirit like figure looking down upon me.

She wore a golden pashmina scarf, partially covering her angelic face, and her wavy auburn hair was in a lose bun. Her arms were laden with bracelets, too many to count, and her dress was made of shimmering ivory lace, flowing down to the floor, and covering the top step.

“Come to me,” she said, in the same reminiscent voice, this time in English, and without fear, I obeyed her command. This being did not come to hurt me and the intrigue was irresistible. When I reached the top step, she pulled her dress aside, wrapped my hand gently in hers and lead me to my bed, sweetly patting my blanket, motioning me to lie down. Again, I obeyed.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“You know me and you don’t. Am I right?” She replied.

“Yes! You are right! You are my sister, but you are not my sister!” I blurted, excited that she articulated just what I was thinking. “My sister doesn’t wear her hair like yours, she doesn’t wear clothes or jewelry like yours, and she doesn’t speak the words you speak. But wait a minute. Are you playing a trick on me Sue-Sue? Where is my sister? She was here before I went downstairs for a drink of water.”

“Don’t worry, little deary. Your sister is just fine. She has gone to the land of make believe, a fairyland where all things are magical. We have magically traded places for just a little while. She will be back soon with tales of her adventure. I am just one of the fairies that look just like her, but as you can see we have our differences. There are fairies there that look just like you too. So many I lost count. And candy. All the candy your stomach can hold. All of the fairies are nice and happy like me and they know about you. They would like to meet you. Would you like to meet them?”

“YES! I would, I really really would,” I told the fairy without hesitation. My imagination immediately went into overdrive and I could see them. All of them. Little girls that looked just like my sister and just like me and yet didn’t, in fanciful dress, with happy faces and full tummies. Fairyland in my minds eye was a clean, warm cavernous space, with cool continuously running fountains, mountains of candy, ornate shelves laden with countless jewels and colorful fabric for endless dress up. “I want to go to them. How do I get there?”

My sister’s fairy sister went on to explain, “It’s not that easy deary. You only get to go there if you stay up all night long. That’s what I did to get there. Fairies do not sleep. If you fall asleep even for one minute, you cannot go to fairyland. You can not walk around the bedroom or go downstairs. A fairy will only trade places with you from your bed. These are the rules. Do you think you can do it?”

“Yes I can do it! Tonight I will stay up all night long!” And I really tried my best. With excitement, I lay awake wide eyed into the wee hours and apparently, at some point sleep overtook me, because I awoke to the sunrise the next morning. Jumping out of bed, I was quite mad at my little self for failing and stomped my little feet directly towards my sister’s bed. “Hey Sue-sue, Sue-Sue! Wake up!”

“Go away and leave me alone!” She said, and she pushed me away with her Sue-Sue arm, not the gentle arm of the fairy with me the night before, so I was sure she was back.

Her agitation didn’t stop me from demanding, “Are the fairies real? Are the fairies real? I want to go to fairyland now! It’s not fair. I really tried to stay awake in my bed all night long.”

“YES, they are real, you little brat. You must have broken the rule. You fell asleep, didn’t you? That’s why you didn’t get to trade places with one of the fairies. Now go back to bed!” She then rolled over and I knew better than to say another word.

The next night a new fairy came to visit. This time the Sue-Sue fairy wore a feathered hat and a blazer that I’m pretty sure was the same as my mother’s. Maybe the color was a little different, I couldn’t say, and I really didn’t want to question, because then it would mean the land of make believe wasn’t real and I would never get to meet my magical fairy sisters who were waiting for me in the fairyland cave with handfuls of candy.

Night after night I tried my best to stay awake, and the fatigue got so bad by the end of a couple of weeks, I would drop into my bed and immediately collapse into a sound sleep, preventing me from meeting another Sue-Sue fairy, but more importantly my very own look alike happy fairy sisters.

On the last night truly I believed in fairyland I said to my big sister before we went to bed, “You made it all up, didn’t you?”

“Did I?” Was all she replied, with a kind smile. It was time to let go and let her final two words on this subject rest in my heart. How could I be mad? For a time she gave me the gift of an imaginary fairyland, a place where little girls are magically happy, and I was too, for just a little while.

