(Content/trigger warnings for this chapter: anxiety, family member reacting negatively to anxiety)

**Isabelle**

Windshallow was broken, like me. We both created mist for our secrets, and had cracks in our hearts, and sometimes thought the world was a dark and dangerous night when it was actually washed in rays of sun.

Mist still clung to the air that noon, yet it was more of a pale haze than usual, and that made my chest tighten. The vanishing of the mist meant night was coming.

The sun gleamed off the exposed metal on the sad, rusting playground surrounding us on the soggy woodchips. Peels of paint and plastic drifted slightly in the wind like friends ousted from a friend group. I watched the playground in case anyone fell off again, as I sat on the end of one of the slides.

Surrounding me stood a crowd of perhaps 15 other fourth and fifth graders, while the rest ran around on the creaking playground equipment. My eyelids were heavy; I'd only been able to sleep six hours last night, four less than Mom and Janice said I should.

Yet, I forced a smile on my face and smoothed my dress. These people had come to me for help. There were only a few minutes left of recess, and I was going to talk to as many as I could. Their shouting over one another to try to get my attention made my head throb and my blood grow hot, but I tried to push it down. I promised myself it would just be a few minutes longer.

I faced a small girl who was in my class and had shiny brown hair that reached her bum. She wasn't shouting at me.

"What's your question, Loren?" I had to yell over the others.

Loren wove her hair between her fingers and looked down, and using a voice so quiet I could hardly hear, said, "Myra is mad at me because I made a new friend. How can I make her not mad anymore?"

I couldn't imagine if that happened with Zo or Cathey. "I'm sorry," I said. "Be patient. Perhaps Myra just has other problems right now and is taking them out on you." I'd learned a lot from helping others over the years. "If that doesn't work, then…" I sighed. "I'm sorry, but perhaps you shouldn't be friends with her anymore. It's mean to control other people."

"Perhaps," someone in the crowd snickered. My blood grew hotter.

Loren tugged hard at her shirt. "But Myra has been my best friend for three years… I don't want it to end!"

"But she's being mean to you," I said. "Is she usually kind?"

"Yeah."

"Then she likely has other problems. Try asking her what's wrong."

"Likely," someone giggled. My hot blood grew prickly.

That was when a boy lost his grip on a rusted spiral climber and began to fall.

I threw my arm out without thinking. Azure filigree chains bloomed from my fingers and entwined themselves around the boy. Sparkling blue hourglasses blossomed from the chinks like flowers, and the boy froze in his position. His hair, nearly as light as his fair skin, was frozen in a blown mess. His pale eyes were wide.

He looked like a fourth grader. Not all fourth graders came to me for advice, so I didn't know who he was.

Brian, who towered half a foot over the tallest fifth grader, strode over and held his wiry arms out under the pale boy. I felt more than controlled the chains snap with a clinking sound and drift back into my fingers. The pale boy unfroze and dropped right into Brian's arms.

The people around me clapped and cheered.

"Thank you," the pale boy stuttered as Brian set him onto the woodchips. The pale boy glanced at me, and then spun and darted away.

I smiled. Then I turned back to the crowd and wondered what vision I would have this time. I always had a vision of the past sometime after I used one of my other two powers: shields or time-freezing.

Three whistle blows sounded from the edge of the playground. It was time to go eat lunch with my friends.

The ceiling of the gym where fifth graders ate lunch sagged sadly as if someone had insulted it and it drooped its head. Water stains ran along the walls in long, straight lines, crisscrossing over each other and forming a mural. Lunch monitors stood around in corners and whispered to each other, showing pictures or words on their phones. Long brown tables that creaked every time someone set something down were arranged in rows and columns up and down the gym.

After I got my food, I sat at the end of the table in the back with my best friends Zo and Cathey. Everyone around us was wrapped up in their own conversations, so I could finally get some privacy with them.

"I figured out how to make an elevator in Minecraft last night," Zo said. They had a high voice, like the top of a playground. "With no tutorials!" Their black hair nearly seemed to shroud their oval sandy face completely. They flicked strands back regularly, their tens of plastic bracelets of all different colors jingling and clacking on their bulky black sweatshirt and thick arms. "Wait until I tell Jenna. And Megan and her friends. And Samuel."

"Cool!" I said. Though I knew nothing about Minecraft, building an elevator sounded impressive.

"It's no fair that you get to stay up so late," Cathey huffed, crossing her arms. Her curly blond hair reached her fair-skinned shoulders, but today she had it up in a ponytail, which meant she was going to play soccer with her neighborhood's boys after school. Her body was fit and muscular.

Zo shrugged. "My parents let me do whatever I want as long as I don't kill anyone."

"My mom doesn't even let me go outside when it's misty in the morning. She says someone could come kidnap me. I need a Guardian Angel like Isabelle. Just one who doesn't abandon me." Cathey slammed her fist on the table. "I. Will. Punch him for you, Isabelle."

I shook my head. "He was so kind. I don't think he'd leave me if he could help it, so something must have happened."

"Then I'll punch whoever kidnapped him or whatever."

