Celia's Perspective:
Date: 4/11/2008 - 7 Years old
I lay on my stomach, the cheap straw mattress rustling softly beneath my chest. A gentle morning breeze, smelling faintly of the sea and my mother's usual cedar soap, slipped through the open window and cooled the back of my neck. I pressed my chin into my arms, letting my legs kick lazily in the air.
A month and two days. That was how long it had been since I climbed the mountain.
The talk had finally calmed down. The hushed, judgmental whispers that followed me from the forest to our little house had settled back into the general village hum. My parents had "forgiven" me, which meant I had offered enough tearful apologies, promised enough obedience, and sat through enough lectures about Celestara's life teachings.
They want me to be a perfect little angel doll
But the feeling wasn't rage. It was just an empty, familiar weariness.
Don't act on impulse for things we love? - Teaching of Celestara
I only smiled, letting the thought roll away like a useless pebble. The blue flower was just too, too pretty.
My focus settled back on the wrinkled paper beneath my hand. The drawing was almost complete. I had sketched a thick, messy outline of a forest—the trees towering like dark, friendly giants, not the scary ones I had seen on the mountain. In the middle, I had drawn two stick figures.
One was me: I gave her big, messy hair and a dress that was too long.
The other figure was much taller, stronger. I grabbed the blue crayon and pressed hard, coloring his eyes two perfect, calm circles. My cheeks felt hot.
In the picture, our hands were linked.
He didn't let go.
I remembered the rough heat of his palm, so much bigger than mine, covering my smaller, scraped hand as we walked off the terrible mountain slope. I remembered the scent of dirt and his worn leather clothes when he bent down to offer me a ride.
"Hold tight, I'll carry you back down. Don't fall."
I wasn't an angel then. My knee was bleeding, my eyes were puffy, and I was trembling, but he didn't call me an angel. He just called me "Pretty." His voice had been low, steady, and the bumpy rhythm of his back against my chest as we descended had been the most comforting thing I had ever felt.
My smile grew wide and real, stretching my cheeks so they ached slightly. He was mine at that moment. Mine to hold onto. Mine to look at. My blue eyes.
The silence of the room tore.
"Ooooooh, Lia! What have you been drawing alone?"
My body jolted off the bed. I cried out—a strangled, pathetic "Eek!"—as my drawing notebook was suddenly snatched up and lifted high above my head.
Lyla. She was two years older than me, and frustratingly tall. She stood over me, her wavy brown hair falling over her shoulder as she squinted down at the paper.
I launched myself up, scrabbling desperately. "NO! NO NO NO! Give it back!"
"Aww, what's the rush? Is it something verrrrryyyy personal?" Lyla chuckled, easily stepping back.
"It's not for you! Give it, Lyla!" I jumped, my hands slapping uselessly at the air below her grip. I hated how small I was. I hated that I couldn't reach.
"Hold on, let me see this… You drew yourself, and… oh, and a boy!" Lyla dramatically raised an eyebrow, her voice going singsong.
"You and a boy are holding hands, Lia! In a forest! The background is a little lopsided, but the hand-holding is very clear."
No, no, no! This is mine! She can't see this! She can't know!
My chest squeezed, a horrible, hot feeling blooming behind my ribs. The perfect memory felt suddenly fragile, like Lyla might break it just by looking.
"Stop, Lyla! It's private! I'll tell Papa you took my crayons!" I whined, my cheeks burning. I tried to use my most pleading, angelic tone, but it just came out shaky.
Lyla leaned closer, lowering the drawing slightly, just out of reach. "Tell me about the boy first. Does he live here? Is he Mira's older brother? He looks like a nice boy—you gave him big hands, Lia."
"I—I don't know him!" I lied immediately, crossing my arms and looking away, refusing to meet her teasing eyes. "It's just… a story! A pretend friend!"
"A pretend friend you gave big, blue eyes to and drew in a romantic forest setting?" Lyla paused, then her eyes went wide. "Oooooooooooooo, Lia! You've got a crush!"
My whole body flushed hot, from my neck to the tips of my white hair. I felt dizzy, exposed. I hadn't even realized what the feeling was until Lyla named it.
Crush.
"I do not! You're being mean!" I stomped my foot, the force of the denial completely fake.
Lyla's smile softened, turning into that rare, protective look she saved just for me. "Hey, hey. I'm just teasing. Look." She lowered the notebook and held it against her chest, stopping the game.
"I've never seen you blush like this before, little sister. You're always so… careful. So angelic." She poked my cheek gently. "This is good. Tell me about him. He must be a very pretty boy, if you're blushing like a tomato."
