It was always my goal to see it.

The childish glee of sneaking out the back door, and running through the quiet paths to the forest.

I can always hear that thump, thump, thumping in the back of my mind when I think of the forest.

It's like drums.

Like crystals.

Like fresh dew laden grass that yields itself to me.

I knew the truth, it was too hard to not.

In a tiny town where everyone talks and laughs and gossips.

A small blip in the world, I was.

Someone who wasn't supposed to exist.

But sitting outside of the Wizard tower to watch the morning fog roll through the valley.

I'd watch that same man walk out just as the sun was rising, a mane of purple hair just like mine.

He'd check his mail and never acknowledge me.

Sometimes, he'd look out the corner of his eye and his gaze would soften before he went back inside.

The heavy door locking behind him.

I'd always bring a quartz and leave it at the end of the steps.

It was easier to let people assume that dumb old me was eating rocks.

But gifting them to someone who might know me.

That was harder.

The fog always rolls over and I'm on my home, slipping back through the streets and back to my bed, no trace that I'd left the house.

It was my little secret.

And honestly, it was one of the least dangerous in this town.