Just as I feel myself fading, the groan of a zombie wakes me up again, and I open my eyes to bright moonlight.

I sit up, tired yet restlessly awake. Rose is asleep on the other side of the bed, but my mother is missing. The bedroom door rests slightly open, revealing a faint, flickering light.

I succumb to my restlessness and get out of bed. Curiosity and boredom compel me to walk to the other side of the room and search through the crates. Some of these were packed by my mother, so I do not know what is inside them.

In the bright moonlight, the contents of the crates are easy to see. There are some clothes, some tools, books, and various other necessities. A few of my mother's accounting books are stacked inside, along with spare flint. I set each item aside carefully, intending to put everything away in the same order I uncover them.

Then, I find a rectangular, vaguely familiar wooden box, held shut by a metal clasp. I open it, and inside I find a treasure trove of tiny relics. There is a corked potion bottle, its contents long evaporated. Alongside it are two tiny wooden figurines, resembing magi, wearing hooded robes of thin painted leather. I hold one up for a moment. The leather is stiff and rough under my fingers, and the painted face is faded but still detailed. I set it back down into the box. To the side of the bottle and the figurines, there is a stack of folded papers, followed by neat piles of tiny objects: some gold coins, some bundles of herbs...

Are these mine?

I unfold one of the pieces of paper, and see a page titled, "Ten Reasons Dragons are Awesome," in sloppy handwriting. Then I realize this is my own handwriting, from when I was younger:

"Reason No. 1: They breathe fire."

"Reason No. 2: They are really loud."

Really, Iris? You had the power to lucid dream creatures of incredible power, and THIS is what you came up with to describe them?

I fold up the paper and slide it into the middle of the stack of papers, to save myself from future embarassment.

"I see you found your father's keepsake box." My mother observes.

I look up at my mother, guilty at having sifted through my parents' belongings without her permission.

My mother smiles lovingly. "Your father used to fill that box with all sorts of things when he was younger, before we met. He used to strive to be a mage, so he would try to make potions and write spells. I am not sure if you remember, but when you were little he used to use those figurines when telling you stories. There was a third one, with a sword, but I couldn't figure out where it went."

I try hard to recollect my father telling me stories using those tiny figurines in the box, but I do not remember anything. Yet, somehow, I am certain I have seen this box before.

If I had stayed in Maplefall, would my father have told me about his attempts with magic? Perhaps he already did, long ago. If it were not for my father's stories, would I have not been inspired to become Kenneth's apprentice? If my mother and father never met, would my father have become a mage?

Knowing my father had that relationship with magic makes me feel like I have lost the chance to understand some part of myself. And I miss him even more. I miss his stories. I miss his smile. I miss him always being on my side, even when my mother was angry with me.

If my father truly wanted to leave us, why would he leave his keepsake box behind?

"Do you miss him?" My mother asks.

I nod.

"I miss him too," she says. She walks up to me and wraps her hand around my hand which holds the keepsake box. She rotates one of the mage figurines a little, lifts the papers to see underneath them, and then lets go of the box. "I've been thinking about him a lot since we left Maplefall. I'm drinking some tea to help me sleep. Would you like some?"

I nod.

I seal the keepsake box, and put it away. I have some tea with my mother, and then she helps me put the supplies back inside the crates.