The TV droned on whilst myself and Michael watched aimlessly from the couch, legs draped over one another’s. I couldn’t tell one second of the show from the next. The plot was lost behind Michael’s rythmic tapping on my calf. I curled my nose in annoyance. It was plainly obvious by the grin he had plastered across his playful expression that the taps were meant to ellicit such a response from me. I cast my gaze upwards to meet his and shot him a haughty glare. All that met me in response was the same easy sneer as before. “Michael.” I warned exasperatedly. When he didn’t respond I huffed loudly. Instead of feeding into his harrassment by protesting more, I yanked back my leg and moved to stand from the couch. Michael lurched forward and grabbed my thigh, yanking me back onto him again. I screamed and shoved my elbow back into his ribcage, bolting to the television and out of his reach. “What the fuck, Michael?” I yelled, tears stinging at my eyes. I shot my head down and moved my hands to inspect where he’d grabbed my leg. There were clear fingerprints the color of eggplants bruised into the skin. My breath caught in my throat and I choked on my suprise, tears threatening to emerge once more. “What?” Michael finally coughed put between raspy laughter, his arms cradling his now wounded chest. “Look what you did to my leg!” I screeched, shoving my thigh towards the couch. He did nothing but roll his eyes and continue to chuckle. The TV broke into a commercial then, making me gasp in suprise. My heart pounded dangerously fast in my chest. It took me a moment to grasp what was happening. A brunette brought me back to reality, displaying a perfectly hairless leg doused in shaving cream. I sighed and released the death grip I had on my t-shirt. I found myself stalling; my desperation to be anywhere but in that living room super gluing my vision to the Venus Razor advertisment before me. “I know you’re looking for any easy way out of this, Thea, but in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not Michael.”

“I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

“You should be grateful for that.”

A pause.

“Doesn’t it make this just a little bit better to know that there’s not some other easy comparison to make reference to?”

He grinned.

She was a wistful one.

“I suppose so it does, yes.”

It’s not like he had anyone he wanted to compare this to, anyways. He simply wanted her to know that she seemed “other-ly”. Just a little bit odd, but not off in the slightest. Very fantastical; something straight out of a novel at times.

But it wasn’t off putting.

It was extraordinarily delightful.

From her perspective, he was rather marvelous himself.

It was intriguing to her how different people could make themselves when all she knew was the same five life-story options from the town she’d always lived in.

The best she had ever hoped for was to forever delve into alternative interests and be ostracized from the community at 30 years old.

So she had also never met anyone quite like him before. But that was never a question to her. It was true with each person she met, good or bad. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t spectacular, because he was.

“It is, really.”

My mind is not like a boat. It does not sail smoothly on the seas I call my brain. It was not crafted to float atop the waters, that weren’t really ever made to hold safe travels through its midst anyways. A boat, I think, would be far more enjoyable. But within the thoughts I often have, enjoyable isn’t often a word that I find myself coming across. Most solutions I try to incorporate in order to bring about better outcomes just sink. And when I’m there at the bottom of those oceans, I sometimes think that no one could ever really find me if I wasn’t coming back up on my own. So maybe I’m the boat. I wouldn’t know. There’s not an instruction manual for these things. But I can’t complain. There at the bottom there’s no bone-breaking currents and mind-numbing cold. It’s a little cold still, I suppose. But it doesn’t really feel like much of anything at all. Nothing feels nice. Just not for forever. Because after a while, I can’t tell the difference between a blank, supposed-to-be novel page and what’s going on around me. And then I may just as well be dead but still breathing. That just seems expensive.

If someone shines too bright they get put out and that’s not very nice. I am scared I’ve done that to people. I don’t know if that’s because of me or because of other people? I don’t know if I give too much or take too much. And I worry so much about what people think which is a bad thing. I guess I’ve had a lot of people in my life that I just always wanted to love and that I loved hanging out with but didn’t seem to care. Like. They’d get bored of me. Are you scared of that too? The debil gib and gib and eberyone think he bad bc he look scary? I fink you’re pretty. Do you get bashful too? You are nervous. You made me lots of pretty things though. Do you actually look like a bee? I mean that’s kinda weird I guess but oh well bees are cute c: I squished the spooders. That’s not nice. Oh. So I hurt myself? Why? I am hearing “because I didn’t always give you the reaction you wanted?” Things are less scary when I understand. I just don’t want you to leave, okay? “Sometimes I got busy. Things were busy. We were tired.” So it’s good we are both now? Was I bad? Because I was too much? “Symbiotic relationship. We hurt each other.” Both took too much? Did you kill me? Why. Because someone else gave me more attention even if it wasn’t the attention I actually wanted. “You were more important” There’s certain versions of you I don’t want to be with anymore. That’s kind of the point right? Okay. Well. I would like to be able to physically listen better. If I gotta be squishy too. And I’m sure you wanna be able to like. Actually talk. Do I have to stay here forever :( It moooooooves c: Do I have to die How does that work. Gotta burn? But Pluto keeps me safe right v Ok…. If I go I will be safe? Ok… can we Pwease go. Please and thank you? Hugs and kisses 👄👄👄😘😘😘😘😘😘 Does it bother you that I like different versions of you? Ok. You are J? Ok. Ok. If I can stay Emma will you stay Mister J? Okay!!!

