Sylvia Hawthorne ran through the halls, cheeks pink, lungs begging for air. She dashed past the chestnut wood doors in the upper hall, legs burning, mind only on her destination. With a crash, she flung open the obsidian door, where she cut short her running. The room was large, and dark. An alchemist’s room. Sylvia brushed her long, black hair behind her ears, then began chanting a spell. She stood with her arms out and palms forward. The blue-purple fire portal grew bigger in front of her. She was so intent on her spell, she didn’t hear the man creeping up on her.
“Hello, Sylvia.” a voice from behind her said. Sylvia whirled around to see a man leaning in the doorway, a droll smile on his face.
She ran through the fields, chasing the blue butterflies and dandelion fluff. It was a beautiful day, and her worries were gone. She glanced upwards at the crystal cobalt sky. Suddenly, a yellow butterfly flew past. She jerked her head toward it, then ran after it, trying to catch it. It led her away, past the fields and right up to the gates of the old rose garden. She stopped short when she saw this place. But slowly, she opened the rusty old gate and stepped inside. The roses were overgrown, and the statue of her mother was dusty. She smiled up at it.
There's that girl again. She has short brown hair, which hovers in between straight and curly. She has soft green eyes, which she hides behind big tortoiseshell glasses. She has fidgety hands, with fingernails that have been bitten many times. She wears jeggings and solid color t-shirts. She hides behind a book, a different one every day. She keeps to herself, staying quiet and inconspicuous. She doodles on her classwork and taps her fingers on her desk. She loves art, and has pages full of drawings. She wants to be a writer, and spends hours working on her books. She daydreams about magic, imagining a world full of it. She is afraid of feedback, and hides her work. She loves to sing, but tells herself she's not good enough. She tries her hand at acting, but is scared to be on stage. She looks at herself in the mirror and tells herself she doesn't look good. She wonders if she'll ever be enough.