You are changed.

There is fire in your blood, now, magic in your veins. Enchanted markings glide across your skin and nightmares stampede though the fields of your dreams. You’ve seen too much to ever be “normal” again—when you startle, it’s the daggers up your sleeves that you reach for, and when you speak, it’s with every phrase carefully worded against an unwanted contract. You skirt around threats that no longer exist, tread paths circling voids that habit says should be filled. Even that emptiness feels wrong, a trick-trap-wrong there must be something there—

There isn’t. That only drives home a single point: this world isn’t yours, not anymore.

You’re pretty sure it knows that, too, because you’ve been back for all of a week and it’s already trying to kill you. Not literally, because that’s not how this world works, but it’s suffocating. There are too many adults trying to wrap you up in soft blankets, trying to hide you away as they fuss about trauma and treat you like a helpless child.

Good intentions, to be sure, but unnecessary. Trauma is nothing new, and you’ve long since learned how to handle it.

What would be much better than all the awkward hovering, you think, would be going back to the support system you’ve already built, back to people truly aware of what you’ve gone through or who were there when you were going through it. At least they know exactly what they’ve gotten into.

So. You try to leave. Not immediately, but you start small: a hop off a street curb to a wood-shingled roof, a leap from a tree branch to the soft carpet of your bedroom, and so on. Your powers, at least, still work. That’s more of a comfort than it probably should be, but… well. You’ll take what you can get.

Except, when you truly try to vanish, when you step and feel reality shift around you—like stretching your stride a little too far, like trying to walk across a gap instead of jumping it—reality snaps back, a rubber band drawn too tight, and all you are left with is the sting of its recoil.

(Once upon a time, you would reach, and the world would meet you halfway. Now, it doesn’t seem to care any longer, and that hurts.)

You retreat from the now-alien life you were forced to return to, a bristling wolf slinking away to lick its wounds in peace. It’s easy to disappear when you can teleport, only showing your face (or a decent enough glamor of it) often enough to reassure people that you’re still alive. Those in your life are civilians now, all of them, and you have to remind yourself that they don’t understand. That you have to be patient with them, because they don’t know what you’ve seen and what you’ve done and you pray that they never need to.

Time flows on. You don’t stop trying to leave, though, because you don’t belong here any longer and everyone around you knows it. School rumors whisper that you don’t fit in, that you’re different, that you’re a criminal or doing drugs or something. Other students gossip about how you sit alone and watch the exits during class, how you keep odd hours and never talk to anyone unless spoken to first and the scars.

...The tattoos probably don’t help your image much, either. Your parents quite vocally made their displeasure about them clear, but it’s easy enough to ignore every too-loud word. You’ve got bigger things to worry about, after all.

The seasons change.

Winter falls in a crash of snow and storms, and every time you touch the frost that lays glittering crystals across your window, you remember.

You remember the way it crunched under your boots as you pushed yourself to travel farther and more precisely with each space-bending warp, its icy chill seeping into your bones and scraping over your throat with every breath. You remember stardust carving sculptures with an exhale and a touch of will, gleaming eyes with ice-dagger fangs bared in lunging attack. You remember haphazardly-decorated bowls and handmade mugs, their contents burning on your tongue and in your hands. You remember laughter and camaraderie and hearthstones warm with flame, orange cast dancing with the shadows on the walls.

(The colors of your memories are stained glass, faintly warped with sentiment but beautiful all the same. They’re prisms catching the sun to turn it to something more, light given form and shape and design and—

You can’t help but treasure them anyway, even when you know they’re viewed through a rose-tinted lens.)

You remember your family, the battles you fought beside them, the sticky-slick feeling of blood in the lines of your palms and drying in brittle flakes beneath your fingernails. It had been so vivid against the snow, all bright splashes of color on an empty canvas. Artful, almost, in a morbid sort of way. But… well.

War was distinctly less pretty.