My breath hitched. The secret was clawing at my throat. If I told her, the memory wouldn't be mine anymore. If she knew, she might try to find him, or talk about him, or—
He is mine. He called me pretty. No one else can have that.
My shoulders slumped in defeat. The fighting energy drained out of me completely. I looked down at the rough, wooden floorboards.
"Just… just give it back. Please." My voice was barely a whisper now, the pathetic whimper of the girl who always gave up when someone else had the power.
Lyla waited, patiently. "Who is he, Lia?"
"He… he helped me. On the mountain," I mumbled, kicking the bedpost with my bare heel.
"He helped you get the flower? What did he look like?"
I glanced up quickly, my throat suddenly dry. "He… he was kind. And he had… pretty blue eyes."
Lyla smiled, her own eyes shining. "A pretty boy with kind, blue eyes. Wow. Okay, Lia. You have a secret." She gently handed the notebook back to me, the paper warm from her touch.
"But you have to promise to tell me everything. Do you want me to keep it a secret? I won't tell anyone. Not even Mama."
I clutched the notebook to my chest, the paper crinkling happily against my trembling fingers. I squeezed my eyes shut, relief washing over me in a dizzy wave.
"Promise?" I whispered.
"I promise," Lyla said softly, then she leaned in and playfully ruffled my hair, messing up the perfect braids my mother had fixed. "He must have been a very good boy to make you smile like that, little sister."
I hugged the notebook tighter. He wasn't just a good boy. He was the only thing that made me genuinely smile. And he was my secret now. My fiercely guarded, beautiful secret. The one thing I would never, ever let anyone take away.
We were still sitting on the edge of my bed, the worn straw tickling my legs, the drawing clutched tight to my chest. Lyla nudged me gently with her shoulder.
"Come on, Lia. Spoil the story for me. Tell me everything."
I relaxed a fraction, the heavy fear of exposure lifting. I didn't tell her how scared I was, or how utterly helpless I felt against the monster creature. I didn't tell her how his blue eyes made me feel safer, how he held my hand. Those parts were too precious, too mine.
But I told her the adventure part. I described the high climb, the strange, wonderful smell of the blue flower—its petals a perfect, forbidden velvet—and the kind boy who had fixed my scraped knee and made sure I got home safe. As I spoke, my voice got louder, my hands fluttered with excitement, and even I could hear the pure, unmasked joy bubbling out of me.
"He even gave the pretty, blue flower, didn't he?" Lyla said, her voice teasing, a wide smile on her face. "He must have put it right in your hair and told you how pretty you were, Lia."
I shook my head, my perfect little "Angel" manners kicking in, but I was smiling too much to sound polite. "No! He was carrying it, but he was very kind, Lyla."
Lyla reached out and lightly patted the top of my head, messing up my hair again.
"You're always pretty, sis," she murmured. "I always call you pretty, but I've never seen you smile like that before. Not even when Mama gave you the prettiest ribbon."
I forced my mouth into a little pout. "I do smile like that for you!" I insisted.
I don't. You and Mama and Papa, you only see the pretend angel inside me. You see the smile that means I won't get yelled at. You compliment the mask.
But he saw the blood and the tears and the fear, and that's when he said I was prettier. He liked the real, messy me.
Lyla pulled me back to the present. "So, what did he do with the flower? Did he just leave it in his satchel?"
"Yes, he put it in his leather thingy," I confirmed, tracing the lines on my drawing. "He put it with his water skin."
Lyla hummed thoughtfully, her eyes looking at the ceiling. She was a logic-minded girl. "Hmm. That's weird, Lia. Boys don't really go at night to get flowers. Especially that mountain. It's risky." She lowered her voice conspiratorially.
"He must have been getting it for someone important."
The warmth in my chest instantly froze.
Someone important?
"No," I said quickly, my voice suddenly small and tight. I hugged my notebook closer, squeezing the crayon marks. "It was just for him, maybe."
"Doubt it," Lyla said, leaning close. "He was probably getting it for his friend. Maybe a girl in his village. The blue flower is a very rare gift, Lia. He must find that friend very important."
A sharp, horrible pang—like a tiny, furious nail—stabbed the bottom of my heart.
No. My face felt suddenly stiff, and my smile was gone.
No. He can't have another friend who matters more than me. He was only with me. He called me pretty. If he gives that flower to someone else, that means he'll give his kindness to someone else, too.
The thought was raw, possessive, and absolute.
"Why are you making up silly stories?" I muttered, my voice flat, my eyes on my drawing. I was concentrating on the paper so hard it felt like I was physically pushing my new, ugly feeling onto the stick-figure boy.
