I KNEW THAT something was amiss the moment I stepped foot into Cotton Candy.

Georgia was sitting at the counter, poised and alert.

Of all the mere thirty seven hours that I had known and observed her, those characteristics were unusual. Something was definitely not right.

Though I opted to give her the benefit of the doubt. If she had something to say, then she should feel free to say it without it sounding as though I was prying.

Georgia's eyes widened slightly at the sight of me —slender and wider-hipped once again.

"Oh," she said. "You changed your appearance."

"Yes," I sighed, placing the bags down at my feet. "Is that going to be an issue?"

She eyed me wearily, before glancing elsewhere. "No. It's...actually...better for right now."

What on Earth did that mean?

Had something happened while I was gone? Perhaps she would be willing to tell me if it had been serious. Maybe the absence of the nightmare was an abrupt change, and it had triggered some repressed fear she had built up. And I wondered if she really meant that it was better, but I realised that for whatever reason she might have, this body indeed might be the best option.

She would not meet my gaze, and her right hand was resting on her wounded arm.

"Is...everything all right with your arm?" I asked gently. "Has the pain increased?"

"No," she said quickly. "No —it's...more of a nervous habit," she murmured. "The bandaging is fine."

She still did not want to tell me anything.

"If you say so."

"It's none of my business, anyway," she quipped, "whether you choose to be a woman or a man."

"Thank you for that," I said truthfully. Her heart was in the right place. There was a respect that she seemed to understand that I rarely received.

I then decided to give more of an explanation. "As for the sudden change....I thought that customers might be inclined to come and buy something if a dusty pink dream shop was represented by a female."

She paused and tilted her head. "Why is that?"

"Humans are a little prejudiced in that way," I answered. "Very few have seen my male form."

"I feel honoured then," Georgia snorted.

I gave my own equally sarcastic smile in return, before beginning to unpack the shopping bags.

The teenager seemed to come to life at the sight of a possibly fun distraction, and eagerly came to my side. "So what did you get?" she asked.

"Just bits and bobs," I quipped, producing a bubble-wrapped light pink porcelain swan.

"Woah —how is that still intact?"

"Magic," I said. She frowned. "No, I am serious," I assured her. "It was from another Dreamcatcher who was moving. The swan had been protected from damage by a Wytch. The spell still stands."

I waved my hand over the swan, and blue misty concentric circles pulsed to life underneath it, rotating like clockwork before snapping into place.

"When did you learn to do that?" Georgia gasped.

"Today," I murmured.

"Did you...learn anything else?"

My jaw clenched and the circles faded in the sunlight. "Fortunately or unfortunately, no," I sighed.

I had been concentrating on restocking supplies for the business, more than decorating. In and amongst the other bags, I had raked in some new curtains; a giant jar of sweets; a roll of pink and white ribbon; more glass jars and bottles; corks; paper; and a white lace waitress costume from a dress-up shop.

"How much of it did you pay for?" she then asked slyly.

I huffed. "I paid for the swan."

Georgia lifted up the waitress costume for examination. To be honest, it was quite immodest. "Are you...going to wear this?" she asked.

"Yes," I quipped.

"The skirt is way too short," she said bluntly.

"I have no other clothing that might go with the Cotton Candy theme."

"You honestly wouldn't have wanted to wear jeans and a shirt?" the teenager deadpanned.

"I...also thought that it would boost sales."

"Purple," Georgia said firmly, looking me dead in the eye. "This is a dream shop, not a strip club."

My jaw dropped. "It is not that bad," I frowned.

"Try it on," she dared. "Then we'll see."

"Fine."

I snatched the dress and stomped to the back room.

After angrily pulling off the clothes I had been wearing, I held the lacy dress up and studied it. The bodice was rather low —not too low, and it probably would not be a disaster given my lack in chest size —and the sleeves were off-shoulder. The skirt would reach midway my thighs. Also not an issue.

I unzipped the back and slipped it on.

The skirt was definitely shorter than anything I had ever worn before —and the flaring net petticoats did not help. But I felt that the costume fitted Cotton Candy better than my jogging pants and tank top. This simply just was a business strategy.

Georgia gawked at me as I stepped into the front-of-house, her chin slipping forward off of her hand. "Christ," she clipped, shaking her head.

"What do you think?" I asked earnestly.

"As if you'd actually listen to my opinion," she scoffed.

"But I want to know what you think."

I must have given her a look so fierce that it persuaded her, because she then blinked and thought for a moment. "...It's definitely going to bring customers in," she settled for. "...Of the predator variety."

My eyes narrowed.

"Okay, you look fine," she caved, throwing her hands upwards. "The skirt isn't as short as I thought."

I gave a curt nod and pulled the bow at the back a little tighter. "Now that that is out of the way," I sighed, "It is time to get the shop ready."

"Wait, you're serious? You're acting like this is a long-time venture," Georgia remarked.

"I will sell all of the dreams that I have left."

"And what exactly will you do when you run out of those?" she countered, smug.

I reached into one of the bags for a glass jar and smiled. "Then I will make some more."

