The Saturday morning began at 4 a.m, when the dark rainbow of blurred colors clouded the rising sun. The flushed hues of pink, violet, gray, and blue wrinkled in the sky, and the last few remaining stars, fractions of a vanishing constellation, winked at me from above. I barely remembered waking up; I'd just found myself looking outside, bedroom window down, wrapping my static sheets around my body. I was gowned in a thin fabric, so a chill still made its way to my skin where my blanket couldn't cover. By my window was my mother's garden, where she had successfully grown arrays of plants: an apple tree, avocados, lettuce, tomatoes, strawberries, broccoli... Beyond my mother's garden was our driveway, and beside that, a thin creek that barely trickled sideways through our yard before gradually opening up to, what was houses away, a river. I inhaled the scent of the night, and, as always, the fading night smelled like mist, air, and freedom.

It was my kind of scent.

I squeezed purple earbuds into my ears, turned my mp3 on, and heard Metallica begin to play in my ears. The song was "Nothing Else Matters", which had its own special place in my heart. The melody, the power... It all struck an emotional patch inside of me.

I think Metallica was the only band I had on my mp3.

Hours passed, and I lost reality in the music. Before long, golden threads of fresh sunlight shimmered across the plants in the garden, and liquid gold flowed in the miniature creek, parted only by rocks. The blurred rainbow faded away, and the scents of daytime replaced the flawless ones of night. Into my nostrils flowed heat, water, and spring.

Not too much time passed after I realized the sun was completely in view and levitating on the horizon, the smell of eggs tickled my senses. I paused my music, took the earbuds out, and tracked the sizzling sound of breakfast back to the kitchen. Mom was hunched over the stove, cracking eggs on the counter and plopping them into an oiled pan. Bacon was beginning to heat up beside them, and some biscuits were in the oven. Mother usually cooked in the morning, but the amount of breakfast it looked like she was making was concerning.

"Hey, Mom," I greeted from the doorway to the kitchen. "What's with all the food?"

My mother turned to smile at me. A lot of people said we looked alike, but my mother, I felt, was a lot more beautiful than I was. Our hair was similar, as in naturally perfect, lagging curls. However, my mother's hair was cut short and it was peppered with brown instead of being pure blonde. Mine was silky and golden, and I appreciated the natural look of her hair. To top that, her eyes were a delicate shade of emerald green, and mine were pure black orbs in a soggy ocean of white. Our body shapes were similar, but I had smaller breasts and waist, which I was actually thankful for. "I make breakfast every morning, Emma."

"Yeah, but there's so much food here..." I walked over to a metal chair sitting beside the refrigerator and took a seat. "Is something special happening today?"

My mother dipped her head and began to work with the bacon. "As you know, a new family has moved into Millton. They are new here, and they are our neighbors. They were spending the week in a hotel before moving into a house." She flipped the bacon. "You may know their boy. He's around your age."

"Oliver," I suspected.

Mother dipped her head again. "Oliver had two fathers, mind you. I'm not sure how you feel about that, but of all things, be polite. I expect no less of you, Emma."

"Yes ma'am." I tilted my head up towards the ceiling, inhaling the mouthwatering scent of bacon. "You've contacted his parents to make sure they aren't allergic to eggs or any ingredients you use, right?"

She nodded. A bubble of grease popped near her hand, and she went over to run cold water on it. Then, she checked on the biscuits. "Your father is helping them move in. You should go help, too."

Panic liquified itself to run through my blood. A slow, dragging ache pierced my heart and made me slump in my chair. Of course, I didn't mind helping out, but Oliver was too odd for me. I wouldn't mind eating with him for a meal, as was planned, but I didn't want to spend more time than necessary. "Mom, I'm glad to help out, but Oliver is weird, and I'm obviously going to have to spend time with him if I have to help him move into his house!"

Mother shot me a glare. She knew I was more judgemental than her. The fact was, I wasn't trying to judge Oliver, but he was able to be summed up in one word: creepy. I often caught the new kid staring in my direction, he stuck to my side like a tick, and he seemed to know more about me than he let on. Not to mention, after he appeared in the odd dream of the library, I hadn't dreamed any more since then. That fact was not his fault, but it still added to his eeriness. "Now, Emma, you're friends with a lot of people different than you. However, just because they are different does not mean they are bad or weird, it just means you're narrow-minded. Girl, I raised you better than this."