Lyla blinked at my sudden shift. Her teasing smile wavered slightly. She didn't know how to label the strange, stony look on my seven-year-old face.
"Lia? You're acting… weird. You really, really like this boy, huh?" she observed, slightly more serious.
I didn't answer. I just flushed and tucked the notebook further under my chin, guarding my secret fiercely.
Just then, a clear, authoritative sound echoed from downstairs. "Lyla! Come help your mother! Now!"
Lyla sighed, rolling her eyes in a perfectly normal, sisterly way. She stood up and stretched.
"Alright, alright. I'm coming, Papa." She turned back to me, giving me a quick, mischievous wink.
"I'm still going to find out who this pretty boy with the blue eyes is, Lia. And when I meet him, I'm going to thank him for making my little sister actually look happy for once."
She skipped out the door, her promise echoing in the sunlit room, but her words felt like a threat.
Thank him? No.
I watched the empty doorway until I heard the faint thump of Lyla's footsteps descending the stairs. Only when the silence returned, thick and peaceful, did I let the angelic mask drop. My lips wobbled, and the pressure behind my eyes felt tight.
Thank him? She can't. Nobody can.
I lay back on my stomach, spreading the drawing out before me, the blue crayon shining in the morning light. I touched the head of the stick figure I had drawn—the boy with the kind, calm blue eyes.
Lyla thinks he got that flower for a friend. A girl.
A dark, swirling tide of No rushed through me, washing away the childish hurt and leaving behind a cold, determined resolve.
He shouldn't talk to anyone but me. He shouldn't give his kindness to anyone else. It was mine. It was the only real thing I owned in the entire, fake, angelic world.
He should be my friend.
My eyes—wide and bright with a new, single-minded focus—lit up. I grabbed the notebook.
I have to find him. I have to go back to the mountain. I have to find him right now, before he gets closer to anyone else. I have to be his closest friend. A better, closer friend than anyone else in the whole world.
I'll make sure of it.
The sun was already high, turning the floorboards in my room from dark wood to pale gold. Mama's humming downstairs—the low, easy tune she always sang while making her famous ginger biscuits—was the perfect cover. Lyla was out, running an errand for Papa, so the house felt quiet, cooperative.
I scrambled off the bed, my heart thumping a quick, messy rhythm against my ribs. I had to be fast. I had to find him now.
My little cloth satchel was perfect. Inside, I quickly shoved the wrinkled paper map I'd found beneath Papa's desk, the one that showed the "Danger Zones" near the mountain. I added my nearly full bottle of water and two hard, day-old crusts of bread that Mama wouldn't miss. Finally, carefully, I slid my drawing inside, the crayon portrait of his kind, blue eyes and our linked hands. My anchor.
I'll be back by four.
I repeated internally, adjusting the strap over my shoulder. Four at best.
I crept down the stairs, making sure my steps were light and quiet, practicing my angelic, careful walk.
The moment I stepped onto the wide, familiar street of Aloria, the air changed. The whole village smelled of salt, drying fish, and the sweet, comforting scent of fresh cinnamon bark from Mama's kitchen. Our home was nestled right near the sea, and the sound of the gentle waves was the constant, soft heartbeat of our lives.
My lips curved easily into a smile. It was the "Angel" smile—wide, kind, a little shy.
"Good morning, sweet Stella!" Old Mrs. Elara called out from her porch, her hands busy threading fishing nets. "Such a bright start to the day! Where are you off to, dear?"
"Good morning, Mrs. Elara!" I chirped, making sure my voice was high and friendly. "Just going to play with some friends near the western fields!"
"Such a helpful girl you are," she cooed. "Be safe, won't you?"
Helpful,she doesn't see me. She sees the girl who brought her fresh water yesterday.
A few steps later, I passed the herbalist's stall. The healer, Mr. Alwyn, waved a calloused hand. "Thank you again for helping me pick those roots, little one. You have keen eyes for the medicinal ones, Stella."
"It was my pleasure, Mr. Alwyn. Thank you for teaching me!" I replied sweetly, bending slightly in a perfect little bow.
Pleasure, my mind scoffed. It was a chore. But if I don't help, I'm not an Angel.
Their compliments never landed in my heart; they only bounced off the glass shell I wore. Every kind word about "Stella" only made the image of the boy—the one who saw my bleeding knee and called that pretty—sharper and more desperate.
He was the only one who had liked the scratched glass, not the perfect reflection it gave back.
