“Hey!” Erik said, excited to see his daughter finally looking healthy again. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

“I feel great, Daddy!”

Erik moved into the room and gave his little girl a big hug. “I’m so happy!”

“Me, too, Daddy. Thank you for everything!”

“You’re welcome, sweety,” he said, looking around the room. “And you cleaned your room! What a big girl!”

She giggled. “Do you think I’ll be able to go outside soon, Daddy? I wanna see Beka and the other kids for real!”

Erik glanced over at the book of illusions he had given his daughter and smiled sadly. “I know it’s not like the real thing, princess, but we just wanted to make sure you were really well before you see your friends.”

“And…” she prompted expectantly.

Erik Sylvaine laughed at his little girl. She always was a clever one. “I think you’re completely, utterly, and totally well. If you’re a good girl, and you sleep tight tonight, I think you can go outside first thing tomorrow!”

The sweet little girl beamed. “First thing?”

“Well,” Erik backed off, which made the little girl frown, “maybe the first thing after breakfast!”

The girl squeaked in glee and hugged her father one more time. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Daddy!”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. I love you.”

“I love you too, Daddy!”

“No, little one. I am not your father.” Clade said, his large head turning to the side to study the little girl.

The girl continued to rock on her horse, although she slowed slightly, studying the stranger up and down. He was a strange looking person, like nothing she had ever seen, but somehow, she wasn’t afraid.

“Who are you?” she asked with a sweet smile.

“I am Clade!” The large troll said as the little girl noticed a rumbling all around her. “Do not be afraid of me.”

“I’m not,” she said simply, noticing one of her bookshelves was shaking and dropping some of its books. “Are you doing that? You’ll make a mess.”

Clade made an expression that might have been a smile, although it was difficult to tell for sure. “A mess. Yes, little one. I suppose I shall make a mess.”

The little girl frowned, and stopped her rocking. “I don’t like messes.”

“Nor do I,” Clade said, shaking his head. “But some messes are unavoidable. Some were created by those too weak to see the mess they have made.”

The little girl considered this, but couldn’t make sense of it. “What do you mean?”

“There is a storm coming, little one. There are few, too few, who will be strong enough to weather it. I believe you possess such strength.”

“Thanks!” She said enthusiastically.

The rumbling grew worse, and her bookcase fell over completely. A moment later, a massive vine burst through the wall with the door, just beside where Clade was standing. The troll looked over in that direction. “Life will no longer be easy, little one. You must learn to use your strength. You must show others how. You must survive.”

Now the little girl was beginning to get scared, but she didn’t say so. Somehow, she knew it was important not to. “I will,” she ventured.

“Very well,” Clade said as her roof was pulled away by the trees sprouting up through what had been her home. “Remember always that only the strong will survive the storm.”

And with that, Clade ‘walked away, leaving the little girl in the remnants of her special room, praying she would be strong enough to carry on.

“You don’t have a daddy. If you can’t remember even that simple fact, what good will you ever be to me, Ilinda?”

“I’m sorry, mommy,” the little girl said, trying not to cry. “Sometimes I just like pretending.”

“Well, stop it,” Ellia spat. “I am a scientist. I deal in real life, in observable consequences. If you’re to be of any use to me, you must learn to do the same. Understand?”

“Yes, mommy,” Ilinda said, bowing her little head.

“Get some sleep,” Ellia added. “You need it.”

The planeswalker closed the door hard, and Ilinda dejectedly climbed off her rocking horse and into bed. Suddenly, the things in that room didn’t seem to matter so much. Her dolls, her toys, even the adorable pets in the corner, all of it darkened for Ilinda then. She glared over at her Book of Friends, knowing she would not be having her tea party tomorrow, or perhaps ever again. Ilinda pulled the rainbow covers over her head and wept until she fell asleep.

Kirsh ruffled his feathers as the little girl uttered the word. Somehow, from her, that single word was more chilling than any he had heard before. She was sitting against the wall in a small, white room, rocking back and forth, her arms restrained behind her back. Kirsh couldn’t bring himself to answer the child, but instead looked to his right, where the Sikhosian mind-healer was standing. The other man, a human named Frideth, was shaking his head sympathetically.