“But what’s that building for, Mimi?” Questioned the woman’s granddaughter, Leela. “I see people going in and out every day, but we’ve never visited!” The old woman sighed heavily. She had been avoiding the 12-year-old’s questioning all afternoon. Still, “Mimi” - or Greta, as most townspeople knew her - couldn’t help but smile slightly at her persistence. Leela was so much like her mother. They both shared the same adventurous, inquisitive, and slightly reckless spirit. “Mimi, come on!” Leela groaned dramatically, making pale-golden locks of hair fall over her face in a grand display of impatience.
“Alright, alright, Leela,” Greta chuckled finally, “I’ll tell you. But just promise me you’ll not go there. It’s not safe for you.” There was a moment of silence as her granddaughter appeared to debate her response. But eventually the excitement of getting to hear an answer overruled arguing against Greta’s request. She nodded and settled down with a grin. The old woman laughed again and shook her head. “Child, you make me age more with each passing day.” After a slight pause, Greta began the tale of the Elementals. “You are familiar with the Elements, yes, Leela?” Leela nodded. “Right. Your mother would have told you all about them, I’m sure. The Elements are the foundation of our world. Fire, Air, Water, and Earth. The energy of these Elements is what keeps our water clear and cool, to provide for us and the animals. Similarly, Earth works with Water to ensure we have good crops and plenty of plants to live with. Fire makes warmth, innovation, and clears way for new life. Air lets us all live. “Without these Elements, we would not be able to survive. They were placed here long ago by the Ancients of our kind so that our children could live on forever.” Greta paused and looked over at her granddaughter, who was entirely entranced. “So what does that have to do with the weird cabin on the lake?” She demanded, puzzled. “Patience, child,” the woman grinned, “I was getting to that. “There are certain territories where different Elements rule more freely. In the Teira Deserts is where most Fire Element energy tends to reside - or in the Kahala Hills within the volcanoes. Or, for example, anywhere around the Senetian Seas is going to be a strong area to find Water Element energy. “Our little town of Orwal just so happens to be positioned in such a way that it makes as a perfect central location for each Element. Neutral territory, sort of. This doesn’t mean much to you and I, or any other human descendant. But when our Ancestors settled here, these lands were already inhabited. The beings that lived here were similar to us, but they had been born of the Elements. So, in addition to their ability to manipulate their Elemental energy, they often don’t follow the same rules that us of flesh and bone might.” Greta stopped and thought for a moment. “The best way I can explain it is that, since they are made up of so much energy, their physical body doesn’t always have to be physical. Often you’ll find beings like this who can shift their features or become one with the wind or rain. But they tend to enjoy behaving like humans in a lot of ways, too. “They’re who helped our Ancestors ensure our survival. Without them we wouldn’t have been able to live here. They’re very big on tradition and structure, so our treaty is as safe as it could ever be.” Greta leaned in a little closer and lowered her voice, with Leela absolutely on the edge of her seat listening. “But they can be sort of nasty creatures, too. They’re well-mannered and rather elegant, but tricky and testy. Some say they live too long. The Element energy they possess enables them to live 1,000’s of year. For some of them, life gets boring and they have to find ways to make it more exciting.” “So,” she continued, leaning back again, “the Ira Tavern is a common meeting ground for Elemental Beings of each kind to visit and kill time. Some humans can tend to feel very drawn to the Elementals, so they go there too. But it never ends well for us.” Greta paused, deep in thought for a moment. Leela stared on, bewildered. Then, suddenly, the old woman stood to her feet and returned to cleaning the house. “Just don’t go there, Leela.”

