Author's note: Holy cow, I ended up dying for a millennium there. ANYHOW, hello to all the new and faithful old readers! I'm finally amending this story to make it all pleasant like and up to my current standards. If you've read this story before, you'll be quite surprised because this story will now be told through Daydream's (My OC) POV, so you guys can better understand her turmoil and *SPOILER ALERT*mentaldeterioration*END SPOILER* undergone serious change, I've finally added her clothing description too, which I'm sure you're dying to know about XD

EXTRA, EXTRA, I'VE JUST MODIFIED DAZE'S BACKSTORY, AND ADDED HER REAL NAME!

So, happy reading!

I remember I was different. Barely the age of sixteen. I didn't dream what other young women dreamed, I didn't desire what they did. Ever since I met that Italian inventor, I wanted to invent too. I wanted to learn. But for a woman born in the Dark Ages, that simply did not work.

But my intellect had always been beyond my years. I dare say it challenged that of the well educated nobles, if not surpassing it. I know, because I once got myself involved in a debate with them on whether or not duck quacks echo. They do.

I declined many noble's request for my hand in marriage, for I did not desire a husband, lovely children, or a comfortable house. I wanted to explore ideas, innovate, and pursue knowledge much like the inventor I'd met. But alas, in Medieval France, this is nothing to be proud of. I became an outcast, bringing great scorn to me, and my dirt poor family. And that was when everything changed.

I vividly remember their mental abuse. Telling me how abnormal I am, what a disappointment I am, and how unfortunate they were to have me as an only child. I remember feeling lower than dirt, trying desperately to convince them that I could turn things around with my ideas and creations. But they never listened. As I got older, I learned to replace my emotions with logic, where I plucked the wisdom from their words and let the hurtful accusations pass from one ear and out the other, and my imagination became vivid pictures of a world I wanted to escape to. It was the only way I could survive.

My mind matured faster than my body did.

I remember I liked being outside, wandering out to the forest on my own, climbing trees, dipping my toes in the river. I loved it all very much. I especially enjoyed the silence, nothing but the babbling brook and the leaves rustling in the wind. All those things.

I was very good at that too, separating myself from the world. It didn't make me happy, but then again I was never happy. I was broken. Sometimes I wish desperately for the world I dreamed of. The dreams Sandman made for me when I could still sleep. You must be wondering, by now, who I am. Well, I'll start with the day I was born, the day my wish came true.

At the age of eighteen, I remember walking to my secret spot in the forest, when I heard someone crying. I felt curious, that someone occupied my place, I never had anyone who cared enough to follow me around. I decided I would find that person. What I found, though, surprised me. A broken wooden sleigh, crashed on a rock, dangerously close to a landslide crack, and a little boy, hanging on to the ledge on the other side. Sleigh accident.

Panicking, I kicked my walk to a sprint as I near the crack, skidding from my knees to my stomach as I made a stop at the ledge. I knew I had to save him. The memory would haunt me forever if I didn't. But how could I? He was on the other side of the cliff, the other side of the opposite ledge. How could I reach him? "Hey!"

The boy whimpers, and soon rigidly turns his head. "H-help me!" He yelps, body trembling, hands slipping.

"I'll try! Just-just hold on! I'll-I'll try and figure something out!" I sounded pathetic, and probably I was sure I annoyed him instead of soothing him. But that didn't matter. At least, not at the time. I began to look around frantically, telling myself to keep my composure. I wouldn't want to be stamped as the cause of his death. I remember seeing a tree, with its branch stretching to the other side of the ledge, the overgrown black crack. And I remember hastily, I scaling it, inching myself to the branch and scooting over as far as I could to its maximum length before jumping, taking a tumble to the ground.

I remember my shoulder aching and my knees throbbing, but I crawl anyway, on all fours to the boy, and I grabbed his cold, stiff hands. And then I pulled.

Up until that point, I realized I never estimated on how heavy the boy could be, and now, I was paying for it. His weight was pulling on mine more quickly than I was to his. That would ultimately mean we both will be swallowed by the darkness of the crack. I staggered on to my feet for a better grip, but of course, the ground was not helping either. Slick with newly formed frost and slippery with mud on some parts.

The boy was slipping, but then so was I. It lasted a few moments, that teeter between life and death. I stare into the little boy's eyes. Wide they were, full of fear. I cracked a smile, and quietly slipped in some words of comfort. Before it all went wrong. "Hey, kid... I got an idea... Let's pretend, you're a small bird... Getting ready for flight."

I remember the confusion on his face. And I smile wider, though I slowly feel my grip on him slipping, and the ground disappearing. "Don't worry, it helps. All you gotta do... Is close your eyes... And leave the rest to your imagination... Your fantasy... Pretend... You're somewhere else... Anywhere else but here." I watch him slowly close his eyes. "Yea, that's it... You feel the sun on your wings, the wind... You concentrate..." My eyes dart back and forth as we continue to slip, and yet, he smiled, and I had to swallow hard. "You spread your wings... And then,"

And then that was it, my boots had betrayed me, and we both slipped. I caught a small moment, a moment where my boots were just about to lose all footing, and I use it to my advantage. "You fly!"