"That's not what I-" I was cut off by Mom crinkling her brow in disappointment. I sighed and said, "I'm going to get dressed first." My mother was a perfect kind of woman; lovable, open-minded, friendly, outgoing, and my favorite person besides Dad and Mary. There was no use in disappointing her.

Mom grinned. "Good girl. It's hot this Saturday morning; you should wear some shorts."

I nodded numbly and went back to my room. I tossed my static-looking sheets back onto the bed, grabbed my phone, and dialed Mary. I set the phone on speaker, then walked over to my closet to scan it for a shirt.

"Geez, Sis, it's nine in the morning!" Mary complained immediately. "I know that's a little late, but school is really stressful and they make us wake up while it's still freaking night outside!" She sighed, and the line crackled. "Sorry, Em. I'm just stressed... Good morning."

I unconsciously pulled out a purple spaghetti-strap shirt before going over to my pants' drawer. "Good morning, Sis. What are you doing today? Got any plans?"

"No. I mean, my Mom has a job interview..."

"Awesome. Tell her I congratulate her, if she gets the job." I pulled out a pair of black shorts that went down to my knees. "I have to help Oliver move in next door."

"Oh, he's your neighbor? That's cool."

"He's creepy," I furthered the bit of information. "He's probably got a pair of binoculars he'll use so he can watch me and stuff..."

Mary gave a static-filled laugh. "Emma, you're a pretty girl. Geez, okay, so he checks you out, so what? I know romantic attention irritates you, but you can't ignore that you're pretty. Maybe you're his type. He doesn't know how grouchy you can be towards people who check you out, but when he does, I'm sure he'll stop."

I fished out a pair of black sandals from a pile of shoes, and slid them on. "Remember my dreams, Mary? The dreams about my mom and the man who gives me the weapon?"

Mary stayed quiet for a moment. Knowing her, she was probably recalling how horrified I was whenever they had started, and how horrible it was that I had gotten used to them. Putting on both minty antiperspirant and sunscreen, I hushed myself from saying anything until she could piece my concerns together.

Finally, my best friend said, "The white-haired man who always gives you the blade is Oliver, isn't it?"

"Yes. He is."

"You started dreaming about him months ago... That's impossible... He wasn't even in Alabama then... You do know that the strangers you see in your dreams are people that you've seen before, because the human mind is unable to create new faces, right? You didn't go on any trips out of Alabama, either... That's creepy as fuck."

"Could you tag along today?" I asked.

"I'll be there soon." She ended the call without a 'goodbye'; when it came to her friends, they mattered more than manners.

I reentered the kitchen, where the breakfast had been laid out. My mother had placed fruit on the paper plates beside the bacon, and each person's plastic fork was driven into their cheese-smothered eggs. The scents were overpowering. In the middle of the oakwood table, a rosy camellia flower was placed in a clear vase. Paper towels accompanied the right sides of each plate. To the left sides, there were glasses of golden apple juice sparkling under the morning light.

"Looks delish," I commented. "You want me to go fetch Dad and the neighbors before it gets cold?" I placed my fists into the pockets of my shorts, still not keen on having to speak to Oliver.

"Please," Mother said.

Without another word, I saunter over into the living room, then out the the door. The day almost feels like summer, when, in fact, it's only a hot winter morning that smells like spring. Later in the year, we'd probably only have a drizzle of instantly-melting snow. I could see the waves of heat wriggling over the streets, hot enough to bake a cake on. Dad was lifting a bed, it looked like, along with one of Oliver's parents, who looked a little young to be raising a 15-year-old, as his son was. The man had ink-black hair, as dark as my eyes, and had toned muscles that could not be hidden by his black-blue t-shirt. He seemed to be lifting the bed even easier than my father was, but stayed slow and lowered it enough so that Dad could still help, as he aspired to. His skin was a bit on the tan side, as if he was out under the sun often. I deduced that of Oliver's two fathers, he must have been more of the male figure, because Oliver was standing with a man who was much less strong and less tanned. The guy that Oliver stood with had shaggy dirty blonde hair, a slouch, and gray eyes void of life. He wore a red t-shirt stuck to him with sweat.

I called to them, "Mother is done with breakfast!"

Almost immediately, Oliver peeked up towards me with a huge grin on his face. The black-haired man asked Father to set the bed down so that they all could leave to eat, and he did with care. The shaggy-haired one looked at me with great interest, and they fell silent. After a few seconds, Oliver rushed up towards me, and the others followed behind.

