I wish I was brave enough to tell someone that I need a break, but I'm a passive little doormat who does whatever I'm told. I can't change who I am, so I should stop berating myself for wordlessly walking to Kyrbast's laboratory instead of taking a nap like I need to.

The clicking of my heels against the stone steps of the spiral staircase slows as I get closer to the door that's hung on the wall like a picture frame. I've had a long day already, and I'm not up for a magic lesson. Frankly, I don't want to be in Cromsmead anymore. I'm just not cut out for all this learning and training.

I'm more miserable here than I ever was on Earth. At least on Earth I was invisible; here I'm pointed at and whispered about. I've spent my entire life being different, but in Cromsmead I'm really different. I'm surrounded by petite, pointy elves who speak in a language I can't understand no matter how hard I try. It's lonely. There's nobody my own age around, and while I have a handful of adults to talk with, they're so busy imparting their wisdom that there isn't much time for conversation.

I try to rationalize that I only knew Jonah for like a month and Dathid for less than that, and we became friends even though they were so much older than me. So it stands to reason that I can make new friends, maybe even ones my own age, but it's been over two weeks since they left and I still can't shake my depression.

I haul myself up through the oddly-placed doorframe. I find stepping up from the lower stair easier than the higher one because I can grab the doorframe and pull myself up to the threshold. Honestly, I don't know how Kyrbast gets his old bones through this door every day. Although I don't think he went to his room last night because he's in the same spot I left him in yesterday: at his table, with his nose in a book. He must have slept in his chair because his hair is flat on the left and a fuzzy white cloud on the right.

He doesn't acknowledge me, so I take the opportunity to gather the haphazardly stacked books off various tables and jam them back into the overstuffed shelves. I have to rush through it because the cloud of dust that blows in my face with each shove makes my eyes itch. Then I add a log to the fire and regret getting so close to the cauldron because it smells like he's boiling old socks.

I've done everything I'm allowed to do and he still hasn't looked up. I poke at the collection of dead creatures that are housed in neat jars of varying sizes and floating in a clear liquid. The giant hairy spider-thing with moth wings is particularly gross. I'm trying to determine if those are fangs or more legs when it leaps at me.

I jump back with a yell, my heart pounding in my ears.

"I'm sorry. That wasn't very nice of me, but I couldn't resist," Kyrbast laughs from behind me.

The spider is peacefully floating in his jar again, but I watch it for a second to make sure it's actually dead. Satisfied that it won't make any more moves, I turn to glare at Kyrbast. On another day, I would've found his prank funny, but today I don't want to be happy.

"Still sad, I see. It'll get easier," he says. I can't fathom how being here will get easier when everyone keeps telling me how hard it's going to get.

"I have some things for you that might cheer you up." He heads back to his table and when he reaches it, he's surprised that I haven't followed him. I'm beginning to figure out that when he moves I'm supposed to move with him.

He holds up a pretty silver locket and hands it to me. It's oval in shape and the center has a diamond sunburst on it.

"Thank you," I say quietly. I've gotten a few presents since I've been here and I still don't like it. It makes me uncomfortable. How much joy should I express? I should probably smile. Does he expect a present in return? I don't have any money. What could I get him that he would possibly like? Where would I even get it from?

"Open it."

I bite my lips to hide my frown as I unlatch the locket. I gasp when a three-dimensional image of two people I hope are my parents appear. I turn wide-eyed to Kyrbast. Please let this be them.

"Yep, that's your mother and father," he says with a smile.

The images are small, about two inches high, but they're solid, like I can reach out and touch them. They're each standing on their portion of the locket and they're moving, but not much. They fidget, as if they were waiting for their picture to be taken.

My mother flings her long blonde hair over her shoulder, tugs at her blue jacket and brushes off her sleeve. She smiles brightly. I smile back. The motion repeats. I reach out to touch her, but my hand passes through the image.

