Waking suddenly from a dream, I sit up in bed, clutching my pillow as if to fend off imaginary dangers. The brisk wind blowing around my room strikes the back of my neck like ice water, sending shivers up my spine and making the hair on my arms stand on end, pulling me out of my dream completely. I grasp my pillow a bit longer, burying my face in the soft fabric, before tossing it back onto the bed.

I must have left the window open again.

Freeing myself from the twisted blankets, I brush my dirty-blond hair out of my face, and walk over to the window. The wind is freezing, almost cold enough to send me back to bed, but I'm already up, so what the hell. Instead of closing it, I slide it open even wider, braving to cold to rid my mind of the cobwebs still clinging after waking up. I lean against the window sill, waiting as the air calms to a bearable temperature. Anyone else would have retreated inside, away from the early spring wind.

It never takes me long to adjust to quick temperature changes, and the cold air is now nothing more than a pleasant chill. My parents have called me cold-blooded on more than one occasion for this exact reason.

The trees are budding green, and my glass wind chime sends rainbow colored notes dancing around the room, reminding me of crystal raindrops. I hear birds in the trees, though, whether or not there are actually any birds singing is up for debate. I can never tell. The smell of coffee wafts up from the kitchen below. That I know is real.

While the rest of the neighborhood sleeps in, my family is already awake. Spring break or not, we're morning people, creating a source of some resentment from our neighbors.

As I watch the sun rise, my thoughts turn back to the dream that woke me so suddenly: It was night, and the stars were shining gold against the black sky. It felt like I was being carried by someone, bouncing around while the trees slipped by. The person carrying me tripped, but instead of hitting the ground, I kept falling. Falling and crying until I landed in a pile of snow.

Strange. Though, I do have to admit, no stranger than any of my other dreams, day or night.

My dream drifts away and I'm left with just my thoughts. Even with the wind blowing through my window, it's suddenly not enough; the air at my back is still. I can't see the sky or feel the sun on my eyes, and the ceiling feels too low for my taste. Feeling twitchy and claustrophobic, I climb out my window(in my shorts and t-shirt) into the morning air. I place my hand on the top of my dormer window, pushing off of the sill, using the momentum to swing up onto the roof in one leap. The shingles are slick with dew, but not wet enough to bother me; The top is already drying, anyway, in the warm, if sparse, rays of sunlight.

I sit and watch as the sun climbs the rest of the way into the sky, letting the breeze calm my nerves. The wind is fresh and crisp. Down on the ground, the smell of rain and dirt is almost over powering, but up here, it's just right. I've been coming up here since I was tall enough to reach the edge of the gutter. I climb up whenever I'm stressed or anxious. Yet another cause for annoyance from our neighbors.

The sun's light reflects off the thin, wispy clouds, making them look pink and orange against the blue. Like giant, colorful birds.

Letting my mind wander, I notice a shimmer in the corner of my eye. I look over, seeing my old(imaginary) friend, curled up on the chimney. His eyes are only half open, and a small puff of smoke is blown out of his nostrils with each breath.

"Good morning." I say.

He opens his eyes and responds in the soft ,growling murmur of his voice, "Good morning, Holly. Did you sleep well?"

"Well enough. Hey, Quasar, have you ever imagined what it would be like if the stars were a different color?" I call to him, hoping he might have some answers, but he just chuckles. The dark, sparkling dragon stretches, and climbs down. As Quasar walks along the peak of the roof, I can't help but think of how much he moves like a large, scaly cat.

"What do you mean? The stars have always looked the same from Earth, have they not?" Quasar chuckles in his deep, raspy voice, screwing up his eyes against the now bright morning sun. His scales glitter and refract the light as he settles down, but he leaves no shadow. Nothing I dream up ever does. It's how I know if it's real or not. "And besides, even if they look silver from here, they're actually different colors depending on how big or hot they are."

I make a sour face at him. "It was a dream I had; The stars were gold instead of silver." I raise an eyebrow. "I may be crazy enough to dream you up, but I at least know what the stars look like from here."

Quasar laughs harder. "Oh? And whoever said you were creative enough to 'dream me up'"

"Right..." Wait, what? "Sometimes you make absolutely no sense, you know that?" I glance at him, then close my eyes and lean back, opening them to look up at the sky, now a soft baby blue. "I think it would be cool if the stars were gold. There are probably whole other worlds out there where the stars look all sorts of different colors."

Quasar glances at me, his amusement flickering with something a bit more... Well, serious. What? Did I say something weird? Or, weirder?

"Yes, I'm sure there are." Is all he says, before creeping to the edge and disappearing with only a slight whoosh of the wind.

"Why does he have to do that?" I whisper to myself. Does he always have to leave me wondering what our conversation was really about?