With all my strength, I pulled that boy up, and tossed him overhead, sending him in the air, but also, sending my feet plummeting down the slope of mud and frost. Down inside the crack. I hadn't even screamed, I was too choked to. I recall the sensation of falling and everything moving in a blurry haze. The bright autumn skies became a faint white line in contrast of the dark crack ledges, and even that was blurred.

I remember my stomach churned, turned, and did back flips. And then I remember a sudden halt, as well as the sickening sound of a skull cracking into tiny little pieces. I recall ringing in my ears as my eyes went far from focused, everything too blurred to make out, and my mind too scrambled to even try. So I watched the sky as the clouds cleared, and I suddenly see a round, orb-like object in it, shining faintly. And then I remember I closed my eyes, and the world became dark.

It felt like centuries had passed. Melting away in deep slumber. Until finally, the orb-like object came back, and I finally understand that it was the moon. He lit the darkness with light, beckoning colors and life back to me. And I remember being lifted, coming toward the moon and I remember him telling me; welcome back.

And the next thing I knew, I was breathing again.

My name is D'Aida Reame. Better known, as Daydream, the spirit of imagination and fantasy. Let me explain to you, my job, is to create a world for children and adults alike; a world only they see and believe in, their fantasy, their imagination. A place that allows them to have everything they want, create and explore ideas as far as they could, possible or impossible, real or imaginary. I fill their heads with ideas no matter how silly, because the way I saw it, that is how brilliance begins.

Of course, these fantasies became crucial to human innovation, and also, a source of hope.

Yes, hope. The thing that turns into a belief. For the first few years of my new life, I explored the world. As new spirits were raised, I would weave their stories into the imaginations of every person I come across. The day Santa dropped off his first gift, I filled the children's heads with his image, and who he was. When The Tooth Fairy left her first quarter, I directed imagination to her existence. The day Bunnymund hid his first egg, I showed his presence in the children's thoughts. It was the same for Sandman, who's been here before any of us were. The list goes on...

Then there was Jack Frost. A hard one to crack. I'd only been able to imprint his name. And eventually, children grew up, became parents, and shared of the name Jack Frost to their own children. His name went down to generations, but nobody really knew he was real. That was because only a name was imprinted. His name wasn't even a name after a few generations. Just a metaphor, something bodiless. So I suppose, it was partially my fault Jack Frost was invisible to the children. But of course, there's always the issue of identity Jack had always struggled with. He didn't know what he should be doing in the first place, so I couldn't really create an image for him with the children. It's the same for the other spirits. Can't do a thing unless they knew who they were.

So yes, I could just probably storm in to a clueless spirit's quarters and demand they do this, do that, make it quick instead of having them go around in circles, but I can't. Because, unlike most spirits, I don't need to be believed in. I don't rely on belief, I simply rely on open minds of children, and some adults who retain their child state of mind. I create belief. Or at least, I build them. Which is the reason why I am forever invisible to everyone, even to other spirits. But I suppose, that's what happens when no one believes in you. Not even other spirits. Except, Sandman.

Why?

I suppose it was because The Man in the Moon pitied me enough to spare me from a lifetime of solitude, or because both he and I work with children's minds. Only difference was, he works during the night, I work in the day and before they doze off, while they're still awake. But what difference does that make really? I was still alone. Only this time, I'm not lonely. I was finally left alone, and left to do as I please. When I'm tired of that, I talk to Sandy.

Sort of.

And he never speaks of me with anyone. Not that he could.

I was living the dream... I had the entire world to myself. No one to bother me and no one to please. And I could do the very thing that I loved most; daydream. But after centuries and centuries of daydreaming... You realize why we are not created to be alone.

Days become weeks. And weeks become months. Then the months form years. On and on until I tire of counting. There is a feeling you that start to develop, when the only comfort you receive is from the mind. Hollowness. Gnawing, merciless hollowness. A desperation, a plea, a skin-crawling kind of emptiness. It was, in a sense, starvation. Though I did not need food. And even through all that time, I remain young. Juvenile. My pale skin never shrivels or wrinkles or sags or dry. My hair never falls out, nor does it ever grow. Preserved. Like a corpse in a hospital ward.

And now I sit on a rooftop, kicking my legs as I stare into the sky. My lithe body remaining out of Father Time's touch. Slim and tall. I am Daydream. And I am doing my job; sending off different fantasies all over the world through my mind. Yet concentration doesn't show on my freckled face. Instead, it takes a form of blankness that most would decipher as dazing off. Because that was what Sandy calls me anyway. Daze. My attention seems glued to the black tights that wrap around my legs, ending with a pair of white ballerina slippers. My mother liked putting me in corsets, and a corset is part of my top, which is an indigo and white shirt with strings lacing the front part. The sleeves are short, and the hem shows my collarbones. I have gray leather straps wrapped around my forearm, hands, and legs. They resemble bandages, and they flow each time I weave.

