“What did you do! What did you say to him!”

We were home now, but Mother’s shrieking cry still echoed in my head. Never had I heard her shout at me like that, holding my arms, shaking me. I just stood there, shocked, and could barely manage a ‘Nothing. I didn’t say anything.’ But that didn’t seem to be a good enough answer, as she pushed me out of the way to run to dear, heartbroken Limenta, now audibly sobbing in her room down the hall.

It had been a long carriage ride home, the three of us packed in the back - me on one side, Mother comforting Limenta on the seat across. Neither were looking at me. But I suppose they needed someone to blame, and I was naturally the easiest target.

Now, gratefully isolated in my bedroom, my mind raced with thoughts of that mysterious man. Why would he take the feather from my sister? 

Maybe he could tell that she was not worthy? I smiled to myself.

     Or maybe, was he some sort of spy - sent from the Barrens, deep undercover, to sabotage the ceremony? I looked up at my cluttered bookshelves, filled with heroic tales of the war - a favorite gift of Father. 

The monsters were described as vile, contorted creatures - illegally conjured by the grotesque witches banished from the realm. No one could create life from magic - it was the highest sin, the most blasphemous act one could commit. It was an affront to Solia, the creator of the realm - High Queen and master of all four guides. 

So no, the mysterious golden - masked man was probably not a Barrens spy.

I lay back in my bed, exhausted, too tired to even change out of the heavy black robes. There was still a little frog in my throat - the stinging heavy that comes when you hold back tears. I’m not sure why I was holding them back still - here in the isolation of my room. Maybe it was out of fear that Mother and Limenta would burst through the door at any moment - admonishing me for feeling any sort of self-pity in this situation. Or maybe it was just out of pride. 

     I took a sip of water from the cup on my bedside table, trying to clear my head. I wasn’t sure how I would sleep tonight. But maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe tomorrow, the Solia Ceremony would finally work, and I would be whisked away to some faraway land, away from all this. I’m not sure I could stand the entire springtime break in this house - a seething Limenta, Mother doting on her every whim. They really brought out the best in each other.

+++

It is a strange sensation when you know you are dreaming. Of course, when you are awake, you have all these grant plans of the worlds you would conjure - a place of complete fantastical control. But while there, in the thick of it, you’re still left as a passenger to your own mind. 

I was standing in an open grassy field - much like the grounds of the Herculea school - only this time it was the dead of night. Wind was rushing past me, and long blades of grass brushed against my bare knees. I looked down to find myself naked, bare in the haunting glow of the moon. 

Of course, I was naked. I sighed. 

At least I was alone… 

Or was I? 

I scanned the dark field, straining to see anything in the shadows.

Nothing. 

Nothing.

There.

There - a flickering of leather wings just above the grass, barely visible in the dim light of the moon. I stepped forward, cautious. Another step and I finally saw them.

My stomach dropped. In the pale light, I was met with the giant, pearlescent milky-white eyes of a young imp. Its leather wings flicked with the wind, with tiny, clawed hands stretched towards me. No, not out of any sort of malice - it was pleading, asking something of me. I watched it slowly blink, as silver, almost metallic liquid streaked its face. It was crying.

It was then, as I looked at his furred hoof feet, that I saw her. Another tiny imp, even smaller in size, with a jagged branch sticking out of her delicate torso. She wasn’t moving. She was dead.

I knelt, touching the cold hand of the fragile, magical creature. Her tiny friend placed his wooly arms around my wrist, letting out tiny mewing whimpers in lament for his departed friend. Here was something in his hand now, catching just a glimpse of the moonlight. Something silver. He was trying to give it to me.

I picked it up from his outstretched hand. It was a small, delicately engraved pin - not unlike what I used to tack Father’s letters on my wall. Attached was a long, intricate chain - a necklace? I twisted the small pin in my fingers, carefully examining it in the pale moonlight.

It was then that something strange happened. I watched myself prick the end of my finger with the pin, and a small black dot of blood appeared. I then watched myself let that single drop of blood fall into the departed imp’s open mouth. It seemed so natural, intuitive to this dream version of myself. But, just as the blood hit her sharp teeth, then slid into her mouth, the winds stopped.

It was completely still, completely silent, apart from the small imp who was now spinning in delight next to his impaled friend. I watched in awe as the dead imp slowly flickered its milky white eyes open. Her dancing friend stopped to pull her off of the sharp branch with an efforted tug. As she stood, the tiny hole in her torso started to close, steaming like a kettle on either side of her until she was finally whole again. Both imps looked up at me, sharp tooth grins gleaming upwards in gratitude.

What have I done…