Just as I reached the edge of the village, where the road turned rough and headed toward the low hills, the big, familiar hand of the village chief landed heavily on my head.
"Leaving already, Stella?" Chief Borin boomed, his voice warm as sun-baked stone. "Come here, I just found a basket of those new sweet-sour fruits near the estuary. Want to try one?"
I forced my most delighted, appreciative giggle. "Oh, thank you, Chief Borin! You are too kind!" I took the strange, purple-skinned fruit, my heart pounding with the rush of the escape. I gave him a dazzling, yet empty, smile and hurried my pace.
Yes. Kind. But not him.
I finally passed the last house, stepping over the small, worn wooden boundary marker. The ground under my feet was dirt now, not the clean cobblestone. I was free. I was on my way back to him.
"Wait up, Stella!"
My breath hitched. I froze, not daring to turn around. That familiar, slightly husky voice.
It was Ronan. He was twelve, big for his age, and my friend. They called me 'Stella' or 'Lia,' and honestly, I didn't mind. I guess I kind of liked being called Stella, even if it wasn't my real name yet.
I turned, quickly plastering the "Angel" smile back on. Ronan caught up, looking slightly breathless.
"Ronan! What a surprise!" I chirped, clasping my hands together. "Are you playing near the fields too?"
He tilted his head, his brow furrowed slightly as he looked at my little bulging satchel. "No. My mom sent me to find some lost sheep. But where are you going, Stella? You're carrying your hiking bag."
"Oh! This?" I squeezed the strap tighter. My mind raced, grabbing the first, silliest lie it could find. "I… I'm going to… bring flowers! For Mrs. Elara! She said her nets were boring, and I want to put pretty flowers on them!"
Ronan stared at me, his eyes wide and honest. He wasn't a complex thinker, but he was a good, observant boy.
"Stella, you're the worst liar I've ever met," he declared, not unkindly. "Your cheeks go all red, and you never look straight when you're fibbing. You can't even do it properly! You never lie."
The accusation hit me—not with shame, but with a sting of truth.
He's right. I can only lie to myself about the smile. Lying to others is too much work.
My composure crumbled. The desperate, honest truth of my possessive quest slipped out in a rush.
"I'm going back to the mountain, Ronan," I mumbled, looking at the toe of my shoe digging into the dirt. "To find the boy. Lyla said he might give the blue flower to someone else, and he can't! He just… he can't!"
Ronan didn't laugh or tease. He looked genuinely upset. He stepped closer and lowered his voice.
"Oh, Stella. I'm really sorry about your flower. I heard your mom burnt it. That was really mean. It was so pretty." He patted his own chest—a gesture of innocent, twelve-year-old solidarity.
"I hated that you were punished, even if you were wrong to go. But you can't go back alone. It's too dangerous, remember? The dark things."
He straightened his back, puffing out his chest with sudden, earnest determination.
"But if you're going back, I'll go with you, Stella. I'm older now. I'll make sure you don't scrape your knee again. I'll come with you."
"Okay, Ronan," I said, giving him a determined, quick nod. I reached out and firmly shook his hand. "But we have to be very, very quiet, and we have to be quick. He might be giving the flower away right now!"
Ronan looked pleased and immediately took the lead, pushing past the low, thorny scrub that marked the official edge of the woods.
The mountain was different in the day, yet still intimidating. The sun, high and harsh, cast long, deep shadows between the dense pine trees. The air, though warm, smelled sharply of earth and damp moss, not the clean salt of the sea.
"See, I'm ready this time," I chirped, bouncing slightly on my toes as I followed his wide back. My little satchel felt heavy and important. "I brought water and food! And I know the first trail part, so we won't get lost."
"Good. You were silly to go alone before, Stella," Ronan said, looking back over his shoulder. "My mom says the mountain is where the Cursed things live."
Cursed. The word felt cold on my tongue, but I pushed it away. "I'm not scared. I'm prepared."
We climbed steadily. Ronan used his height to clear low-hanging branches for me, and I used my small size to squeeze through narrow patches of undergrowth that snagged his shirt. For almost two hours, the climb was a quiet success. The sun beat down on the forest canopy, warming the air until my little cotton dress was sticking to my back.
We were nearing the familiar part of the mountain—the rough, rocky slope where I'd first cut my knee—when the light abruptly failed.
A thick, dark blanket of grey swallowed the sun. The wind, which had been a gentle push, turned into a harsh, whipping slap against the exposed rock faces.
"Whoa," Ronan muttered, stopping dead. He looked up, shielding his eyes as massive, bruised-looking clouds rolled in fast from the west, covering the entire sky in a sudden, frightening gloom. The temperature dropped instantly.
