Changeling

"What, Calliope? You thought you wouldn't feel my hand, did you?" A timid smile pulled at the corners of his lovely mouth.

"I don't know what I thought." I stared down at our hands resting together on the bed. A long concelaled and tightly woven feeling began unraveling inside of me. For years I'd been tormented. I'd been stuck somewhere between believing those like Ariton were real, and in the forced acceptance that they were creations of my broken mind.

I defended time and time again what and who I had seen the night my parents were killed. I argued with therapists. I suffered in institutions and foster homes because of it. Somewhere along the line, I conceded to what the doctors and therapists told me. I was crazy. I manufactured these supernatural beings to cope with trauma. And to survive in this world, I had no choice other than to succumb to the diagnosis and follow the treatment plans.

I had to accept that my mind was so broken it could construct a false reality with such authenticity. At some point along the way I stopped engaging with the visitors as they came to my bed side. I stopped listening to their musings about my identity. I stopped questioning where they came from or what they were. I could no longer feed the hallucinations.

Yet, there was a seed somewhere deep inside of me that stored the truth. It was dormant and safely encapsulated, protected from the excoriating attacks of non-believers. That seed awakened when Ariton first came to me and sprouted with his touch. It ached for light to be shed upon it so that it could grow and bear fruit. I was no longer a child paralyzed by fear and hiding. It was time to understand who I was and Ariton was going to help me do that.