3 Substantiate
One night, she was upset, and reading a story to Toby. The story was from a red leather bound book that Jeremy had given her, and one that she treasured dearly. She'd acted out a scene from the play, and suddenly, all the lights went out. All at once, Sarah felt a strange sort of angst towards the future, as if her mind was not of sound mind at all, but rattling about like her heart in its rib cage. The window had opened by itself, she thought, as the wind brushed the hair against her face. The wind was slightly colder than room temperature, and smelled crisp and fresh, as if from another world. Not like the manicured New England air at all.
Before Sarah even turned, she knew that the room in front of her would be dark and empty, spacious, but with nooks and crannies one could break a leg in. She knew, just as she knew that her father was losing his heart to an evil stepmother, that Toby was not crying in his crib, that Toby was not there at all, that something, or someone else was there. At the window, blocking the wind but not blocking the wind. No, it was the wind that had taken Toby. And so, Sarah entered the room.
She paid no heed to the strange wobbly things at her feet, as she headed towards the crib and knew, without doubt, what she'd find.
Which was why she was so surprised when she found it.
The man in front of her was unreal. He looked as though he would have never fit into that room, and yet he did, as though his very presence made the room bigger. The little scrambling things she knew were there, materialized at her feet, careful not to touch her, or the creature in front of her. Creature, that was it. His face was part obscured in shadow, part achingly beautiful. He was not human, nor could have ever been human, and was not of this world. All this Sarah knew, even as she knew herself, to be there in this room. She remembered Toby and his absence, and looked up at the being's face.
It jarred her to see him smile at her. In theory, he existed, but fantastical creatures always were observed. They were written about in stories, and kept to the screen or the page. Not having thoughts of their own, and certainly not their own actions or opinions. Sarah gulped.
"I've brought you a gift,"
Suddenly, her world was validated. All those nights spent play-acting, all those afternoons in the park only with Merlin and her costumes, all the times her mother would call only to hang up two minutes later, claiming she was busy; all that was confirmed for Sarah in that moment. She had a brand new world around her, and one hell of a problem.
Sarah had her feet on the ground, and it was solid.