You take a breath. The air tastes of smoke and smog and chemicals here, artificial things rising from artificial streets. It isn’t right. It isn’t—

It isn’t home.

You miss the places, the people that you’ve left behind. You miss the heady scent of herbs, a thousand plants you could never identify spilling over the rims of clay pots and creeping up old red-brick walls. You miss the taste of foods and spices that you’ve never been able to recreate, brilliant starbursts of flavor that linger ghostlike on your tongue. You miss the sound of the crystal falls, the songs of creatures that don’t exist here outside of fairy tales, the chatter of unknown yet familiar languages rising and falling in comfortable rhythm.

You miss his laugh, the play of morning sunlight over her armor, the way their knife-sharp grins turned downright vengeful when it came time to fight. You miss a lot of things, but most of all?

You miss your home. You miss your family. You miss your people.

You want to go back.

Here, in the forest depths, where redwoods stretch into the endless sky and creeks flow cold and clear over smooth-worn stones, you are the closest you can get to where you were taken from. It’s not the same, it’ll never be the same, but for the moment, it’s close enough.

You lean against a tree, bark rough through your shirt, and watch dappled light shift across the forest floor. Somewhere in the distance, a hawk screams. Perched on the branch above you, a songbird trills and ruffles its feathers. Greeting calls echo back, bouncing through the leaves, high and sharp through the fading mist.

Your mouth quirks up at that, the tense set of your shoulders softening. Unbidden, an image presents itself in your mind’s eye: bright wings black against a sunny sky and a darting, too-intelligent gaze, glossy feathers and thorn-prick claws and a beak that wouldn’t hesitate to draw blood.

Fearless, you think, and smile.

The bird chirps. Tail feathers spread, then fold back together. It waits half a beat, wind shifting the boughs just enough to cast it into a halo of light, and then—

There’s a flurry of wings, a dark shape against the blinding sun, and it’s gone.

You close your eyes and sigh.

One more try, you think, because there is fire in your blood and magic in your veins, hope cradled fiercely in the hollow of your chest. One more try. One more try. What’s the harm in trying, just one more time?

A pause. A heartbeat. You step, feel reality shift, deliberately overextend and sense it pushing back. But, this time…

There’s no snap. No pain. Just pressure, like walking through a waterfall, then a sudden lightness as your pulse skips a beat.

Did I-?

You take a breath. The air is cleaner than you’ve ever tasted, fresh and green with new growth and crisp wind. All around you, this world’s magic sings, and you can finally say—

I’m home.

Annie Collins was tired; emotionally drained and literally tired to the core. She could not wait to be home in comfortable dry clothing and snuggled in a warm blanket with a hot cup of soup. All that stood between her and her own personal nirvana were the bus rides home.

As was typical, the bus was crowded with folks all trying to get to their homes, much like Annie. The last open seat was next to an elderly woman she had never seen on the bus before. With a deeply rooted sigh that popped out before she could stop it, Annie sat down.

“Oh my darling, that came straight out of your soul!” The older lady exclaimed.

Annie smiled. “I think it did. I am so sorry.”

“For what dear? It’s 5:30PM on a cold wet rainy Friday. I am sure you are exhausted.”

“Honestly, I am. This week has been a long one, for sure!”

The older lady turned to face Annie “My name is Lillie.”

Annie smiled “Nice to meet you, my name is Annie.”

“Such a nice name. Do you have far to go to reach home?”

Annie nodded “I have to transfer to the 8th Street bus after this and then a three block walk.”

“Oh my.”

Annie nodded again. “No rest for the wicked, they say!”

“Oh now dear, I scarcely believe you are wicked.”

Annie smiled. “I’m not really” She agreed.

“Just a hard worker. There is nothing wrong with that. I was at your age.”

“I sort of figured by now, I’d have more…”

“More, dear?”

“Yeah… a husband, a house, a car… maybe a child. I have a cat.” Annie mused.

“You are what, not even thirty?”

“Thirty-three next week.”

“Well Happy early Birthday!”

Annie just smirked. “Thank you.”

“You don’t sound grateful.”

“Well again, given my age.”

