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“I never saw you this close before,” muttered the child. She was silver like burnished steel, and her eyes were more glimmer than black. She smiled and her face lost its glimmer. She stood like her own statue, and with her flared lips and her subtle, soft, kissable cheekbones.

She drew her lips away from the kiss and her face was cold and dead again. Her face was translucent, yet it was like she was a real faery, not a spirit of the world of the stars above. The child watched her closely, wondering if she would ever smile again, ever exhale such a delightful sigh, or ever seem anything more than just a statue.

“You are hurting,” she said looking at the child. “Your past is hurting you.”

“I enjoy you bringing me joy.”

“Your pain is tied to your previous joy.”

“Does it hurt you?” was the only question the child could think of.

“You are being incredibly rude and lewd.”

“What do you mean?” asked the child.

“I mean you are.” She drew her slender form closer. Her skin tingled, and her skin turned to something almost like dry leather. She was so close to the child, close enough that he could see her contours, her features, her translucent skin. Her lips were parted to breathe, but her face was so cold that the child thought he saw a breath more of ice.

“What is my pain?” he asked again, his tone more formally.

Magna smiled down at him. She blinked and her face became alive and wholesome. “You are young and you are looking for your dream.”

The child’s eyes widened.

“I am not telling you what it is. Reality has its own way of impressing this knowledge upon you. You are a gifted child. You have your own path to follow, but you are lost.”

The child was confused. He never thought of himself as lost. Nor did he think there were any paths, but the natural flow of the river. How could guide him? How could anyone help him, if he had to be guided?

“I can do things!” he said, “I can do things that surprise everyone I know. I leap my friends. I swim. I paint. I write. I do many things.”

Magna smiled. “You have potential; you have so much potential. You are a beautiful child.”

The child’s face lit up with a smile.

“But what of me?” she continued. “What of my potential?”

The child was silent, unable to answer.

“You cross your arms over your chest.”

The child’s eyes lit up with surprise as he opened his arms, then let them hang by his side, then crossed them again.

“You don’t trust me,” she said.

“I don’t know you; How could I stop trusting you.”

“You might yet trust someone you have never met, but when they arrive they may still be a stranger.”

The child laughed, and then he was silent.

“I want to help you.”

The child nodded.

“When you are ready.”

The child nodded again.

“Now go back to sleep,” Magna said.

“How can I?”

“Sleep.”

The child opened his eyes and turned in the manner of sleep and watched her float away.

Magna frowned. For her, the story of magic was over. She turned back and looked upon the stars silently. How could she explain what he should know? How could she make him understand, when he wouldn’t listen?

“Hope,” she whispered to the void around her, and walked away.





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