"What do you mean? I thought Dreamcatchers couldn't dream," said the sceptical teenager.

"They cannot," I agreed. "I cannot —but, I think that I can create dreams. From nothing."

She frowned uncertainly, as if to say 'show me'.

I closed my eyes and held the jar to my fingertips. I could tell that the magic began to mist by the gasp from Georgia. A vast meadow of tall grass up to my waist and wildflowers filled my senses; scents of every bud and plant in all the worlds wafting around me. There was so much colour —so much life.

I almost wished to really be there.

Then there was a figure approaching. I turned my head to see a silhouette of a well-built man. His features were indistinguishable in the shadows resting on his face —yet I recognised him. Knew him. His skin; a few lighter shades more caramel, than ebony and nightly as my own. Those dark almond eyes, and rounded ears. His square jaw, broad shoulders and mint-leaf smell.

He stood before me, towering and silent and still.

Then he spoke. "Eve," he said.

I frowned. "My name is not —"

"It is not your name," he confirmed somewhat gravely, "but your classification. Eve. Borne of pain."

My brows arched.

"You are a beginning," he added.

I went over his words. "...Borne of pain?" I deadpanned. "What do you mean by that?"

"You will find out."

He gave me nothing more than that. I did not know if I should feel frustrated or annoyed at his vagueness. I then glanced at a bush of purple geraniums. "...Okay. Eve —as in, the woman who is believed to have been the first human mother?" I asked.

A leisurely, slow nod.

"If I am an Eve," I went on slowly, "and it means a beginning —of what exactly, am I the beginning?"

The man stepped closer. I tried to look at him properly, to study him, but the sunlight and shadow were obscuring my vision. It did not seem to matter all too much, however, as he came so close that he could brush my hair aside and slide his cool calloused palm along my neck and up towards my cheek.

I did not dare to breathe.

It did not feel alien or wrong. There was both a safety and danger in his touch. A hidden balance that I instinctively knew not to explore.

There was restraint as well. He was holding back. That was why his hand was so gentle. As if not to break me. I leaned into it, into him, and found myself wishing for his hands to touch elsewhere.

I drew a breath when his nose brushed against mine. I heard him do the same. And his lips —

"You will know the answers to your questions," he said, "when and after we meet."

"...When we meet?" I echoed.

He reluctantly withdrew, and I could make out a smile. His hand then dropped back to his side.

No. I did not want him to leave. My hand reached for his cheek in turn —and the form of him suddenly burst into tiny crystal shards. I gasped in surprise.

Where my foot moved to, crystals of blue and pink and purple spiralled towards the sky. Then the flowers, stalks of grass and the very ground itself, splintered.

Darkness lingered. Cold hit me.

My breath caught in my throat. That danger.

Shadow and mist whirled around me. I tensed. And it was familiar. A hurtful, unwanted familiarity. Yet I felt out of place —as if I had no business in being there. As though I were intruding.

"...I do not need you," carried a voice from the void. The same voice as the stranger from the meadow.

My heart wrenched within my chest and I did not understand.

"I do not need your help."

The pain of those words slashed my skin like blades. The star-like freckles speckled there too turned to crystal, and spiralled upwards. Real cuts began to appear on my skin with every repetition. I do not need you. But no thread spun from the wounds —instead, red human blood flowed, and would not stop.

My lips parted to protest, and air bubbles came out instead. I was sinking. I was drowning.

Unravelling.

Then I opened my eyes.

"Purple...?" said Georgia. "Purple, are you okay?"

I struggled to focus on her voice. I shook my head, attempting to clear my thoughts. But as I glanced down at my hands and the bottle within them, the dream clanged through me again.

I do not need you.

How could someone who had made me feel strangely wonderful and bittersweet sensations say something like that? And what was it that I had felt...?

Humans called it love.

A shiver ran down my spine as I then snorted. Even if I was capable of such a feeling, I had no need for it. But the weightless giddy feeling of his skin to mine would not leave my mind.

"I am fine," I then stated.

There must have been a tremble or pause in my voice, because Georgia did not look as though she entirely believed me.

"Anyway," I continued, "I have proven myself."

"So you have," Georgia agreed, nodding slowly. "It's strange. I didn't know what to expect," she admitted. "I've never seen magic quite like that."

I hummed, and stared at my palm before clenching my hand into a fist. The dream now settled in the jar, a starry indigo colour, like the night sky.

"I think," I mused as I hesitantly corked it, "...that I will keep this particular one to myself."

There were elements to be deciphered.

I stored it away in the back room atop the fireplace with my other possessions, before returning to the front of the store and closing the door behind me.

After the initial bewilderment, Georgia accepted my ability with fascination. She asked what it was that I had seen. I faltered. It felt too personal.

"A flower meadow that I have visited once before when I was younger," I stumbled through, hoping that nothing would give me away.

It was part of the truth, at least.

That satisfied her for now. "Okay. Well, let's get this place ready for customers," the teenager sighed. "You never know when a customer will stop by."

author's note |
i think this is one of my favourite chapters so far.