"Emma, we're neighbors!"

I faked a smile. "I can see that. Come in."

Oliver, however, held the door open for our fathers. I led all of them into the kitchen, and let them seat themselves. After each individual was situated, my mother was the first to talk.

"What made you decide to come to Millton, Alabama?" Mom questioned the other men. "We're such a small town."

"We decided that it would be best for Oliver," the gray-eyed one answered seriously, carrying a bit of the strange accent on his his tongue. "We wanted to find a place where people are more connected, and not by social media. Do you have any concerns about this place, before we make a huge mistake?" He grinned to show he was joking.

Father spoke up in his husky tone, "Well, Carter, the church has a bit of power here... I feel Oliver may be bullied by some of those people who use God as an excuse to dislike different people, for what his parents are." My father was quite religious himself, and still nearly as open-minded as Mother. I wasn't sure how I got so openly judgemental, with them as my parents. "That's one concern."

The black-haired man muttered to me while they went into conversation, "Hello, Emma. Oliver has spoken quite a lot about you."

I shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sure he has. Nice to meet you, sir."

"Call me Ace. Where I come from, formality isn't a need. We believe it makes people uncomfortable, because not all have a 'high status'. Obviously, politeness is a big thing, but I'd rather you be comfortable and not see me as better than you."

I knit my eyebrows in confusion. "Alright, Ace, I guess..."

"You have all your classes with my... son?"

I nodded, trying not to frown. "I do. He mostly sticks to his books." Thank God, or else he'd probably be watching you all the time. "Has Oliver ever been to Alabama before this week started?"

Ace said, "No."

I slouched a bit and cut off a bit of eggs before scooping it into my mouth with the prongs of my fork. Instead of truly tasting my food, my mind wandered off into the dark corners of my mind. In movies, this is how you always die. There's strange people that move into a neighborhood... Creepy things happen... Then, they end up killing you or something. Sure, I was being paranoid, but those dreams... For all I knew, Mary was right; Oliver just thought I was pretty, and he wasn't being a stalker. However, the dream could not be ignored. It felt so real to me when it happened, almost like a memory of something that never happened was being relived. And the way the new-ish boy played into everything when I slept was disturbing. He trained me to use the weapons in my sleep, and if I tried to in the waking world, the lessons he taught would show.

Perhaps I was overthinking things.

"Emma," my mother said, snapping me out of my thoughts. I glanced down at my plate and found a half-eaten strip of greasy, crisp bacon to be the only thing left. "Did you hear what Carter here proposed?"

"No, ma'am. I went off into Lala Land, sorry. Could you repeat that?"

Father sighed, exasperated at how often I daydreamed. "Carter asked if you could show Oliver around the neighborhood, since they had only been in the hotel for the time they were here in Millton. What do you say?"

I glanced over at said boy, who was beaming brightly at me from two seats away. He'd brushed the hair out of his face to make a bone-white fringe over his lively blue eyes. His posture was rigid, his hands in his lap. Perhaps if I gave him a chance, I could forget about the dream. Perhaps I could even make friends with him... Or see if he really was crushing on me, in which case, he wouldn't want to be around me after what I'd do to him. "Of course, but earlier, Mary said she'd help them move in with me. Instead, can she help me show him around?"

Ace smiled at Mom, showing he approved. In response, Mother dipped her head. "We'll do all the moving while you guys bond."

Bonding was a stretch, but I guess parents never know the right things to say. I just nodded in agreement and turned to the pale boy. "Come on, Oliver." He stood up immediately, scooted his chair in, and followed me through the door leading outside.

Despite the heat, Oliver was wearing a white hood. The attire was what probably made his skin so pale, despite being seemingly comfortable in the sun. His hair was laid over his gaze again, showing only one eye through the snow-colored curtain. His slender hands were burrowed in the pockets on the stomach of the jacket, and he followed after me with a lazy walk. I led him down as far as the trickling mini-creek snaking at the end of our driveway, past the mirages on the concrete caused by the especially hot winter morning. Then, I couldn't decided whether I wanted to show him around the forest bit of the area, or the general stores, or the other houses. On top of not being able to decide, I was waiting for Mary, stuck with the strange teenage boy until she arrived.