My father is wearing gleaming silver armor. His tunic has a colorful crest that matches his shield and in his other hand, he's waving a sword around and laughing, as if he's teasing someone next to him. Then he turns toward me and smiles even wider. His blue eyes are the same color as mine. The image repeats.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get two more cohesive pictures, but this is the best I could do. When you go to your familial estate in Rhomstead there will probably be better images to choose from."

I'm mesmerized. My father is so dashing and handsome. He has dark hair and a wide gleaming smile. They're both so confident and joyful. They'd be so disappointed with the way their daughter turned out.

I don't know how long I've been staring at the images when Kyrbast's cough draws my attention. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but we do need to get some work done."

"I'm afraid to close the locket," I whisper with a shaky voice.

"Why don't you open and close it a few times? You won't hurt them, and I promise they'll come back each time."

"Closing the locket is like losing them all over again." There's a sharp pain in my chest as I first close my eyes, and then the locket.

"Now open it again."

"What if they're gone?" The crack in my voice betrays my fear.

Kyrbast waves me on. I force my shaking fingers to fumble with the latch. A sigh releases the pressure in my lungs when my parents greet me with happy smiles. I wipe my eye before a tear can fall. "It's just pictures. I don't know why I'm getting so upset."

Kyrbast puts a hand on my shoulder. "It's hard dealing with death, but you're not losing your parents, you're getting them back. Close the locket. They'll still be there when you open it again."

I shut the locket much more easily the second time. There's no pleasure in the feelings I'm experiencing. Seeing my parents makes me uneasy. It hurts. I can't understand it so I push the feelings down with a deep breath.

"Okay, what am I learning today?" I try to sound chipper, but I fail.

"Well," Kyrbast says and then pauses for dramatic effect. "I wanted to start you with some fun stuff. I thought of potions because they're exciting, but you have to do a lot of reading and studying before you get to the fun part. So, I thought we'd begin with this." He holds up a small white wand.

"Wow, that is fun." I smile at my sarcasm.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," he says dryly. "Come over here. You have to do some learning before I'll let you have this."

I sit in my usual chair with him sitting across from me, holding up the wand. "This is not a weapon. It's a tool. As with most tools, if you're in a bind it's better than nothing, but on the whole, it's not a weapon."

He looks at me to make sure I understand.

"Got it. Tool." I hope I don't have to repeat everything he says because this lesson will take forever.

"Now, it works on a premise that you're not familiar with, so I'll try to explain it the best way I can." He stands and asks, "You understand water, right?"

I nod.

"Of course you do," he says to himself, and to me he adds, "Well if I put this stick in water, I can move the water around. Correct?"

I nod again.

"Now," he pauses again as if searching for the right word. "If energy was all around you, you could put this stick in it and move it around. Correct?"

"Okay..."

"The easiest energy to control is light." With that, he gives the wand a gentle shake and the tip glows with a small white light. He looks at me to see my reaction.

I'm not impressed. Jonah did this with his staff and frankly, Kyrbast's looks like a cheap flashlight.

He hands me the wand and tells me to try it. I give the wand a shake and the tip glows. I smile up at him. "Maybe we should've done the potions."

"Alright, you're not impressed. Throw the light across the room."

"What?"

"Go ahead, throw it."

I throw the wand across the room. It hits a table and clatters to the floor.

"Not the wand!" he groans. "Just the light. Go get your wand."

I get up with a grunt. "I don't understand."

"Throwing the light is more difficult. You have to look where you want the light to go and picture it going there. It helps sometimes if you flick the wand."

I flick the wand, but nothing happens. I try a few more times but get frustrated. "I'm never going to get this. Maybe we should try something else." I can't keep the irritation out of my voice; I'm just not good at this stuff.

Kyrbast shrugs his shoulders. "You only did one of the steps."

"I pictured. I flicked. It didn't work," I snap. "I did what you said."

"If you did what I said, it would've worked. You believe that you can't just picture it and make it happen. If I gave you magic words, then maybe you'd believe—but not just by thinking."