"It's going to storm, Stella. A bad one," he said, his voice laced with the sudden, nervous fear. "We have to go back. Now."
My heart hammered against the wall of my chest, but I shook my head, my jaw setting hard. I reached inside my bag and gripped the rolled-up drawing.
"No, Ronan. We can't. We're almost there," I insisted, desperation rising. I can't let him give it away! We can't go back for a silly storm!
"We'll get soaked! We might get hit by lightning!" Ronan argued, pulling on my arm.
"I don't care! I can't!" I yanked my arm away, taking a few steps up the rocky incline. The wind howled a terrible, roaring sound now, tearing through the trees and making the branches snap like whips.
Then, a sound that wasn't the wind.
A low, guttural, dragging sound, coming from the shadowed thicket just above us. It was heavy, wet, and hungry.
Ronan's eyes went wide. "T-The Dark Things," he stammered, his bravado instantly shattering.
Just as the first, heavy, icy drops of rain began to fall—a violent, blinding sheet—Ronan screamed. He spun around and sprinted down the mountain without another word.
I didn't scream. I just stared, paralyzed by a raw, cold fear far worse than the last time. My feet finally obeyed, but I ran up the mountain, not down, heedlessly plunging into the denser trees to avoid the dragging sound.
The world dissolved into a chaos of noise and water. The trees blurred. I slipped on wet moss, scrambling up as rain hammered my face, soaking my dress and hair instantly. I was completely lost, the world reduced to rushing water and darkness.
Then, I heard it again—closer this time. The wet, scraping sound of something immense following me, pushing through the brush, heavy and relentless. I didn't dare look back. I just ran, crying silently, my lungs burning, the map and the drawing forgotten in my death grip.
I closed my eyes, a frantic, silent little prayer escaping my lips.
Please, make it go away!
The world was swallowed by a deafening, terrifying crack!
I stumbled and fell onto the slick, rocky ground. I gasped, opening my eyes—and saw the grotesque form of the monster, only feet away, looming in the blinding rain. It was a skeletal, terrifying thing, its limbs long and wrong, its skin burnt and peeling, revealing wet bone. It was dead, but it was moving.
I squeezed my eyes shut again, whimpering, waiting for the cold, terrible weight of the Dark Thing to crush me.
But the crushing weight never came.
Instead, I heard a quiet, almost gentle patter.
I opened my eyes, the rain still washing over the rest of the forest, still beating mercilessly down on the dead, terrible thing. But above my head, the rain was not touching me.
I was completely dry.
A small, almost translucent shield of pulsing, delicate pink light hovered high above my head, warding off the downpour. And standing there, slowly walking toward me through the driving rain, was a girl who looked exactly my age, maybe even smaller.
Her hair was a strange, vivid pink, and her eyes—a striking, glowing pink to match—were calm and steady, utterly unaffected by the sudden violence of the storm. She wore clothes that weren't soaked, and she held a perfect, dry, porcelain doll loosely in one hand. She stopped a few feet away, standing between me and the burnt monster, which slowly retreated, whining softly into the gloom.
The pink-haired girl didn't smile. She just tilted her head, her magical pink shield dripping rain off the edges, and looked at me—the wet, terrified.
"Are you alright?" she asked, her voice a light, melodic chime.
I couldn't speak. I just nodded, lifting my chin slowly to stare up at the beautiful, gentle pink halo shimmer hovering over her head. It was a perfect, transparent dome, deflecting the storm.
She smiled faintly. "Oh, that? It's called Barrier Weave," she explained simply. "Just a little Elemental magic to block the rain. Come on, we need to go now. That storm will catch us, and it's too cold to stay out here!"
Before I could process any of that—magic, elements, cold—she reached out. Her hand was small, dry, and surprisingly warm. She gently took my own cold, mud-streaked hand and led me deeper into the wet, dark wood.
I was shivering violently, but her perfect sense of direction was astonishing. She didn't look at the map; she just knew where to step.
In just a few quick minutes, she found it: a deep, dry indentation beneath a massive, overhanging slab of mountain rock—a cave.
We ducked inside. The air was blessedly still, but the mouth of the cave was wide, and the wind was driving sheets of water right to our feet. I was completely soaked, my clothes heavy and clinging.
"Brrr! You're soaked!" She said, wrinkling her nose. She let go of my hand and turned back toward the entrance, focusing. "I can fix that, though! What's your name? I'm Elfina."
"I—I don't have a name yet," I whispered, hugging myself tight, teeth chattering. "You can call me Lia."