He smiled at me, leaning against a tree. "So, Emma, what do you like to do?"

"Hmm?" I stood over the trickle in my driveway, crossing my arms over my chest. "Acting is my life. If I'm not doing something with acting, I'm studying or reading. What about you?"

Oliver shuffled his feet, smiling shyly. "I'm either reading, learning something epic, or practicing my swordsmanship. Thank you for being curious."

I froze in place at the distinct mention of a sword, an image of my dreams flashing by all at once. Every night, it is a sword that he gives me that switches into a knife and is placed into my hand. The eeriness of Oliver actually being able to handle a blade struck me, but I knew that, realistically, there was no way that could play into anything. A dream was something your own mind created. Although it was concerning, I had to push my superstitions aside. Besides...

Nobody could ever make me hurt my mother.

I summoned a smile. "Epic things? Not like math and the stuff they actually teach you. What is it that you learn?"

He lifted himself off of the tree and said, "New languages. New weapons. History nobody else cares to learn. All the little things that open up the universe a little better. Perhaps sometime I could help you learn other things, if you'd like."

I ignored his proposition. "What languages can you speak?"

Apparently, I hadn't come off as rude, because he answered my question without even an irritated glance. "Japanese, English, French, Enochian, Latin, Italian, Dutch, Chinese, Arabic, more that I don't believe you would care for me to name."

I wasn't sure whether to be impressed or think him a liar, so I just nodded casually. "Why are you wearing a jacket?"

"I don't take it off, save for when I need to or I am alone."

"Why?"

"My mother gave this jacket to me."

"Rawr!" At the following moment, a familiar hand slammed against my shoulder, right before a happy laugh sounded out. Predictably, it was Mary. She slid into view after seeing that I wasn't startled by her jumpscare, blocking Oliver from my view. Her inky curls bounced against her head, and her green gaze drifted over me. "Oh, look, Sis, you aren't wearing slutty clothes!" I rolled my eyes. "Where are we bringing le human first?"

I glanced up towards the sky and said, "Where everyone lives, then the stores, then the woods. A tour of Millton would take until the sky starts getting dark. I'm thinking, since I brought money, we can go get ice cream and pizza in the middle of the day."

"Sounds like a deal!" my friend agreed. "What do you say, Oliver?"

"I've never had pizza... or this ice cream object you mentioned... But I'm all for a new experience, so I say I will follow along."

Mary gaped at him, and I knit my brow, trying to analyze if he was telling the truth or not. My best friend clasped a hand over her heart and let out a long, sad note of false grief. "It sounds as if there is a case of child abuse going on!"

Oliver bit his lip. "Actually, no, I am well cared for. I do not see why the subtraction of a type of food I can live without is considered abuse... I did find your laws odd..."

Mary turned to me. "I am going to make this child high on ice cream, and I am going to feed him so much pizza he pukes."

"Now that," I said, "sounds like abuse."

She shushed me and began to jog away from us, towards the sprouting row of houses on either side of the sizzling concrete. Oliver and I trotted after. As I moved, the only thing I could think about was my dreams, the strange boy, and all the blood that followed.

***

There, in the suffocating darkness, the air felt like fire on our skin and there was a dizzy sense where our minds couldn't decide if we were going up or down. The place was void of light, but the strength of my demonic eyes could refract our leader's pale soul glowing two miles ahead, so I could slightly see the glow of my companions. The place in which we crawled through, which I suspected was a tunnel miles wide, was big enough for two slim people to snake side-by-side.

He pressed his flank to the side of the sodden dirt wall, inhaled deeply, and let my slip by his side. I breathed in his scent, widening my eyes enough to the the outline of his face. His smell was as precious as oxygen. I assumed he was bending the soul light, too, considering that his staring at my face directly was apparent. "We travel together, Lil."

I didn't find it strange that he was calling me by another name. If I truly thought about it, this man was a stranger. However, here, in the capacity of my mind, I'd known him my whole life. "Thank you... For savin' me back on the field." I wasn't sure where the dialogue came from, either, but it felt right. "Gary would have killed me. This wouldn't be happening right now..."

We began to crawl again. "It was the least I could do. Everyone was saving each other out on the field," he said. "Is this confusing for you?"

"A bit... when did the Dark strike? Why?"

"He is Croma's brother. They were both born alongside the universe, and Dark was made to destroy, while Croma was made to create. They didn't go hand-in-hand, as was meant to be... Because the Dark kept murdering the test kingdoms before us, where Croma designed creatures to go in his worlds."

