figment. myg.
she remembered being young, young enough her mind was bright and fresh and the boy with the strange blue fires clinging to his hands had been something interesting instead of something scary. she remembered being a little older, alone and awake in the dead of night and beckoning him to her bedside, climbing out the window to follow him to the playground. she remembers the look of horror on her mother's face when she explained about the boy she can summon to her side just by repeating his name, the boy who can make castles in the air for her. she remembered the sting of her mother's palm across her face when she offered to show her, to bring him forth, remembered the day she realized the boy should be kept a secret just like the magic that crackles from her fingertips. she remembered soft lips and careful hands, the thud of her heart in her chest and nervous confessions, a bouquet of wildflowers left on her windowsill and the sleepy way he smiled.
there were worse memories, too, that clouded the surface of her mind. at fifteen the powers she had been using unintentional and recklessly break her, her mind a fractured mess, fragments left scattered. there were doctors and medicines and needles and the assurance from her mother it had all been a lie- from her magic to the boy she swears she can still feel against her hands. a few days later and she'd been shipped off to the countryside for 'healing air and peacefulness' and her grandmother's careful guidance.
so when she came face to face with him, that same boy, that same impossible figure standing in front of her, she froze. for so long - for years - she had been sure he was a figment, a way to cope with her mutation, her madness, an anchor in the loneliness and fear. she had been told as much, had it impressed upon her time and again, drilled into her brain. maybe the simulation was too much for her, the stress of the overflow cracking down the careful constructions of her mind, sending her back into that madness, that fear.
it wasn't until later, in the still of the night, that she tried again. for the first time in seven years she sat in the center of her bed, knees pulled to her chest and her arms wrapped around them, her heart thudding in her ears and her fingers trembling just slightly as she whispered a name- his name- thrice, and held her breath.