Although, if you look closely enough in my gray eyes, you can see flashes of color flying here and there; the fantasies being sent off. And you would notice how my fingers twitch, how my fingernails glow, weaving fantasies and sending them off in streaks of bright colors for others to receive, possibly in the middle of distress, needing a calming down, an escape to their world, the world they handcrafted themselves with my slight aid.

It was a long while, before I snap out of my mind-work, eyes drifting up to a small man draped in a golden robe riding on a golden dust cloud that floats towards me. Tentacles of dream strings, spreading out into every house in the dark neighborhood, and probably the entire side of the world that is currently asleep. I work on the rest of the population. The ones wide awake. He gives a small wave.

I finally lift my head, face full of hair, thick, black as the night and slick as the frost I slipped on. Short, like how long a daydream lasts, and styled into a bob that nearly touches my shoulders. Messy. Strands sticking out, framing my face. The bangs hang over my eyes, concealing what little emotion I have left.

But, unable to really see Sandy, I stop the finger twitching in my right hand and run it under my bangs, sweeping it back to my scalp, and putting the strands back in place, out of my face. Immediately, I resume my finger twitching, but my gaze remained fixed on the golden man. Sandy takes a seat next to me, his golden cloud disappearing in a poof. 'Something on your mind?'

He doesn't need to conjure things above his head to talk to me. I can hear his thoughts, just as I sees the minds of the children before deciding what to put in them. But then again, Sandy's thoughts had always been loud. You just need to be real quiet to hear it... Which is why his fellow Guardians never hear him, and why he resorts to conjuring images above his head.

"How long has it been...?" I ask, my voice resonating as a slur. It always sounded that way.

'How long has what been?' Sandy turns his gaze to me and tilts his head curiously, creating the soft chime of jingling bells. I look back at him, and my brows knit together in thought.

"My existence... How long has it been..."

The golden man stops for a moment. He also seems to think, but a smile stretches across his face. 'Why? Did you forget your birthday?'

His words were meant to be a joke, and he even grins to emphasize it. But I don't see it that way.

"Not funny." Mostly because it was true. I have long forgotten my birthday, for, what was the point? I'll only live forever and ever. Why count the number of sand that falls from the upper half of an hourglass? However, this was beside the point. I furrow my brows even more, trying to choose the right words in my head. Somewhere along the way, I've apparently lost the ability to communicate. At all. "I don't know... I just feel like I've been dead for a thousand years instead of being alive... Is it because I barely exist...?"

Sandy once again thought. 'Could be... Everyone needs attention too sometimes.' A confused look from me forced him to explain some more. 'You know... To be acknowledged.'

"Everyone?"

'Everyone.'

"Then why was I made this way? Unseen?"

The sandman falls into silence. Deep down I knew, that he thought the answer was obvious as the nose upon my face. So why bother asking? I am the person who initiates relief through the fantasies I casts in people's minds. As long as humans had thoughts and ideas, I would live. And even though one of my jobs were to create images of spirits to the children, I can't conjure a thing for myself. I have no one to believe in me. Although, I wonder why his thoughts seem so jumbled. But what other reason was there?

The first time we met, he greeted me the way he greeted any spirit, until he tried to shake hands with me. His hand went right through mine, and I wasn't too surprised. He must've noticed the sullen look on my face that day, clearly showing how it wasn't the first time that's happened. After explaining why this was, I asked him why he could see me. As usual, his mind goes on first. The thought he formed in his head was 'Because I remember you.', and it only left me more confused than I already was.

He covered up his thoughts and began dishing out other excuses. But I don't remember what they were. I was too preoccupied on what he'd thought earlier. He remembers me? I concluded that, he was the first spirit to live. He was the master of all dreams and vision. I knew he occasionally gave humans premonition dreams, showing future events. He could've simply seen this event himself. But still, I can't shake the feeling that he is hiding something from me. Or perhaps he was just being polite. 'I don't know why... I'm sorry...'

Despite the hundred things I want to ask him, specifically what it is he's attempting to hide from me, I only hang my head, allowing my bothersome bangs to sweep across my eyes. And again I find myself pouring my thoughts to him, "I've always craved to live like this in the past... But now, it's becoming so painful... And I-... Know... Why... But why can't I admit it?"

And literally nobody knew my pride better than Sandy. 'Everybody always needs to meet new people... Make new friends...' From the grin he cracks, I could already tell he had a plan. 'How about you come with me to the North Pole tomorrow? I'll be heading to Bunnymund's warren after that, and then straight to the Tooth Palace. It'd be great for raising your spirits again.'

I wonder why I'm so surprised at this offer. I practically asked for it the moment I opened my yap about my overall dissatisfaction on life. Yet I still flinch. And I still cringe. "But... Is that allowed?" Stall, Daze. Stall.

Sandy makes an amused laugh that is ultimately mute. 'Well, no actually, but I'm sure no one will even notice you're there.'

I crack a smile. A dry, sardonic smile. The irony was hurtful, and I now have a thousand reasons as to why it was a terrible idea. For me. Obviously. But again, I decide to be stupid. "Sure. Why not."

And the sparkling golden man nods his head. 'Meet me here again tomorrow.'