Sophie Bennett grew up remembering impossible things- a hummingbird woman with amethyst eyes, glittering dinosaurs of golden sand marching through the night time, a boy made of frost and mischief, a giant of a man laughing fiercely as he moved from fighting with swords to a snowball fight, and most clearly of all, a large furred paw painting delicate designs on brightly coloured eggs.
The adults, when she attempted to explain these memories, tittered.
"Such an imagination." Her teacher's told her mother.
"Vivid imagination." Her father commented.
"Lost in her imaginary world with no time for the real one." Less complimentary adults muttered.
Jamie however, smiled at her- a soft smile, like snowflakes drifting down in the night- full of wonder and happiness. "I know. What else do you remember?"
Jamie had a bunny drawn in the frost, only to escape the window pane and leap around his room before it burst into snow- and a frosty nip on his nose. He remembers a boy made of frost and mischief and happiness- half shocked and half amazed at being seen by a young mortal boy. He remembers oil slick fearlings driven away by snowballs and scorn- and laughter. He dreams of a gentle smile, mostly fond and a little mischief, and a phrase he's clung to ever since- you don't stop believing in the moon just because the sun comes up, and you don't stop believing in the sun when the clouds block it out.
Sophie's memories are a little hazy regarding that morning- but she's fairly sure that the frost-and-mischief guardian hadn't been quite that poetic about it. Her own memories are fragmentary- a whirl of colour and laughter, and gentle hands guiding her from place to place.
They do their best to keep the wonder of that night- the sheer fantastical quality to it- alive in their memories. They recreate the night in games of make-believe, veering rapidly to become snow bunnies and frost fairies, or whatever else strikes their fancies. Rainy days are spent making Easter eggs out of clay, or drawing sand-creatures, or anything else they can think up.
When they grow up, they stay close, the two Bennetts. They're still friends with all of the other children who were there that night- but as memory fades so does belief, and soon it's apparent that the others just aren't putting in the effort to believe. It saddens them- but they still have each other, and there's no reason to let friendships die just because the others have re-written parts of the past.
They all grow older- but she and Jamie only add more impossible things to their memories. Dreams drifting across darkened skies, fanciful frost patterns on windows and lakes, a booming laugh in the night on Christmas Eve, among other things. They keep these memories close, and make their own mementos to remind them of these incredible times.
They haven't seen the Guardians in years- although they've caught glimpses, every now and then, of a small ocean-coloured fairy fluttering past, gold or ivory in hand. Of dreamsand, flowing like a stream across the sky. Even, on occasion, of a blue and white blur rushing to hide from them in winter time. It's a lot harder to see Bunny- and they only see North in the distance.
It's okay- they still believe anyways. They have all these impossible things- a frost and mischief boy with a shepherd's staff blown by the wind, a snow white goose with a woman rider, a spectral child with a diamond dagger, and a smiling moon shining down.
And they do their best to help the guardians, spreading the belief- among the neighbourhood children they spend their teen years babysitting, the younger cousins and half-siblings that come into their lives through family reunions and custody visits. Perhaps later on, to their own children.
But for the moment, they have no children. So they believe in impossible things- and teach this belief to as many as they can.