18Author's note: Please note that I consider this story a constant work in progress. I have been working on it for probably a year and could really use some feedback on it. I can't tell you how much constructive criticism is welcome; this is my first story of this length I have truly completed. That being said, this story is finished in theory, so updates will be quick and frequent. I hope you all enjoy it! This has been a labor of love and has undergone so many changes in its life.
Per usual, all Characters not my own belong to the Henson Company, much as I would wish otherwise.
Prologue: A Short Backstory
Cherubic. That was the word that her grandfather had used to describe her when she was young. Only five, her round, sweet face with its cupid's bow lips held promise of beauty as she grew. Her eyes were framed with thick, dark lashes and a full head of wild, curly hair completed the doll-like appearance. Of course, her grandfather had claimed to love all of his grandchildren equally, but he had held a special fondness for his odd changeling child. He indulged her, reading her fairy tales that stirred not just her imagination, but her soul. Regaling her with stories of Goblins and Kings, he always sent her away with a reminder: "Magic is real. Never let anyone tell you any different".
With her dimples and insatiable love of life, she could spend hours on his knee, listening to his stories.
She had been legally adopted, that much everyone knew. It was no secret. Her mother and father had once thought themselves barren, the babe appearing from seemingly out of nowhere on their doorstep. After taking the baby into their home, her adoptive mother bore her own children. While the child was still well-loved and never neglected by her family, she was most certainly the oddity. The older she became, the more pronounced the differences were. Her siblings grew tall and willowy, and fair-featured with pretty, oval-shaped faces, while she remained petite with a heart-shaped face. She was pretty enough in her own way, she supposed, with her almond-shaped eyes and full lips, but compared to her sisters, there was nothing unique about her.
Nothing interesting at all.
At 12 years old, few of her peers still believed in magic, and she still felt like an outsider in the world. It went deeper than just her complexion. While she could never put words to the strange sensation, there was a deep sense of displacement burrowed in her soul. True contentment came only when she was alone in the woods, so she sought to escape there often. When she was among the heartbeat of the trees, the wind caressing her fondly, she felt peace. Branches embraced her, cradling her with affection, imbuing her with comfort that she rarely felt from people. Her mother affectionately referred to her as her little tomboy, for as much as she liked to climb trees. It was a trait her mother thought she would outgrow one day, while her father would simply smile and tousle her hair.
But as much as she tried and despite the love of her family, she never felt quite at peace with her world. Silently, she craved more. More of what, she couldn't say. She was homesick for something she'd never known. A life she was quite convinced she would never live.
She was 15 when their father passed away. It was then that she decided it was time to become an adult. Stop wishing for nonsense and be happy with what you have, she would tell herself. There had been no magic that could have saved her father from the crash, no miracle. There was no such thing. Somewhere, in the midst of her grief, a resolve began to harden in her heart.
Locking away her natural inclination towards the fanciful, she denied the restless stirring deep within her. It was now something she refused to acknowledge. Pushing the feelings away, hiding them tightly in the furthest corners of her heart. Instead, she allowed her life to consume her, filling the void with everything that came with a human life. Responsibilities, homework, college, work! She plunged into the mundane, finding some measure of comfort there. In time, the girl learned to ignore the whispers of the breeze and the empty space where her dreams once lied.
Moving to New York for College, she continued living her life, contentedly enough. The nice thing about the city was the anonymity. At least here, everyone was an outsider in their own way. She selected an apartment on the fringes of the city, as she found the concrete jungle was stifling to her at times. Despite the abrasiveness of the cold concrete, she felt a sense of resignation in herself, an odd sort of calm. She'd long ago accepted that she would never experience magic, and so she accepted the City and all of its grey, lackluster charms.
Eventually, she found herself in a relationship. He was a man who did not make her blood race or her senses dance, but he was a good man. She convinced herself that she loved him, ignoring the lack of passion she felt. She supposed no one could make her feel like she was living a fairy tale; might as well love as best she could while she was still young. She convinced herself she was happy enough. But every now and again, when she looked into her own eyes in the mirror, there was a deep sadness lurking just below the surface. Sometimes, she just stood and stared, willing something, anything, to happen. Nothing ever did. It was always just her, and her plain brown hair and plain brown eyes and dimpled cheeks.
It was in her junior year of college, at 22, that she suffered her greatest loss. She grieved her grandfather, her confidant and closest friend. Only he had understood her, truly. On that day, something inside her crumbled to dust.
For she craved magic. She was not a human creature, regardless of what she convinced herself. She would never belong, and slowly, too slowly for anyone to notice, the human world was slowly killing her.
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