Elfina smiled. It was a sweet, genuine smile that made her pink eyes crinkle. "Lia! That's a lovely name."
Then, she stretched out her hand and muttered a strange, soft word. "Zaea Block."
With a low, grinding sound, the rock face near the entrance seemed to ripple, and thick, moss-covered earth and stones slid together, closing the cave entrance until only a thin crack remained for light. The shivering wind and the rain were instantly muffled.
She then spun back to me, her eyes twinkling. "Now for the drying!" she declared.
She clapped her hands together once, then swept them toward my drenched dress and hair.
"Wind, clean and dry! Aero Scour!"
A blast of gentle, warm air immediately hit me. It wasn't just wind; it was like being in front of a giant, gentle fireplace fan. My hair lifted and swirled, and the mud and water evaporated instantly. The warm air smelled faintly of lavender. It was perfect.
I stared at her, dumbfounded, completely warm and dry in seconds. "You… you did that!"
Elfina tilted her head. "It's just magic. Not a big deal."
Not a big deal? Staring at her wide, innocent pink eyes.
She just stopped a storm and cleaned me with air!
"You are so cool!" I burst out. "You can use magic! Can you teach me? How did you learn all those words?"
Elfina just shook her head, her pink hair swaying softly. "My friend taught me. We're besties, so it's easy. Sometimes it's boring, though. It's just like chores."
"Boring?" I gasped. It's the most amazing thing I've ever seen!
Just as I was about to ask her for a demonstration of fire, a horrible, embarrassed noise ripped through the sudden quiet of the cave.
It was my stomach.
My face went instantly red. I fumbled frantically inside my satchel, pulling out the fruit the chief had given me. It was dripping wet and looked shriveled.
Elfina laughed—a bright, tinkling sound. "Silly Lia! That fruit looks sad!"
She knelt down right on the dusty cave floor. She closed her eyes, and a faint, shimmering, golden light—so soft it was barely visible—enveloped her hands. She whispered something that sounded like an ancient, quiet song.
The dust and pebbles at her fingertips suddenly turned bright green. A tiny sprout shot up, twisting and growing fast—not like a normal plant, but speeding up right before my eyes. In less than a minute, it formed a small bush, and on its branches, three perfect, sun-ripened, red apples appeared.
She plucked one, the skin cool and waxy-smooth, and held it out to me.
"Here! Celestial Growth is much better than that wet thing."
I stared at the perfect, instant fruit, then at her.
Her brilliance was dazzling. She was powerful and kind wrapped up in an adorable pink bow.
She's so much more perfect than I am…
I took the apple, my fingers brushing hers. "Thank you, Elfina. You're… you're the best!"
We sat down cross-legged on the dry floor, eating the sweet, juicy apple.
"So, why were you out there, Lia?" Elfina asked between bites. "It's scary. Were you playing hide-and-seek with your friends?"
I shook my head, feeling safe enough to tell a partial truth. "No. I was looking for a boy. A friend. I have to find him before he gives away his flower."
"His flower? Oh. That's a very important mission, then!" Elfina giggled. "I was just looking for flowers too. What kind of flower was it? Was it blue?"
"Yes! A very special blue one!" I confirmed eagerly.
"I'm here to take another one, cause I lost my previous flower my best friend brough." Elfina twisted a pink strand of hair around her finger. "Do you have a best friend?"
"Not really..." I admitted, looking at her and then quickly away.
"It's hard to find someone who you can trust. I especially enjoy spending time with them! Like flying in the sky! Do you like to fly? That's my favorite hobby."
"I want to fly one day too!" I exclaimed, feeling a genuine smile spread across my face. "But Mama won't let me probably… because she says I'll ruin my dress. I also like reading the books Mr. Alwyn the healer gives me about herbs! What's your favorite color?"
"Blue, obviously!" Elfina said, pointing to herself. "But I like pink too. Do you like wearing dresses?"
"No!" I confessed, leaning in conspiratorially. "They itch! But Mama says a proper little Lia should always wear soft fabrics."
We dissolved into quiet giggles, the heavy, storm-drenched world outside forgotten.
"Heyyy Elfina how can you fly? Like with wings?"
"No, silly!" Elfina giggled. "With magic! I use Wind Magic and a little bit of Celestial Magic to make myself light. It's so much fun to race the clouds and look down at everything."
Flying. The idea was impossible, breathtaking. It was freedom—the opposite of being trapped in a silk dress with a forced smile.
"Teach me! Teach me how to fly!" I begged, scrambling closer to her.
Elfina nodded happily. "Okay! But it needs two incantations. Say this one first. It's for the Wind part."
