Kallikantzaros

Aella cannot tell you where she comes from.

She cannot recall a childhood full of fumbles and falls, cannot recall wrestling boredom in the midst of summer, and cannot recall old friends torn away by time. But Aella can recall opening her eyes beneath a gloriously blue sky, idyllic little clouds drifting by on an unfelt breeze, and the scent of wildflowers and pinewood all around her.

Those are her first solid memories of the world with the fuzzy edges. It is the only world she knows, an unquestioned reality, and Aella thrives amongst the vivid colors with the taste of spring lingering in the back of her throat.

Like any world would be, it is full of unfamiliar faces. Aella does not question this—why would she?

The strangers that cross her path are always greeted with a unique brand of overwhelming kindness and joy that is all Aella, memorable in its intensity and soothing in its honesty. Genuine in a way few are anymore. And Aella cherishes every stranger that passes her by, enthused whenever one stops for a chat.

Interacting with others simply fills her with joy and she thinks it always has.

(But she cannot recall, not quite.)

She is at her best when she can expel all the energy buzzing beneath her skin in the form of rapid-fire sentences about everything and nothing, all enthusiasm and brilliant smiles. Whatever social battery Aella possesses is not one easily drained, that is for sure, and the world around her fights to keep pace.

It is all swift and boundless energy, laughter that chimes like bells in the evening, and an ability to spot the first rays of sunshine before dawn breaks.

Because Aella will look upon an unfamiliar face, eyes wide with wonder, and find something good in them. One way or another, she will find it, and the world will brighten around them. The darkness cannot linger when she whisks by, joyous.

For their stories will be heard and cherished with her; this is undeniable. She does not judge them for their faults, not like others might, but embraces any spark of goodness beneath layers and layers of weariness.

Banishes it, perhaps, like a good night’s sleep rips the exhaustion right out of one’s aching bones.

For Aella listens to them all, fairly and attentively, and offers her help without hesitation nor hidden agendas. She brings the kind of excitedly supportive presence most could only dream of encountering.

And when they leave her, they are smiling. Aella has turned their frowns upside down and then her restless self continues, tearing off into the distance.

No matter how many smiles Aella shares, however, or how much happiness fills her chest, it does not block the fear that hounds her every step like a starved mutt looking for scraps. She cannot recall when it began, when the fear wormed itself into her bones; Aella only knows that it is there and it always has been.

Because she fears as easily as she smiles, never without one or the other.

In that same manner, she is not without Narcissus, either. He tries to keep up with her when she flies off, a bundle of laughter and cheer, and the smiles he manages to find for her are indulgent. Reluctantly fond, perhaps, though Aella does not doubt that he cares.

She is simply a lot to handle, a lot of energy and spontaneity packed into a singular form. Aella knows this. And Aella does not take it personally when he steps away, frazzled, and does not look closer at the way his expression falls into something incomprehensible whenever he thinks she is not looking.
But he never says anything, never shares whatever thoughts put that morose expression on his face, and Aella does not ask.

It is the fear, she thinks, that holds her back from asking.

The two of them are a good pair, in the end. Aella needs someone to lean on when the fear grips her too tightly and, in her own humble opinion, Narcissus clearly needs someone to brighten his days and light up his world.

Aella is all kinds of qualified for such a job—it is the crux of who she is, even. She is the single star in a lonely sky, shining when all others fail, and relentless in her grandness.

And she is the dream that leaves one longing to return to sleep, soft as a kitten’s fur and mild as mother’s milk, just as she is the first breath drawn after surfacing from the depths of the ocean. She is the light of a dawn that never comes, cresting the horizon and always blinding.

She is the one that does not wake, the permanent resident of a realm not meant for anyone to linger in, and the one that unknowingly weaves the dreams for all the faces that pass her by.

Dragons are only welcomed into the dreamworld when they slumber, temporary residents that are not able to leave marks on such a fragile backdrop, but it is Aella’s whole world. Her reality is another’s blurry dream, sweet or sour, forgotten when the sun rises once more.

Her reality is the bubble of joy within a void of darkness, nightmares lurking in the outskirts—haunting all those not in her presence. They prowl the wasteland outside Aella’s joy, waiting and watching, but unable to step closer.

Unseen, they linger, and unseen, they wait.

One day, perhaps, Aella’s presence will fade and crumble. One day, perhaps, Aella may wake, and take with her the light that warms and her chiming laughter.

The scent of honeysuckle and apple linger wherever she goes, sweet dreams clinging to the ones that are close enough to smell it. It is the scent of slumber, some say; the scent of a god that sleeps and sleeps and sleeps.

A god that is not dead but asleep, trapped within the realm of dreamers and eternal summer suns, left to her endless slumber.

Narcissus knows. Narcissus knows, but sees her brilliant smile and wonders what telling her would do to that exuberant happiness she blesses them all with.

He does not tell her.