Wisps

Dreams

She was running.

She had read too many books lately (no regrets).

She was running in a field, tall grass and wildflowers on the edge of the wood, running from her enemy. She knew this, but there was no fear in her heart. The feeling of exhilaration flowed through the air; the afternoon sun angled through the flowers, giving them a delicate glow. The enemy was out of sight behind her.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the forest ended. The happy summer light was gone. Here is where it starts, she thought, the main character in her own little story, as the ebony-cloaked foe turned to face her. Just another book, thought the title character, just another story.

Unfortunately, the book had no title. No title means no name for the main character, no identity. They may not even exist. In their lives, however, everything was very real.

People clad in primary colors materialized along the cold, indifferent whitewashed walls. The foe looked around him, apparently satisfied. He turned to the man in blue, pointed at him, and...

He sank to the ground. Dead, the protagonist realized suddenly. He means to kill us all. She quickly stepped in front of the next victim, a woman in a red shirt. Red like Gryffindor. But I'm the brave one here, the protagonist thought.

A yellow-shirted boy barely older than she interrupted her thoughts. "That's not the way the story's supposed to go," he said. But this is the main character's story, and the supporting characters have no say in what was going to happen.

Only the protagonist and the antagonist control their fates.

The protagonist barely had time to register the fact that after the enemy killed her, he would proceed to slaughter everyone else, before she saw a hand pointed towards her. The face of the hand's owner was chalk white. She thought she saw an amused expression flit across it. Then he spoke.

"Avada - "

WHAM. Everything went dark. I'm dead, she realized. I'm lying on the ground, providing feels for fangirls. I died for a purpose. But I can still see. She opened her ethereal eyes, just in time to glimpse the victims Disapparating with soft vwip noises while the antagonist was distracted, busy talking to a frightened, silver-haired mercenary. My death did save their lives, then, she thought as the ceiling fan of her bedroom replaced the two talking men beside her.

That day, at school, only once did she think about them. Why didn't they Disapparate before he had to kill me? she wondered.