"What happened to the dead ones?"

"They became demons, Lil. Demons like us. But we came back after death, back to Croma's new six kingdoms, and we owe him everything."

We kept crawling beside each other in the moist darkness, being ran out of our home named after its creator, Croma. As our oxygen began to leak out and our senses fade, we fought to keep on. In the end, our fleet of seventy demons, angels, and faerie would all either die out or make it. Either of which could have been a huge mistake.

***

I was dragged out of my thoughts abruptly by the flavor of cheesecake and vanilla ice cream cocooning my tongue, nearly making me jump. I had my knuckles propped up under my chin, mouth gaping open enough to swallow the head of the treat I held in my hand. My coalish eyes made their way over to Mary, who was busily chatting with Oliver. We sat outside the parlor, at a table with a russet umbrella propped in the middle.

"I don't understand how ice cream looks like a science experiment to you. It looks like deliciousness to me!" Mary said, biting into her half-eaten chocolate cone.

"The rate it morphs from solid to liquid at such a quick rate, which it predictable, considering how heated this day is. However, it is still an apparent product of science. And even if it is not, there is a fraction of it that is actually science."

"Wha? You're confusing me, boy..."

I found myself smiling at the two of them, completely worked out of the daze that I so often found myself trapped within. At times, I would get so lost in the events of my insane imagination that I'd lose time, and forget the day's events. Apparently, it had already been a half-day that I had spaced out for.

"Emma," Mary said, "Can we take the ice cream to-go? It's getting dark out, Sis."

I looked at her for a moment, wondering if I should tell her about how reality was fading for me, about how my strange dreams made more sense to me than real life. I wondered if I should trouble her with my concerns, with my petty fears. However, when I opened my mouth to speak and glanced through her emerald gaze, I didn't see any need to complain. All I saw was an innocent child looking for answers, answers to more than what she had asked. So, instead, I clamped my mouth shut and nodded. The daydream would be something I'd bring up another time, to someone else, like my mother, perhaps.

***

The following night, I do not wake up in the chair, as I had left off. I am simply brought to life with no memory of it beginning, kneeling over a mound of unmoved dust on the ground. My hands pat at its soft texture, and my eyes are unafraid of a wind drifting and pressing it into my eyes. My attire is covered in a smooth, pale brown color, which is inevitably more of the loose dirt. There are some stones, all charred, but no roots. This land is so void of life.

Oliver walks up behind me, a sad expression filtering his pale face. "Nothing grows here anymore, Emma Whitestone. Not since time stopped." He sighs, positioning himself on the ground so that he is cross-legged beside me on the dust. "Most of our dirt is rock-hard, but there are loose parts that we have stumbled across. It is frustrating... having to wait until creation can bloom things again. What is seeing creation like?"

I take the handful of dirt and toss it up into the air. It freezes in place as soon as I let it go. "It's beautiful, but something everyone in the place I am in takes for granted. Sometimes... Sometimes we destroy it, when we get bored. I guess when you care enough, you find the notion of that sick, but so many of us do it."

Oliver lets out a breath. His hand drifts through the air where the cloud of dust stands still, and he pulls down what could be a tablespoon of it. There is now a gap in the space before us. "That's horrible. I'd give nearly anything to touch a real, live flower. Are they colorful?"

"They come in rainbows," I confirmed. "So many different colors, colors you've probably never seen before. And green! Green is on each and every flower. It's beautiful."

"How can the humans ever get tired of that?"

"It's rare, but some of us don't."

I continue scratching my fingers into the dirt. I'm sure I have felt rocks softer than what had settled below me. It felt like a boring slate of rough diamond below me, dirt that has not seen the elements for countless years, save for the influence of the land's inhabitants. Oliver dusts my purple sleeves off, looks as if he wants to say something, but leaves me to ponder. I'm not sure how, but I know he loves questions, and hates ignorance, if he ever could hate.

"You're waking up so fast," Oliver says suddenly, with pride in his tone. "You're a lot faster than the Blaehdoes king, Fango, was. You seem to realize more than most people, too. I really am proud that you turned out to be my Extant... You know, Caleb didn't believe that you were it. He told me the Kalos was probably someone we saw more of in the other prophet's lives. But Lord Ebony suspected it was you..." He places his hand on my shoulder, a friendly gesture. "I came to your dimension looking for you. I hardly remember what the flowers were like there... I get so foggy when it comes to remembering Earth. Did you know that when we sense our prophet, their element implodes on our land?"

