μάγευμα ✸ pjo x hp

προλογος

You are six. You are different from your classmates. It's palpable in the way you talk, the way you move - a subtle but undeniable difference. You decide it's merely a product of your unconventional upbringing, a life shuffled from one foster home to another. You can faintly recall fleeting memories of warmth, perhaps your mother's embrace, lost amidst the chaotic tapestry of your early years.Then you meet a girl. Her name doesn't matter anymore, but she shows you that your difference runs deeper than that. She had just the same upbringing as yours, but she is normal.

You are 7. The school therapist says you have ADHD. Despite the mournful tone with which she says it, you can't bring yourself to be sad. It meant there was nothing wrong with you. Then you meet a boy, his name lost in the records of time. He has ADHD. But he's normal.

You are 8. You just had another of your 'incidents'. They were unpredictable bursts of emotion and power which surged in you, boiling your blood until it bubbled over, and you'd do the impossible. You'd turn paper airplanes into actual mini model airplanes which drove themselves. You'd make it snow in the middle of august. But you just ignore it, hoping that if you ignore it, it'll leave and you'll finally be normal.

You are 9 and you're on your way back from school, just grass stained knees and a dirty T-shirt. You're eating an orange lollipop that the shop owner gave to you for free. Then you hear a sound. It starts off a some chords, and then the words start. You could tell it would've been a real record seller, if you could understand it. But you couldn't. You follow it and try to understand where it comes from, after all melodies like that don't just come from nowhere. You go down sandy paths and through sunny meadows but you can't stop. It's as if you had lost all reason. The only thing in your head is the song. You pass blackberry bushes and their thorns prick your legs but you can't find it in you to care. You arrive at the seashore, which looks far too clean for human habitation. The melody keeps getting louder and it eats at your mind. You enter the sea, which, unforgiving and capricious, reminds you of its power, engulfing you in its embrace. You get caught in the swirling currents, and your breath is stolen by the waves. The melody persists and you accept the inevitability of death, hoping that you'll wake up to a better beach.

You've imagined the underworld many times. After all death smiles at all humans, all that humans can do is smile back, and accept it. However, of all the scenarios that your mind crafted, this was by far the best. It looks like paradise, with lush white sands and crystalline blue sea. There were no weeds but an abundance of palm trees and trees scattered with exotic fruits so absurd-looking  you have to double-take.

You're out of place in your waterlogged clothes. It isn't until you sit up and realise you have company that you feel ashamed though. A woman with fiery rays of sun in place of hair and molten gold eyes stood gracefully, looking vaguely amused. When she spoke her voice was like honey dipped in sunlight, yet it sounded strange, like the mouth speaking was not made for it.

"Hello," the woman said, her voice conveying reassurance and safety.

"Am I dead?" You ask.

The woman laughed at that, before answering.

"You're not dead, sweetie, just a little confused. You're in Aeaea, and I think you'll fit in perfectly."