“Oh phooey. Where is it written that you have to achieve certain things by a certain age?”

“I guess society, my family…”

“Annie, tell me what it is you do for a living.”

“I work as an assistant at a long term care facility. I am going to school to be a nurse.”

“Do you find it rewarding?”

“Oh yes. I love my job.”

“So why stress about the things you don’t have?”

Annie thought for a moment. “I… well everyone else my age seems to have it together. And then there is me.”

Lillie patted her hand. “Are you happy?”

“Actually yes. But you know how it is; ever since girls are small we are read stories, taught to believe in the magic of Happily Ever After. I guess I just want mine.”

“Annie, do you know the difference between illusion and magic?”

“I’ve never really thought about it.”

Lillie pursed her lips. Annie studied her face it was kind and weathered. She was the grandmother everyone pictured in her head. Her eyes seasoned with age were a dull gray; Annie imagined once upon a time they were bright blue. “Annie, I worked for years as a teacher. I loved my job. I love children. I was married for a very long time. Clyde and I could not have children of our own. Everyone looked at us with pity. They felt we were incomplete without children, that somehow someway our lives were not full. We heard it all, ‘oh I didn’t know love until I had children of my own’ ‘don’t you want someone to carry on after you are gone?’” Lillie sighed and continued “But the fact is Clyde and I knew real love. We have our memories to carry on; we have donated to causes all around town. I didn’t need children of my own for that. I had the magic of a wonderful man in my life.”

“But that’s…” Annie began.

“Hold on child.” Lillie interrupted her “Clyde was one of a kind. I was almost forty when I married him. It took a long time to find him. I suffered a lot of heartbreak. I thought I knew love before Clyde, it was all illusion. But Clyde… oh Annie he was handsome and adventurous and made me the center of his entire world. He could have had anyone, somehow he chose me.”

“How did you meet him?”

“He was a magician. My friends took me to see his show. I was mesmerized. He performed tricks I had never seen before and he was a showman, kept me spellbound the entire time. Turns out he noticed me from stage and after the show was over, came up to me and asked me my name.”

“Wait, wait, Clyde Burrows?”

Lillie smiled “You’ve heard of him?”

“Who hasn’t!? My parents used to bring my brother and me downtown to watch his Christmas show every year.” Annie exclaimed

“The one and only.” Lillie answered.

“How long were you married?”

“Until Clyde passed away two years ago; Forty-two years of happiness.”

“Why are you on this bus?” Annie asked skeptically.

Lillie chuckled. “Annie, I am still Lillie Gordon. I grew up around here. I don’t put on airs for anyone. See, magic is using devices over natural forces. The forces in your life are telling you that you should be this or that that somehow you should be checking off items on some imaginary list by a certain age. Old maids don’t exist anymore. If you are happy, you have magic, you can use that happiness to wave off the forces telling you that you can’t possibly BE happy.”

Annie nodded. That certainly made sense. She was in fact, very happy with her life. She had a great job, she was getting through her schooling with ease, even if she did have pause her education now and then to save for tuition. She loved her family and friends and she was blessed with great apartment and an awesome cat. Sure she felt tired now and then, but if happiness is magic, she had it in droves. “That makes sense, Lillie. I truly am happy.”

“Illusion is deception of the senses. Do you know anyone who, by societal terms, has it all but isn’t truly happy?” Lillie asked her.

Annie instantly thought of several people “Yes, yes I do.”

“There you go my dear. I know all the tricks of the trade when it comes to magic acts. I understand how all the illusions work. Trust me when I tell you that you cannot deceive true honest happiness. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you aren’t happy because you don’t live as they do. Please promise me that.”

“I will Lillie.” Annie smiled.

“Good. Now dear if you will excuse me, I have to get off here. I am meeting with the Boys and Girls Club today to talk to them about my husband. It seems a few of the children have an interest in him.”

Annie stood. She hugged Lillie and whispered in her ear “Thank you.”

Lillie replied “You are most welcome dear” and made her way to the front of the bus.

Annie sat back down shivering no more; warm in the knowledge that her life was indeed magic.