She closed her eyes and whispered the words slowly.
"Caelum levi, aura spirite, pondus meum minue."
I repeated the words eagerly, but they came out in a jumbled mess. "Kay-lum, luh-vee, ah-rah—"
Elfina laughed, a gentle, understanding sound. "You're close! The 'ee' sound is soft. Try again!"
I focused hard, sticking my tongue out in concentration. "Caelum levi, aura spirite, pondus meum minue," I recited perfectly.
I waited. Nothing happened. My feet stayed planted on the cold cave floor.
Elfina opened her eyes and shrugged, not disappointed at all. "Hmm. Maybe you can't use that kind of magic yet, Lia. Some people can't use Elemental Magic."
The warm air vanished. My heart sank, heavy and cold.
Can't use magic? That's so unfair… I wanted to have fun too…
I slapped my own cheeks gently, giving myself a silent, sharp mental shake.
"It's okay!" I declared loudly, determined fire flaring up in my eyes. "In the future, I'm going to be as strong and cool as you, Elfina! I'm going to fly everywhere!"
Elfina clapped her hands together joyfully. "That's the spirit, Lia! You totally will!"
"Where are you from, Elfina?" I asked, suddenly curious about her perfect, magical life. "Is your village near here?"
She denied it with a shake of her head. "Oh no, I'm far, far away from here. I'm from an orphanage, actually."
"An orphanage? But… How did you get here? Did you fly here?"
She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. "Silly Lia! I just created a Portal and came here! It was simple. Portals are just making two spots touch. It's kind of tiring, though."
A portal? My eyes must have been huge. She was everything amazing rolled into one small person.
She seemed to sense my dazzled confusion, and her pink eyes lit up with mischief. "Watch this! What's your favorite color, Lia?"
"It's blue!" I confessed quickly, staring at her amazing pink aura.
"Mine too!" Elfina said, winking. She bent down and touched a small, dark puddle near the cave wall. "Aqua Lux." The water instantly glowed a rich, vibrant blue, turning the puddle into a tiny, magical, shimmering pool of light.
Then, she blew on the water. The blue light separated into a dozen perfect, spherical water bubbles that floated silently toward the ceiling, spinning and glowing like captured pieces of the sky.
I gasped, completely mind-blown. "Do it again! Do another one!"
Elfina laughed, enjoying my reaction. She picked up a dry, boring stick. She focused for just a second, and the stick turned instantly into a piece of smooth, warm glass, completely transparent. "Terra Clarity." She handed it to me.
"Be careful, it's still warm."
I held the warm, smooth glass, speechless.
"You're getting a little chilly, Lia," she observed, her playful tone changing to sudden, practical care. She grabbed two pebbles, and whispered, "Ignis Warmth." The pebbles began to glow bright orange, radiating a gentle heat into the small cave, like tiny, contained suns.
"Wow," I breathed. "You're so much better than the healers back home."
"It's fun," Elfina said, stifling a small yawn. "But now I'm sleepy. We should take a nap until the rain clears."
I looked down at the rough, uneven, cold stones of the cave floor. "The rocks are too hard, though."
"I'll fix that, too!" Elfina said, easily. She swept her hands over the ground, whispering a long, gentle incantation that sounded like buzzing bees. "Flora Comfort."
The rough ground instantly turned into soft, mossy grass, dotted with tiny, fragrant purple and white flowers. The entire cave filled with a sweet, calming aroma.
Elfina stretched out on the beautiful, fragrant bedding, her pink hair fanned out on the moss. "See? Good now." She closed her eyes.
I stared at the magical, perfect comfort surrounding us, my head spinning with the impossible reality of her power. I curled up next to her, breathing in the flower-scented air. It felt safe. It felt like a dream.
The Dream
I was walking through a field of tall, whispering grass. It was sunny, but the light was somehow soft, not harsh.
Then I saw him.
The boy with the calm, beautiful blue eyes. He was walking away from me. He didn't look back. He just kept walking toward a distant darkness.
"Wait!" I screamed, but the sound was thin, swallowed by the tall grass. My small, seven-year-old legs couldn't keep up. I reached out, my hand outstretched, begging him to stop.
"Stop! Don't go! You're mine!"
He didn't hear me. He was getting smaller. He was leaving me.
I woke up with a sharp, gasping inhale, my body immediately cold despite the warm stones. The memory of the dream was fresh and terrifying: the feeling of him walking away.
The cave was quiet, the magical flowers still soft beneath me. Elfina was still sleeping peacefully beside me, her light, warm breath barely disturbing the air. The rain had stopped.