"That's not true! I pictured it."

"Well, try again. I'm not going to show you first. You'll just have to trust that if you do the steps like I explained, they'll work."

I close my eyes and picture the wand's lit tip. I imagine it flying high up to the ceiling and staying there. I open my eyes. The light is still on the tip but as my eyes travel to the ceiling, the light floats up. My astonishment breaks my concentration and the light goes out.

"Did you see that? I did that! I made the light float." I'm so excited I immediately try again. This time I'm able to make the light go to the ceiling and stay, but as soon as I focus on anything else the light goes out.

"Very good. You're a quick study. Now, we just need to practice moving the light and then thinking about something else, but leaving just enough thought to keep the light lit."

I spend the next few hours moving the light while trying to have a conversation. Conversing with Kyrbast is tougher than keeping the light lit because neither of us is good at it. We move on to answering difficult questions, which is easier because I don't know any of the answers so I just have to listen to him ask, answer and then explain his questions. When he gets tired of that he throws things at me. That's pretty fun because if I catch it, I get to throw it back. He moves pretty quick for an old guy.

"We can stop," he says when the light's so dim it's barely visible. "You'll get stronger and throwing light will become second nature. You did well. I'm surprised we got as far as we did."

I'm so weary I can't appreciate his praise. Instead, I give a big yawn as my goodbye and head back to my room. As soon as I arrive, Albína is waiting with dinner. I sit alone at the little table under the window overlooking the busy street below. The elves finished with dinner hours ago and now all the shopkeepers are closing up for the night. I haven't eaten in the Great Hall with the royal family since Jonah and Dathid left. I've always been a solitary person; just being among other people is work for me, let alone thinking of words to say. Words have never come easy for me.

After I halfheartedly shovel food in my face, I sit on one of the super-plush sofas, rest my feet on the coffee table, and play with the locket. I study every detail of my parents, from my father's broken nose to my mother's freckles. I want to remember everything.

I don't know how long I play with the images. I haven't adjusted to not having a clock. It's weird not knowing what time it is. The painted birds on the ceiling start to fly into the clouds. There's only two left, so I figure it's close enough to bedtime. I close the heavy fringed drapes and climb into bed. I'll also never adjust to constant daylight.

It's so quiet. I miss the noise of traffic. Cromsmead has its own unique noises: Albína clanking around her room, the click of the soldiers' boots on the stone tiles as they walk down the hall, a muffled conversation, or a brief laugh outside my room.

Albína comes in with her long red hair hanging down to her waist. "I've never seen your hair down," I say before I think.

"If it's alright with you, Miss, I would also like to get ready for bed around the time you do. So you may be seeing me in my nightclothes and such."

I think there might be a question in her statement but I'm not sure. "I like your hair down. Very pretty."

She blushes. "Thank you, Miss."

Her reaction catches me by surprise and makes me giggle. "Please stop calling me Miss. I think of you as my extremely tidy roommate, and when you call me Miss it makes me feel weird."

She smiles as she pushes me back down under the covers and thoroughly tucks me in. "I apologize, Mi–Agatha. I know you have asked. I will work on improving. You're all set now. Have a good slumber. Knock if you're needing anything else."

All the energy in the room leaves with her. Now it's too quiet and too lonely. I miss my tiny room back home. Here everything is so big: my bed is big, my room is big, the castle is big, the expectations are big, and my failures are big.

I take a deep breath. I'm alone and the sadness I have been pushing away all day is coming back with a vengeance. I lie still, listening to my breathing and stare at the birds until they all disappear. A tear tickles the corner of my eye. Life just got a lot harder, and it wasn't easy to begin with.

I can't make the tear fall or produce any others. The cathartic release I was hoping for never happens. I give up and get out of bed. I've had enough. I'm not staying here.

"Can I sleep with you?" I ask as soon as I step onto the rooftop.

Lenox is curled up in his nest and lazily opens one eye. He lifts his wing and I snuggle against his warm belly.