When you followed your friend into the huge, old-looking library, you weren’t expecting to be instructed to “stay in one spot and don’t move. Otherwise, you’ll get lost.” You also weren’t expecting to see a person sitting on a chair, nearby, deeply involved in a book, and probably not even able to hear the world outside their own. Their tanned skin nearly shines in the soft, dusty, yellow light of the library. Their eyes were shadowed and, even though you weren’t quite able to see their color, you could tell they were dark. Their T-shirt was a similar dark color, with sparkly silver stars dotted across it and a neon green alien decoration. Their legs crossed, bouncing mindlessly as they turned the page in their book, colorful-Conversed foot tapping to some rhythm playing, unheard to you, in their head.  Unable to do anything else, apparently, you cautiously sit down in the slightly musty chair beside them. They glance up at you and smile. “Hi,” they say in a voice just quieter than is required. “I’m Writing.” It feels natural, almost instinctual, for you to smile back, still a bit shy, and tell the person your name. Writing seems to give off a strange aura, like their presence reminds you of springtime: pale yellow chicks, bright green new grass, pale blue skies dotted with wispy clouds, and a brightly shining, slightly-paler-than-summer sun. “Are you new here, too?” they ask, voice still soft to match the library’s silence. You nod. “I’m visiting a friend.” Writing’s smile grows, their face seeming to light up, to glow with happiness. “I’m traveling. I stopped here to read,” they tell you, tilting their head slightly and letting their short, spring-sky-blue hair follow their head’s small arc to the side, drifting softly like feathers. “Where are you traveling to?” you ask, nearly entranced. “Oh, anywhere. Maybe everywhere,” Writing supplies vaguely with a wave of their hand. Before you can ask another question, however, there’s a small pop, a burst of soft, pale yellow light, and suddenly there’s no one sitting beside you. Only Writing’s book lies on the chair, with a bright blue Post-It note stuck to the front cover. You pick up the book and read the note. : ) I had fun hanging out with you! It reads. I think you’d like this book. Why don’t you read it while you’re here? You smile and then hear the muffled footsteps of your approaching friend. Turning to meet them, you hold out the book. “Could you borrow this book for me?” you ask. “I want to read it.”

( I apologize in advance; I don’t know how to write in e/en/es pronouns so I don’t know how accurate it is)

The woods are somehow both dark and not-dark at the same time, as you tread your way over the leaves that still are on the ground even in spring. The eerieness that lingered here in the autumn is gone, dissolved into the air just as the sun burned away the fog. You whistle quietly to yourself as you walk, not noticing as a shadow seems to float across the branches above your head. Suddenly, you hear a loud crack, and you jump instinctively out of the way. A branch falls onto the ground just feet from where you are now, a slightly shimmering wood elf holding onto it and rubbing es head with a disgruntled expression. You shy further backward, away from en, and e looks up at you. “Oh, hey,” e says, slightly groggily. “‘S fine, I’m not gonna hurt you.” You nod slightly, taking in the sight of this elf. Es hair is shimmery and gossamer, almost translucent. E is wearing a violet tunic with a dark leather jacket over it, and large gold hoop earrings. Es eyes are a darker violet, almost seeming to glow in the spring sunlight. E stands up and holds out es hand. “Nice to, well, almost hit you on the head, I guess,” e says, smiling, as you take es extended hand gingerly. “Sorry about that.” You shrug. “That’s okay,” you say, slightly perplexed by this whole exchange, but soldiering on anyway. “I’m Phantasmagoria, by the way,” e continues, “but you can call me Phantom. And I can only talk for a little bit because I really have somewhere to be.” You nod again, feeling strangely at ease around this random wood elf who almost fell on your head and who immediately started a conversation with you. Something about en feels peaceful and comfortable. E glances up at the sky, sharp features standing out against the dappled pattern of sun and shade on their face. “Actually, I kinda have to go now,” e says apologetically, turning back to you. “That’s alright,” you assure, “if you have somewhere to be, you’d better leave quick.” E nods, shoots you one last smile, then clambers swiftly, almost animalistically, up a nearby tree, almost immediately fading out of sight among the leaves.

