I... kind of made this up. I hope you like it.

Ephemeral, adj
- lasting a very short time; short-lived

There was a little girl, a long time ago, who believed so strongly and fiercely in myths and make-believe that she was almost detached from the world and lived in one almost completely her own – sharing only a few things with other children of the world.

As she grew, her belief became stronger, because the harshness of the world was too much for her to bare. She lived in a time of famine, poverty, war and chaos. Though girls her age at that time were learning to sew plain patchwork quilts and being tutored to be the best wives they could be to their future husbands they were destined to marry far too young, she spent her days sewing small patterns into her cloth to tell stories. She was teaching herself to live each day as it came and not spend too much time thinking about her future. A husband she would have to marry at fourteen. Children she would birth and raise when she was just a child herself. A life to live that she did not want nor need.

But as all children, she did grow, and as all girls she was made to marry a man twice her age, with a temper that quite contrasted her calm, and a mindset that challenged her innocence. She was confronted with emotional baggage she did not know how to handle, and when he took her innocence from her on her wedding night, every dream and childhood aspiration crumbled around her, with her hopes and dreams and fantasies.

As predicted, she fell pregnant when her body couldn't handle it, still developing into a woman but being forced to carry something suited for women a good many years older than herself.

Like many in her time, she gave birth to a child that was born premature, and whilst the midwife cradled the tiniest bundle that wailed so loudly, and the priest prayed for the child and it's mother, she lay motionless on the bed. Startled by the sound of a new life that she'd made, watching the baby take it's first breaths as it entered the world, and all too aware of the fact that her life was bleeding out from between her legs. Too young to be a mother, it seemed, so she would not be given the chance, and the child would be left with it's father to raise with his idealisms. His habits. His god-forsaken and twisted views of the world. She mourned then for her baby, for the childhood the poor thing would not have, the beliefs she's carried so close to her heart in her young years.

She prayed, with her last ounce of strength and as the light in eyes flickered and began to die, that she would somehow be able to watch over her baby, how she would be able to smile down when he felt sad or needed to be close, how she could teach him of magic.

But she did die.

And the moon took pity on her, knew how she loved all things magic, and as an act of mercy, she joined him in the sky, lighting it up at the biggest and brightest star anyone on Earth could see. She was able to look down upon her little boy every night, and she was able to watch him grow – taking her gentle nature and kind smile and tenderness about life with him. Together she and the moon conspired to make him his own heroes, create fairy tale figures and bring them to life and set them upon the Earth to watch over the little boy and every other child in the world so they could all share the magic in their life.

Together, she and the moon put people upon the Earth to keep the children safe, keep their spirit alive, watch over them as Guardians for the children when the poor things had no-one else to keep them safe in the darkest of times.

And when her Guardians were set upon various points of the land, and their stories grew to be legends, the bright star saw it fit to leave them all to their own devices. The moon let her rest, and though they spoke no more, made no more Guardians unless it was absolutely necessary, she still cast her bright eyes out to watch in absolute silence, her heart glad that in some small way she had managed to keep innocence alive, though it may only be for a few years, and though – in the grand scheme of things – one life didn't last all too long, the magic passed on through living did.