"Mirage is a word that means illusion," the old lady explained softly, her voice soothing as the young girl rested her head on her lap. It was a cold night, and the moonlight filtered through the trees, casting gentle shadows across the room.
The old woman smiled down at the little girl, who was just beginning to drift off. "Sometimes, an illusion can be felt or seen in a dream, but there are moments when it feels all too real," she added, her eyes filled with kindness. The little girl, a curious eight-year-old with wide eyes, looked up at her foster caregiver and asked, "Aunt Alora , what is an illusion?"
Alora brushed her fingers through the girl's soft hair, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. "Illusion means fantasy, my child. It's a place where reality feels different. If one day you find yourself feeling like everything around you is unreal and out of this world, always remember that it's your world—a vast and magical realm, a cosmos of Aislinn," she said with a warm smile, knowing the girl was captivated by the idea.
The girl, her eyes heavy with sleep, repeated, "Cosmos of Aislinn," as if trying to grasp the significance of the words, her voice drifting into a dreamy whisper. Soon, she was lulled into the comforting embrace of dreamland.
Alora ensured the girl was nestled comfortably, adjusting the blanket around her before standing up. She quietly stepped out of the room, pausing for a moment to admire the peacefulness of the sleeping child. With a gentle sigh, she made her way to her own room, ready to call it a day, her heart full of warmth from the connection they shared.
After slipping into her cozy room, Alora settled at her sturdy wooden study table, the scent of old books and ink filling the air. She retrieved a smooth pen and a crisp sheet of paper, her heart racing with anticipation as she began to write a heartfelt letter. The moonlight streamed softly through the open window, casting warm, blue rays across her workspace.
Once the final words flowed from her pen, Alora leaned back in her chair and gazed up at the ceiling, lost in thought. "Oh, Serena," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's becoming increasingly difficult for me to protect her. I promised you I would safeguard her with my life, and I do so every day. I hope everything unfolds as we planned." A sigh escaped her lips, a mixture of hope and weariness, as she carefully placed the letter at the edge of the window, allowing it to flutter gently in the breeze. With a determined expression, she called out, "Mighty Beval, can you come?" Her voice was laced with a blend of reverence and urgency as she began to chant softly, summoning the fae. Within minutes, a shimmering figure materialized from the fluffy clouds above, descending gracefully to her window.
Beval, the elegant fae, greeted her with a radiant smile that illuminated his delicate features. "Greetings, my light," he said, his voice smooth and melodic. Alora's heart lifted at his presence as she replied warmly, "Greetings, envoy fae. Could you please deliver this message to Gaelen's Queen?" With a charming smile that displayed his pearly white teeth, Beval took the letter from her hands. "Of course, my light," he assured her, his wings glistening as he prepared to take flight. As Beval soared into the sky, Alora felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her.
The weight of her responsibilities settled heavily on her shoulders, and she decided to rest, closing her eyes and surrendering to the comforting embrace of sleep.
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"Wasn't that the definition of home? Not where you are from, but where you are wanted"
- By Abraham Verghese"