I wanted to smile, but my stomach squeezed itself. "You shouldn't fight dangerous supernatural beings, Cathey. That's how you end up dead." My chest grew cold. "I don't think it was a human who kidnapped my Guardian Angel. Or… killed him." My heart pounded faster.

"I'll still protect you." Cathey flexed her bicep. "I'm brave and strong."

"And if it was Herobrine, I'll protect you," Zo said. "I know a lot about Herobrine. I know how to tell the difference between a fake and a real Herobrine sighting. You see…" They trailed off as they stared out one of the doors to the gym.

"Samuel?" I asked them.

"Yeah." Zo grinned. "Just saw him for a second." They continued to stare out the door.

"Next time, tell us as soon as you see him," Cathey said. "We'll cause chaos, and he'll have to stop and pay attention to you."

"I've talked to him before. You don't have to do that. And you'd embarrass me!"

"You should give him a present," I said, smirking.

"No!" Zo protested. Cathey and I laughed while Zo shook their head.

"Well, that reminds me—I'm having a sleepover this Friday," Zo said once we had finished, leaning their elbows on the table. "Samuel's not coming, but I did invite some other people. And I want you two to come."

A hole grew in my stomach.

"I don't think my mom will let me come if there are any boys," Cathey said.

"No, it'll just be girls and me," Zo said. They tapped my arm. "Isabelle? Do you think you'll be able to come?"

I bit my lip and looked down. "My anxiety gets worse when I sleep away from home. I really want to, but I… I can't. It's already so bad… I'm sorry."

Cathey's face fell.

"We could sleep with the light on," Zo offered.

I shook my head. "No. I… I'd feel bad making everyone else sleep in the light." I could practically see Zo's other friends' narrowed, sneering expressions at me as Zo announced how we'd be sleeping. Perhaps I could sleep in another room, but my anxiety would still be worse, especially with all the unfamiliar sounds.

"I wouldn't mind," Zo offered.

"And I wouldn't," Cathey said.

"But my anxiety would still be worse," I said. "And the other people…"

"Maybe you could talk to your counselor about it," Zo said. "Don't you see her today?"

"Yeah. But it doesn't help anymore."

After lunch, I was called down to the office. The usual large umbrellas were propped up over dark-wooded desks with a mosaic of cracks. Lavender-tinted water dripped from the ceiling and slid off the umbrellas to orange buckets below, while tall stacks of metal drawers creaked against the back wall. A familiar dank smell floated toward me when I opened the rusty door with several forceful tugs.

Mom made polite talk with the quaint elderly lady, Mrs. Talavera, at the desk in the front. Mom's hair was long and black like mine, but she gazed at Mrs. Talavera with hickory brown eyes instead of blue, and Mom's skin tone was slightly lighter. A neat lilac shirt and jeans were wrapped around her thin body. A silver pendant dangled from her neck.

Despite her soft appearance, however, her movements were stiff and sharp as she finished signing me out on the paper.

"Let's go," she said to me with a sigh in her lilted voice that made my chest squeeze.

"All right." And I followed her out the door to her smooth van.

The ride to my therapist's office was silent except for the hum of our vehicle and the others on the road. One car honked at another that ran the red light. As we crossed the Windshallow borders, the mist vanished.

We soon arrived. Unlike Windshallow structures, this one bore no cracks. The small white building was smooth on the outside with modern gray lines forming squares and rectangles. A couple of small frosted windows sat on either side of the double door, and the roof was flat.

Inside, plush brown chairs were scattered around shiny oak tables stacked with magazines. A few inspirational quotes hung from the cream walls. At the far end of the room was a desk sitting on the other side of plexiglass. Mom checked me in there, and then we sat in two chairs near the door that led to the therapists' offices.

My stomach twisted into a ball of tangled cords.

Soon, Janice's youthful ivory face appeared from the door. Her curly red hair bounced slightly around her ears. She wore an unmistakably bright indigo cardigan. Her cheeks were pink and dimpled as she smiled at me.

"Isabelle," she called, and Mom and I followed her down the straight hall dotted with pictures of plants and soundproof doors to her small office at the back. It was full of cool colors, from the plush blue loveseat to the soft purple bookshelf to even her smooth green desk and swivel chair. Small plants sat in the windowsill, and in a way it comforted me. It reminded me of Ranya's room.

I sank into the loveseat, and my muscles tensed. Sitting here was a loss of control, in a way; it wouldn't be easy to shift my weight and stand back up again.

"So, Isabelle." Janice smiled as she plopped into her desk chair and Mom perched beside me on the loveseat. "How has your week been?"

We went over preliminaries—my week went fine, my nighttime anxiety was a little worse than last week (I lost more sleep), and the beginning of fifth grade was going well.

"You're now used to school, Isabelle," Janice said. "Your life is stable. We should try exposure therapy again, if you're willing."

I shook my head hard as Mom sucked in a breath.

"Isabelle," she said, her voice sharp. "I know it's difficult, but this is the only way to make your anxiety better."

"And you were able to use it to help your fear of your town," Janice added, though her voice was gentler than Mom's. "If you don't expose yourself to your fears, they'll never go away. At least, not for a long time."