I shake my head.

"You have the wind element, for example. When I found you in that dimension, there was this huge, fantastic wind storm that came down on us. There were tornadoes, and the ground was turned to dust at the potential of your power," Oliver says, "You are very strong..."

"What is the relationship between an Apotropaic and an Extant?"

"Both the Apotropaic and the Extant come from the same kingdom, but different dimensions. An Apotropaic comes from Croma, this barren land named after its creator. They have spent millions of years learning things about potential dimensions their Extant could pop up in, and have the ability to temporarily create a vessel to roam that dimension with. Same goes for anything and anyone in the original dimension." He stands, dusts himself off, and takes my hand. After I knock the dirt off of myself, we walk towards the castle. He continues speaking as we walk. "The Extant comes from the second dimension, which I will get into at a later visit. They control one of the elements, and they are possibly some of the most important beings in the universe with thankless jobs." Oliver opens the door to the castle, letting me enter first. "An Apotropaic has been assigned to train his Extant, and his whole existence is dedicated to them. Their relationship is strictly a student-teacher thing..." He flushes. "Well, not strictly. I'd like to make good friends with you... And. . . I have witnessed my brother kissing an Extant that isn't even his..."

The first room to the castle isn't the same as I remember it to be. Now, there is a great oakwood table with chairs all around it, and the chairs are made of the same material as the stairs leading to the upper floor. There are two men sitting in them already. One of them is a brown-eyed boy with short hair of the same color neatly combed over his head. The other one is Ace.

Before now, I failed to realize he had been in the last dream I had about this place, and he appeared in my real life as well. Just like Oliver had. Vaguely, I wondered if Carter was here in the castle. Even in the haze of the dream, I had a bit of reasoning, it seemed.

Ace looks up from a game of what looks like a stone-and-dirt version of checkers and laughs at Oliver. "Dear Croma, shut up! Nobody needs to hear about me and Nahara!"

The white-haired teen beside me crinkles his brow in innocent confusion. "Love is not unheard of. I do not understand why you get to defensive when it comes to the affection you display for Nahara. Besides, I am being honest."

"Ace is your brother?" I ask.

Oliver nods, smiling. "The best brother anyone could be cursed with. He poses as my gay father in your dimension, just until my vessel dies. As does Carter, although he is Dillan's Apotropaic. Ace does not have his Extant, the Minium, yet. We are still on earth, looking for her."

"We know she is female," the brown-haired guy says, moving a stone across the dirt design, "because there are three males and three females in the list of Apotropaics. My name is Caleb by the way. You're Emma. You awake?"

"Not yet." I shift uncomfortably. "I'm not fully awake until..." Whatever I say next, my mind mutes it. "Right?"

They all dip their head. Ace says, "Is history the only thing you have taught her, man?"

Oliver buries his hands into his pockets and flushes. "History is underrated! If you don't explain why we are doing what we are doing, there is no point to it. They don't understand things to the full extent, brother. Besides, she is not yet awake... We will work on true lessons with weapons when that moment comes. Besides, knowledge is just as important as-"

"Quit acting like my mother, dear Croma!"

Again, the world fades. I trust that I won't fall to the floor, because I feel frozen in place as the room begins to spin. The dull lighting begins to twitch in the blur of my vision, and everything comes with its own blurred outline. In the next moment, my world comes back to me as my room instead. Metallica was blasting in my ears through my headphones. I was on my bed, uncovered, with the light turned on. Predictably, it stung my eyes. Sitting up in bed, I glanced around the room to find that something was unnaturally wrong.

Suspended in midair, my television set, my bicycle helmet, and my trashcan were all gradually turning themselves over. As if the gravity had been partially turned off for only a few of my belongings. I backed myself against my wall, clamping the palm of my hand over my mouth to keep from crying out in shock. As soon as the fear zapped itself into me, each item fell to the floor without a sound.

I looked at them for a minute, and did nothing but breath. There was nothing else I could do... Except for make the realization that I was the one that made it all float.

The picture is Emma, but her hair is longer and her breasts are flatter... Comment and vote!

Dedicating this to Dreamycloud_x for voting and commenting!