“She’s been that way since she was brought here,” the Sikhosian said.

“You can’t just keep her shackled like that,” Kirsh whispered back in a quiet yet harsh tone. “It’s barbaric!”

“Barbaric?” Frideth asked, incredulous. “Most people in this world would rather see her destroyed, Kirsh. Don’t forget that when we found this sweet little girl, she was surrounded by the bodies of three of her friends, and she was dancing around like she were at a party.”

“She’s a child!” Kirsh insisted. “And she is clearly not well. I thought you were a healer!”

Frideth laid a hand on Kirsh’s wing, who shook it off. “I am a healer, Kirsh, and we are doing everything we can for that little girl. But her mind is shattered. It’s hard enough piecing together what happened in that house, let alone trying to piece together whatever world she’s created in her head because of it. It takes time, Kirsh, and the healing is never easy.”

“But the restraints…”

“Often while healing the mind, there comes a time when the patient struggles, often violently. Remember, Kirsh, she’s created some kind of a protective world, and before we can bring her back to this one, we need to tear that one down. The mind, and by extension the patient, only sees the destruction. We’re the enemy, as far as she knows. Until we can show her the truth, she’s the biggest threat to herself.”

Kirsh fluttered his wings again. He thought back to his time with Asher, and the work he still had to learn to do with Eureda, and the perhaps even larger mountain he had to climb with Renn Winmoore. There was so much to do, and he had so very much to learn. Kirsh bobbed his neck a few times before speaking.

“Do you know how to get in? To her mind, I mean.”

Frideth sighed. “We have some techniques, but they all take time, and not all of them work on everyone. And someone like this, completely cut off from the real world…” he trailed off, allowing a tone of hopelessness to enter his voice. Then he continued, with renewed hope. “But we’ve gotten through to similar patients before.”

“Daddy?” The girl within called, no longer even looking toward the door.

Kirsh brushed a single tear away from his aven eye as he closed the door and turned back toward Frideth. “Can you teach me?”

The poet swallowed air, his voice almost catching in his throat as a single tear threatened his eye.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he said to his daughter. “It is me.”

“I’ve missed you, Daddy!”

“I have missed you, too. Did you have a good day today?”

“Yeah!” the little girl said excitedly, her rocking movement increasing in her excitement. “I played with Raindrop, and I petted Pufftail, and Miss Winky married Lord Dimplechin again, oh, and Beka came over! We’re gonna have a tea party tomorrow!”

Raiker Venn sniffled as his throat closed up again. “That sounds like fun, pumpkin. I am so glad you are happy.”

“I am, Daddy!”

“Good,” he said with a genuine smile. “Time for bed, though, angel. Okay?”

“Okay, Daddy! Goodnight!” She immediately climbed off her rocking horse and scrambled into her bed, smiling wildly. She only took a moment to get settled in, then made a show of rubbing her eyes, as though exhausted. She looked back toward the door, still grinning. “I love you, Daddy.”

Raiker could not stop his tears now, but he managed to hide them from his daughter. “I love you, too.”

Raiker closed the door, allowing his hand to rest gently on the wood as it latched. He closed his eyes tightly for a long time. Finally he opened them, a familiar rage burning in his eyes. “I swear, Muffin, I swear I will protect you from the real world. From the real me.”

Raiker Venn turned around and walked away. From the outside, the special room was little more than a large box. All around it was darkness and chaos. An eternal storm raged on this plane, raining acid and blood and death on the landscape. Nightmares of inconceivable horror stalked the ground, and light existed only to cast shadows in which those terrors to hide. But anything that came to close to that single, beautiful room was destroyed, brutally. Raiker Venn saw to that. His daughter would have whatever she needed, and whatever she wanted. She would have safety, and toys, and friends, and a world that was eternally safe throughout a life that was eternally young. Raiker grasped his ornate cane with whitened knuckles. As long as he lived, that little girl would never know the sting of tragedy.