My first thought was frantic. I scrambled for my satchel, pulling out the rolled-up drawing. I flattened it out, staring at the smiling stick figures, at the two hands linked together. He was here, safe, on the paper.
Why am I so scared? I wondered, hugging the paper tight to my chest.
I was scared because I knew the truth. If he walked away, I was alone again, facing the dark monsters and the cold, empty Angel mask.
I had to find him. Now. I had to make sure he chose me.
Elfina stirred, stretching her arms above her head with a soft, cat-like "Aaaaaah." Her pink eyes fluttered open and immediately met mine.
She saw my wet face, my trembling hand clutching the drawing. Her gentle smile immediately faded, and she reached out, her fingers softly touching my shoulder.
"Lia? Are you okay?" she asked, her voice low and concerned.
I nodded quickly, pulling myself together. The moment of pure panic was passing, but the cold residue of the dream lingered. "I'm fine. Just… fine now."
"Did you have a bad dream?"
I nodded again, looking away from her perfect, kind eyes toward the cave wall.
"It was scary. Very, very scary."
"What was it?" she asked, sitting up next to me on the soft, mossy grass.
"I saw someone I cared about walking away from me," I said, the words catching in my throat. "I reached for them, but they just kept getting farther away, and I couldn't catch them."
Elfina's small lips parted slightly, her expression thoughtful and unexpectedly sad. "I see. That must be scary. I sometimes see that, too." She hugged her knees to her chest. "And I'm terrified of it."
"You do?" I asked, surprised that a perfect, magic-wielding girl could know such a desolate feeling.
She nodded. "Sometimes I dream that I'm flying, but then I start falling, straight into the dark, churning sea, and I can't use my magic. My body feels heavy and numb, and the darkness swallows me." She shivered faintly. "Sometimes I wake up with tears, just like you did."
I reached up, touching my eyes. My fingers came away damp.
I was crying in my sleep? I care that much about him…? The reality of my devotion felt like a sudden, shameful weight.
"What do you do when you're scared after waking up?" I asked, my voice still a little shaky as I wiped the tears away.
Elfina's face instantly brightened, a lovely, hopeful smile returning. "I ran out of the orphanage, and I went straight to my best friend! And I hug him tight, and then we spend the whole day together. And it makes everything okay."
I felt a faint, wistful smile touch my own lips.
I wish I had someone like that to go to.
Elfina's gaze drifted from my face to my hands, where the drawing was still clutched like a liferaft. Her pink eyes focused on the paper.
"What's that, Lia?" she asked, tilting her head curiously. "Is that another map?"
I hesitated, hugging the drawing tighter. It was the only tangible proof of him.
Elfina whined, a playful, adorable sound. "Pweasss! I wanna see what you drew! I don't like being in suspenseee!"
I couldn't deny her. She was so kind, she helped me a lot. I slowly, reluctantly, put the paper down between us, flattening the creases. She leaned in, her gaze taking in the two stick figures, the lopsided forest, and the two hands linked firmly together.
For a moment, she was quiet. Her small, angelic face seemed to turn subtly sharper. Her smile dropped, and her pink eyes narrowed—not with malice, but with a cold, intense focus. The light seemed to leave her face entirely.
"Why the blue eyes?" she asked. Her tone was no longer the musical, light chime of a moment ago. It was quiet, flat, and darker than the deepest shadow in the cave.
I instinctively flinched, stuttering at the sudden, chilling shift. "He… he once saved my life…" I whispered, feeling the need to defend the drawing, defend my possession.
"I came here to find him. I—"
"Did he put a flower in your hair and call you pretty? And said your smile was prettier?" Her pink eyes locked onto mine with an unblinking intensity that made me shiver.
My heart leaped into my throat. How could she possibly know that small detail, the one I hadn't even told Lyla? I stared at her, utterly confused and terrified.
"I—I don't know. How did you know that?" I asked, my voice barely audible.
Elfina leaned back slightly, her expression now a perfect mask of cold, quiet comprehension.
"Because," she said, her voice dropping to a decisive whisper, heavy with possessive weight, "he is my best friend."
My entire body stiffened. The soft grass beneath me felt like sharp stone again. The perfect safety of the cave dissolved. All the warmth Elfina had created turned to ice.
I looked at her pink eyes, which were now filled with the same desperate, possessive need I had just felt in my nightmare.
"So, you're her."
"You're her."
We both muttered simultaneously, our eyes growing narrow, the air thick with the sudden, unspoken challenge of two seven-year-old girls facing the realization that they both desire the exact same, singular person.