My world was small, but stable. The view rarely changed in meaningful ways. Every day, the same sun breached the same window, filling the room with its brilliant light. The light marched across the same carpet with deliberate slowness, unhindered by any stray obstacle left in its path. It cascaded over toys, books, and cast aside clothes with ease until it reached the window once more and retreated, making way for the infiltration of darkness. The darkness behaved much differently from the light. It slowly seeped in from the corners, gradually filling the room. It oozed out from its hiding spaces in the closet and under the small bed. It flooded the room with indifference, consuming all in its presence. I watched from my perch as the struggle repeated itself every day. Nobody won, nobody lost.

Measuring this eternal struggle was not my only job though. I was also the silent guardian of a boy. While the room rarely changed, the boy was never the same. Every day, he woke as a new person. One day, a cowboy. The next day, an astronaut. The day after that, who knew? His imagination was vivid and wild. Every morning as the darkness released him from its grasp, he would put on his costume for the day and present himself to me. Silently, I showed him the adjustments he needed to make in order for everything to be perfect. He always made the adjustment, nodded, and left the room, off on another grand adventure. Although the boy changed daily, his pattern remained the same. At least, until the day it changed too.

The boy started school and adapted his imagination to meet the standards of the school. His fantasies became more specific and his adventures more calculated. He was now a paleontologist digging for fossils, an astronomer searching for another habitable planet, a doctor searching for cures to strange diseases. The day he changed, he imagined himself as a princess, ruling with wisdom and kindness over his subjects. He had been a princess before- this was nothing new- and had been this princess for several days now. Whenever the boy had been a princess before, the man always appeared sad. The woman had tried to chastise the man and the man tried to change his expression, but he never hid his disappointment well. This time however, the man reacted with anger. He yelled at the boy until they were both red in the face. The disappointment was still there, but the rage had finally grown enough to break free. The boy ran back into his room, tears streaming from his eyes. He slammed the door hard enough to shift me on my perch and he fell onto his bed, overcome with emotion. I didn’t understand why the man reacted this way and hurt the boy. There had never been an issue with his imagination before, why was this any different?

The next morning, as the darkness worked on returning to its safe havens, the boy woke up different. The sadness I had seen growing in the man had taken root in the boy. He did not prepare himself for an adventure today. Today, the darkness began to gain ground.

My small world lost its stability. Each day, the light marched over a little less and the darkness consumed a little more. The darkness clung to the boy as it devoured his interests and passions. His imagination waned, so he sought refuge in the imagination of others. He filled himself with the varied worlds of books to replace the void created by the growing darkness. It wasn’t sufficient though; the darkness within him continued to grow.

Eventually, the boy began to change again, but physically instead of imaginatively. His skin grew rough and he began sprouting hair on his face. He became obsessed with his appearance, staring at his face as it slowly changed. He appeared unhappy with the changes though and often hid himself inside his clothing whenever he left the room. I tried to show him the perfection he still carried, but he seemed to only see the parts that upset him. I missed the wild imagination that brightened the room.

The darkness eventually won. The boy had been completely consumed and began radiating it instead. Tears were almost always on his face whenever he looked at me. On this otherwise uneventful day, the boy yelled at me just as the man yelled at him years before. He balled his hand into a fist and hit me, shattering my vision into hundreds of pieces. I continued watching him from my scattered pieces, catching every angle of his anguish. I watched as he grabbed one of my shards and held it tightly in his hand. I watched as he lowered me to his arm and pressed me against his soft, warm flesh. I watched as my vision began to turn red.

I never saw the boy after that day.

My small world had regained its stability. Despite being broken, I remained on my perch where I could watch the daily battle between dark and light. Though the boy had left, his darkness remained over the room. Sometimes, the woman came in and looked at me and cried. I saw the man once and he only scowled at me. The days flowed into years, and my visitor started to come less frequently. Until I saw a new, yet familiar face.

The new woman came into the room and looked at me with deep sorrow. She was beautiful, and the sorrow only deepened that beauty. I watched her as she walked around the room, touching the dust covered items with a care that seemed almost reverent. The pieces of my fractured sight fell back into place the longer she spent in the room, and I finally recognized her. The boy I had watched over all those years before was never truly a boy- that was just another costume she wore. The girl had finally become the princess she was meant to be.

That day, the light returned.