"I can't." My eyes stung with tears I wasn't certain the origin of—pain or exhaustion-induced frustration. "I want to, but I can't make myself do it."

"What if we began with something small—"

"We tried that already! It doesn't work!"

"You must try again, Isabelle," Mom snapped. "You've been getting less sleep lately, and we don't enjoy dealing with your anger. Not to mention you've always had trouble with your grades, and falling asleep in class isn't helping."

I crossed my arms and scowled. "School is boring. I fall asleep because I'm bored."

"You can't draw all the time."

Janice lowered her arms in a quick calming gesture. "We can't force her into exposures, Mrs. Kirkwood. But Isabelle, we really do have to do something about your grades. If you don't keep them up, they will only hurt you as time goes on."

"I try to stay awake."

"I know, but we need something to help you. Perhaps after-school tutoring to make up for what you lose?"

Tightening my shoulders, I leaned forward for more control. "Then I wouldn't have as much time to draw."

"Your grades are important, Isabelle," Janice said. "Since you can't do more exposures right now, we have to focus on something else."

The rest of the appointment, we didn't get much done. Mom continued to be frustrated, and Janice tried to suggest solutions, but none of them would work, though Mom said she'd be getting me a tutor. I tried bringing up Zo's sleepover to see if Janice could help, but she didn't come up with good solutions for that, either. I didn't want to make everyone come to my house instead; I wasn't even friends with all the girls! And I didn't want to ask Zo to have it only be them, Cathey, and me. It would be mean to say Zo couldn't invite their other friends. I already sometimes felt like a burden to my family; I didn't want to be a burden to my friends, too.

At the end of the hour, Mom gripped the steering wheel tightly as she drove me back to school. When we crossed over into Windshallow, the mist was even lighter than before. My chest grew cold. Nothing ever truly happened at night, aside from my waking up terrified, and I lost sleep as I tried to will myself to unconsciousness as I analyzed every sound in the house for dangerous supernatural beings lurking in the dark. Something always sounded unsafe, though nothing ever came. Yet I was convinced that one day, my fears would be right, and a demon or some other evil being would come to my room and attack.

I arrived back at school in time for the second half of English. As I walked down the empty hallway and its mosaic of cracks and water damage, I relished the momentary solitude, and how the Windshallow school nearly seemed to be sympathizing with my pain, the floor creaking under each step.

Then something fizzed behind me, and I turned to see a carnation pink disc spinning in the air.

What was it? My heart began to pound, and I turned to run, holding my palm out toward the disc for protection. Then something within me told me it was a Time Rift, a break in time, just like how I knew my visions were of the past. Was this another power of mine, one that I had yet to learn to control? Was it another "curse" of Windshallow?

The disc stretched to the size of an adult human and spun faster. I took a small step closer.

The spinning disc melted to haze, and then a light copper hand pressed against its center.

I jumped back. "Hello?"

"Isabelle?"

Taking deep breaths, I took a small step forward. I didn't recognize that voice; I couldn't even tell if it belonged to a man or a woman. Perhaps the owner of the voice was neither.

"My name is Lotus," the voice continued. "Isabelle, can you hear me?"

I nodded slightly before I realized they likely couldn't see. "Yes," I managed.

A whole body appeared in the rift. Who I assumed to be Lotus stood tall and willowy. They had short, cinnamon-colored hair, warm brown eyes, and a round face crisscrossed with scars of all shapes and lengths. A worn pink dress with straps and flower embroidery fluttered slightly down to their knees, and on their left chest sat a they/them pin with the nonbinary flag. Leather boots reached nearly the bottom of the skirt, while leather bracers strapped to their arms half-hid more crisscrossing scars. A pink ribbon headband kept Lotus's hair out of their face. They looked to be college-aged.

What was going on?

Lotus smiled, but their eyebrows drew together. "Isabelle, I know you must have many questions about me and what I'm doing here, but I cannot hold this for long." Their eyes shone. Tears?

I wanted to ask if they were all right, but fear snapped my mouth shut.

Lotus seemed to notice the change in my expression. Their smile grew in a comforting way, and this time, it looked more genuine, though still tinged with worry. Then it fell, and they reached out as if they could place their hand on my shoulder. This all happened in less than a second.

The Time Rift rippled, and it fizzed again. It wouldn't last for much longer.

"Isabelle, I came to warn you," Lotus said.

Dread wasn't a cold feeling, but rather as if a sinister presence from another world had entered the room. My heart began to pound.

"Isabelle, I…" Lotus closed their mouth, then shook their head and opened it again. "I promise I'll explain as much as I can before this vanishes. Pitch, the Nightmare King, has risen. A war is coming. Today, you—"

The Time Rift fizzed and shrunk into a ball, and then vanished.

"Today what?" I said as my heart pounded harder, though I knew I wouldn't get a response.

My mind soon wouldn't let me think about Lotus, or the Time Rift, or anything except the coming danger. Pitch was real? I'd thought he was just a character in Ranya's favorite books and movie.

What kind of danger was I in?

(A/N: Please favorite, review, and follow if you're enjoying this! :D)