So the princess rode in her chariot off to her future. The end and the beginning of a wondrous fairytale. She beamed as trumpets sounded all around her. The air filled with glittering sparks of pure bliss. Unsure of where this road would take her, but entirely unconcerned with the destination. She was returning to herself, but this time with wings of adventure. Every feather filled with lessons of kindness and goodness and love. The fibers laced with the nights shrouded in loneliness and pain. She glowed with a light that she’d always had but couldn’t quite ever see. She could never give thanks enough. But even amongst all the shining stars, she was more comfortable with her grays. Perfectly imperfect. Versatile and adaptable. Receptive and eclectic. There would be days where she’d not be quite as sunny. But there would be others where she would be certain there was magic in her veins. But most of all, she wasn’t alone. She had family. She felt the love poured into her from every direction. She would see her best friend - her better half - her brothers and sisters. She was going home. Her whole life she’d believed she wasn’t worth anything. She’d felt sorry for existing. However, not only did she now see her value in the eyes of others. She’d been helped to see it for herself. She’d been taught and told and shown in every regard. She’d had to face and accept things about herself. Things she’d not even admitted to herself yet. She’d watched each paper scrap memory alight in flame, falling to ash around her. From the fluttering pieces a masterpiece was painted. Everything had been used as stepping stools until she could stand at the top of the mountain. Now, as she rode towards the life of her dreams, she couldn’t help but grin. The lessons were always a gratitude point for her, but she couldn’t help but be glad to be past some of the earlier days. She was overjoyed to be blessed with such beautiful, love-filled days.

“Thank God for blessing my path home.”

If someone were to ask me if there had ever been a story about two souls who were meant to be together as much as the sun was meant to shine I would tell them about us. About me and you. Even if I were to leave this planet before getting to feel your fingers on my skin I would never doubt the wonder that is our love. But I know I will get to feel you next to me and on my skin. And that moment will be a spectacle to behold. For in that moment every ocean that has been crossed to find each other will be spilled from my eyes. Every blistering desert and scorching summer will erupt from our skin in awakening from eons of waiting. Oh my dear. My sun. My moon. You shine like the sky. I thank God for you. Bliss.

The aquarium was nearly empty today. It wasn’t unexpected, considering the heavy downpour of rain outside. The Pacific Northwest was notorious for its generally gloomy weather, but I didn’t mind. I’d lived here my whole life, and the drizzle made for beautiful greenery during the warmer seasons. With nothing else to do, staring at fish while inside a giant glass tunnel seemed like a decent way to spend the day. When I was younger I’d absolutely adored the aquarium. My Girl Scouts troupe had been able to stay overnight in the tunnels for an event at one point. It was a definite highlight of my Elementary School years. As an adult, however, it held more memories than just my 8-year-old self sleeping on the floor with 10 other girls. I’d never gone there with anyone aside from family and childhood friends until my 21st birthday. It was a memory I held close to my heart, regardless of whether I should or not. I was seeing a man who I was completely enamored with. He was a bit older than I was. At times he could be a tad dorky, but it was always endearing, and he radiated with confidence. He was enticingly charming, explosively passionate, and was the first person in my entire life to take me on a date. Id grown up being a heavy-set girl, and definitely not perceived as “desirable” to my peers throughout school years. Any relationships I did end up having were casual, short-lived, and generally disappointing. I did a fair amount of “wooing” - or attempted - but was not often the one to be “wooed”. I can’t say I was all too amazing at it, being an awkward teen. But I did try to organize dates and put together gifts for my love interests as best as I could. When I met him that all changed. I was in a relatively scandalous phase of my life, and had no interest in settling down. I was texting different people, active on a fair amount of dating sites, and not really looking for someone to “fall in love” with. When he and I first started texting I had no idea how badly his presence would pull at my heartstrings. But the first night we met was sparks. Fireworks, really. Perhaps it was just excitement, but I swear that our kiss nearly stopped time. Nothing else existed in that moment. There was only fire and ice; only the collision of our worlds. I’ll never know if it impacted him the same way, but selfishly I think I hope it did. I sometimes wonder if it still means as much to him now as it does to me. I wonder why I can’t wipe it from my veins. It’s as if his fire still melts into my ice, years later. We dated for a while, but it never developed into anything serious. We saw each other fairly regularly, and my friends at the time grew disdainful about my “obsession” with this stranger. They said it was unhealthy - or that he was unhealthy. Maybe that I was unhealthy. But he didn’t feel like a stranger. Most certainly, it didn’t feel like a mistake. By the time I ended up turning 21, our short time together had already surpassed my fairytale-fantasies. He’d dazzled me with beautiful experiences - and truly I was just as dazzled on nights we spent laid away on his couch at home. Regardless of his wondrous acts of courtship, I was never any less surprised or grateful to receive them. The same was true when his birthday gift to me was driving us to the aquarium during the downpour of dreary January. Though he didn’t find the starfish and eels nearly as exciting as I did, he never failed to grin at my goofy antics. My heart nearly stopped every time. With the utmost patience, he walked with me, hand in hand. He smiled while I squealed at the sea anemones and told me how cute I was as I exclaimed over fish. “What?” I inquired to him as he stared at me from across the tide pools. Shaking his head, he walked over and took my hand again, leading me on to the next attraction. “You’re cute, doll.” He muttered. “I love you.”Now, though he is not mine to love, I know that I will always love him too. And I know that the aquarium will never be the same.