As you lie gazing up at the starry, dark summer sky, your back pressed slightly uncomfortably against the dry August grass, your eyes just begin to drift shut. But a soft, tinkling noise makes you jump a bit and stare back up. A face, blurry because of its distance, smiles back at you, pale skin freckled with stars. You stifle a scream and sit up quickly, eyes still trained on the face. The girl drifts closer to you, coming into view. Now framed against the waning gibbous moon, you can see her huge, feathery dark wings and the thin, fragile crown of starlight she wears. Her eyes are big and from one moment to the next, you can’t tell if they’re blue or purple or black or a color without a name. Her hair, longer than the sky and too many colors to count, billows like curtains behind her. It smooths the night sky, spreading dark, muted colors across it along with the winding rivers and ribbons of dancing, joyful light. Her short dress moves like water, and is the silver-blue of ice. She alights on the grass beside you, turning to smile at you. Your face seems to be locked in a shocked expression, mouth open in a soft o. She leans forward and rests her forehead against yours, then whispers, “Sweet dreams, safe journeys, and much happiness, star-watcher.” Your body fills with a gentle warmth, and you lean backwards, eyes falling shut. The same tinkling sound from before fills your ears, but this time you’re too tired to watch. If you had watched, you would have seen the girl float back upwards into the sky, fading into the distance until all you could see would be the twinkle of her dress, starlight among the stars.

The flickering bonfire in front of you captures your attention, and you lean forward, elbows on your knees and face cupped in your hands, to stare into the reddish flames. The wood crackles cozily, and the smell of woodsmoke is comforting. The night is dark around you, and alive with the typical night noises of crickets, rustling leaves, and the occasional owl hoot or coyote howl. The loneliness settles into your bones, and here, blanketed by darkness and with the only source of light being the fire before you, it feels rather good. But when someone comes to quietly sit on the ground beside you, that feels fine, too. You turn to the new person. You don’t recognize her, but at the same time… do you? The shadows dance across the girl’s face, highlighting her honey-blonde hair draped in a braid across her shoulder, brown-green eyes, and face crinkled into a mirthful smile. The grass beneath the both of you, dark, cold, and wet with dew, rubs against her dirty red sneakers and leaves muddy streaks where just dirt and dust used to be. Her maroon sweater has words displayed across the front, but the firelight stubbornly refuses to flicker across her front so you can read them. You smile slowly, brain fogged by sleepiness and by the trance the fire has put you in. “Hey,” you whisper, leaning against her shoulder. “Have I met you before?” The girl hesitates, then responds in a voice a bit louder than feels right for a quiet night such as this one, “You… could say so, I guess. It’s a bit complicated. We’ve never met in person, but we certainly have met.” You nod, barely registering the words. “Wha’s your name?” you ask, eyes fluttering shut and voice slurring slightly. “I’m Red Starlight,” the girl says, voice dropping to a whisper that you can hear the smile in. “I’m your guardian star. You’re lucky you’re alone by the fire tonight. It’s our first time truly meeting.” You nod again, your head shifting the fabric of her sweater. “Will I get to see you again?” you murmur, genuinely worried. Red Starlight hums softly. “Only if you remember,” she prompts quietly. Then all you can hear is the wind for an eerie moment before you fall asleep.

You had gone into your favorite spot downtown, the library, to relax, not to go on an adventure. But when soft flute music began drifting through the aisles and around the book-packed shelves, your sense of adventure tugged you in the direction of its origin. You finally peeked around the K-N fiction shelf to see a glowing doorway, or was it just a hole? Once again, your sense of needing to have an adventure of your own pushes you through the doorway, and into the world beyond - though a ‘world’ might not be the best way to describe it. After all, it’s just a flat plane, the same softly glowing white color as the hole you’d just come through. The only thing breaking the everlasting white is a girl, a bit shorter than average, eyes closed and swaying gently back and forth. She holds a simple honey-brown wooden flute in her hands. Her eyes snap open at the sound of your footsteps, her hazel irises meeting yours and crinkling at the corners in as best a smile she can do with her mouth busy. Her soft, straight, shoulder-length light brown hair moves back and forth, following the movement and patterns of her body. A simple, short purple dress hugs her form, and when you look closer, there’s a dark green pattern of vines climbing up the dress. Or… could it be possible that they were real vines? You take a careful, slow step forward, unconscious of how your face is stretched into a wide smile. “Your music is beautiful,” you whisper. The girl nods her silent thanks in your direction, attention still on her flute and the way her fingers dance across the holes. Is it just your imagination, or does it seem like she’s playing for you…?