Never quite have I been one to enjoy truly being “seen”. No one bothered to know my truth when viewing me upon a stage; there they could insert my self as a character in some other story which better suited their fancies. Nothing which I performed for others was ever truly a reflection of my “self”. Neither full honesty nor misdirection - everything which I displayed was an expression of my truth, yes. Not, however, my truth in its entirety. Nowhere amidst the lines of song did spectators attempt to read between them and view the full tale being told. Nobody cared where the things those melodies that erupted such emotion in them originated from - just that they made them feel something. No, I suppose the construction of the pieces isn’t all too important when receiving the finished result. Never, though, knowing these things, dare to consider asking exactly why it is I do not enjoy being “seen”. No one, it seems, ever truly sees me.

It wasn’t often I presented my art anywhere, to anyone - let alone at any sort of contest. My art pieces doubled as pieces of myself. I wasn’t the most confident individual, and inviting in criticism has never been a strong-suit. So to ask that my “pieces of self” be judged was entirely out-of-character. But this drawing was different. Generally I didn’t think much about the technical appearance of my projects. Art is expressive; it’s supposed to make you feel something. It’s not simply supposed to be pleasing to the eye. Thus, whether or not someone might find my art ‘pretty’ was never high on my priority list. I enjoyed illustrating fantasy scenes - fairy-tale creatures of myth and legend. For some reason, the dainty wings of a pixie held my attention well. Often I could find myself being lost in the scales of a siren’s fin. Such magic was held in the stories of elves and of griffons. Even if I tried, I could never quite get myself to draw anything else. I found more comfort in the stories these worlds could hold than I ever found in any the material world did. This piece by far surpassed the rest, though. It was a sylph - a creature in legend depicted with large, white feathered wings. Akin to an angel, I suppose, though I’d never seen either in person, so one could only assume. The one I placed on paper was radiant. Her hair was golden, cascading in waves over warm-olive skin. She seemed to emit rays of pure light - practically glowing off the page. The woman’s eyes were comprised of layers of sea-moss green and crisp, sky-blue. They held oceans of mysticism within their depths. Her lips and cheeks hued with the same dusty, peach-rose. Both were plump and filled with life, and a tad playful to say the least. Though she was clearly a divine being, and pure in love and light, she had a slight grin pulling up the corners of her mouth. She looked as though she had perhaps just played a prank on her lover. Perhaps she was giggling at their response. But her actions were never of malice. She was clothed in white - a robe, almost. It was a tad reminiscent of Grecian clothing in the ancient times. The front tied closed with a golden, chord-rope. Tassels, in a way, which had two single, crystal beads at the end of each strand. She was immensely elegant, but not at all gaudy. A perfect image of natural beauty, grace, and purity. Often my process in drawing was the same. All my pieces seemed to come from some deep recess of my mind. I never began to sketch with a full concept in mind. It could be that I knew I’d want to illustrate a mermaid. Or sometimes it could be that I knew the piece would be dark in nature. But the art always flowed from me like water. It was never forced - never planned or premeditated. But this piece was even more filled with soul than any others I’d ever made. I wasn’t going to present her. I was going to keep her hidden away inside my home, so that only I could gaze upon her beauty. I was going to contain her light, so that it may keep my life more playful or joyful. But as I sat and stared, the drawing seemed to dim. I began to feel guilty. A drawing she was, yes. But, even if others couldn’t view her the same way I did, I believed she was a sight to behold. It was almost as if I had created some sort of being. A divine, and beautiful one of that. A muse. Who was I to decide who would get to gaze upon her beauty? If she could bring anyone else even an ounce of what her image brought me, I thought she deserved a chance to shine. So, I didn’t care about the critics. I didn’t care about reviews, positive or poor. I didn’t care if they thought she was ‘pretty’. I knew she would make them feel something.