Alwyn greeted us on the edge of the commune, something I'd never even known existed until the first time he'd tried to cross it. When asked, Tethyria said it was part of a spell I'd cast when I was much younger. I'd declared it a neutral zone, as my mother often did, and apparently my magic had simply agreed. It worked nearly the same way as my tree-house did; people who came close got so unbelievably bored that their eyes refused to focus, sliding off like water on glass. There was an addition to this spell here, however, where people who refused to listen to their boredom and got closer would be scared away by bears or dogs or a host of other creatures who were both terrifying and also real.

The final piece of the spell was made because I was scared of Tethyria and what she might do if I didn't contain her. If I didn't want her to leave, she couldn't unless she was in danger. I'd long ago told her she was allowed to leave as long as she tried to avoid humans, mostly because I was sick of trying to bring food to her, but Alwyn was still too young, and had no such freedoms. Still, I hadn't known the spell worked to that degree, and had previously assumed she was just very good at keeping promises.

When she'd explained the spell to me two weeks ago, my reaction was confusion. How had the others come to find this place, then, if it was so well protected? If my spell kept people from getting too close, how had they seen both dragons, heard her speak, without being scared away? She replied that some part of me or my magic must have known they weren't a threat. That, somehow, I must have allowed it.

Alwyn head-butted my shoulder gently as we passed through the barrier, his mind whirring with delight. So far this was as close to communication as he'd go, sharing his thoughts and emotions with mine. Freya was frustrated that he didn't speak like Tethyria did, but I was more concerned with not letting him help himself to my own thoughts and emotions.

“What brings the younglings here today? More questions? More speech lessons for the stubborn hatchling?” She tried to sound bored and put off, but we could all tell she enjoyed the company, especially since the conversations had improved so vastly.

I was still tired, though, and unwilling to participate in any sort of socializing. Alwyn understood, sending out calming waves of thought before laying down and lifting one wing. I joined him, curling against his side and resting my head on his shoulder, his wing wrapping around me like a blanket. Above me the clouds drifted by slowly, just visible through the canopy of barren branches. Soon leaves would bloom and the sky would be all but covered.

Max was talking. I tried to listen but it was hard to focus. He said something about my nighttime glow and a part of me knew I should focus on Tethyria's answer.

“Glowing?” She said, “I'm not sure what that means. Do you dream, foundling?”

I didn't answer her. My dreams were my business, my problem. I'd had enough in my life to know they were effectively harmless. Alwyn didn't agree as he dove into my mind before seeking out hers. He shared what he'd found and I turned away, blocking my mind off a little too late.

“Such dark dreams you bear,” She said, and I curled up more, “Tis no wonder you try to brighten.”

“Nightmares?” Roman asked, and I knew he was looking at me, but I didn't have the strength to share more of my secrets.

“You should be wary of dreams, foundling.” Tethyria's voice cut through my exhaustion, “Your mind views them as reality when you sleep. Your magic will respond in kind.”

I wanted to run again; avoid her warning, avoid her and Max and Roman and Freya, avoid Alwyn's prying mind. My nightmares had only gotten worse since they'd firmly implanted themselves in my life. Perhaps, if I cut them back out, this unpleasant tenseness of my stomach would ease. The others had adopted Max's truly legendary tenacity though, so escaping their notice was bound to fail.

Alwyn made a distressed noise, a deep rumble against my side, and rested his head on my hip. I knew he felt my fear, my want to escape, and there was no point in trying to ignore his insistent flutters of love and concern seeping into my mind.

We stayed near the den for a while longer, listening to Freya's endless questions and playing with the cats. Mostly I stayed curled up against Alwyn, letting some of the kittens climb into my lap while others nudged against my arms seeking attention.

I closed my eyes. I shouldn't have but the sun was shining so brightly through the trees, and it was only supposed to be for a moment, just a few seconds and--

When I opened them again the den was dark. Everyone was gone, even the dragons and their cats, and there was such a thick silence I thought I might choke. The shadows were oppressive and hung heavy between trees, curling around branches, and as I stood examining the den and the pervasive darkness, something about it was so familiar to me.

In the distance there was light, flickering and dull, but it was calling out to me and I couldn't ignore it. I followed that light through the dense woods, and found myself in a small clearing where nothing would grow and even the leaves and branches of trees withered within this perfect sphere of brilliance.

At the center of all of this was my star, dimmer than ever, and the tendrils of darkness were working to slowly consume it.

Part of me felt like it was dying, like I was dying with it, and my breath came in ragged pants. I wanted to reach out, pull those shadows away from the fading star, but I was frozen to the spot and the darkness was closing in around me.

When I next blinked I was back in the den, back leaning against the opal scales of a baby dragon, and the others were conversing quietly. None of them had noticed, not even Alwyn, although he grew concerned about my sudden spike in anxiety and was sending out waves of questioning. I ignored him in favor of calming my racing heart.

We didn't stay much longer and, although she didn't say anything, I knew Tethyria was aware of my strange daydream. She had that look in her eyes, the one that said I could avoid her questions for a while, but not forever. I left feeling guilty about lying, even though I'd never even spoken.

As we walked I slowed my pace, letting the others drift ahead of me. It was easy enough. Despite my recent descent into popularity, I was still me, still that Rhydderch kid. People were more than ready to forget about me, even standing nearby, even after going through what hell we'd been through the last two weeks. I was still quiet and forgettable and, like the tree-house and the den, so boring that people's eyes often slipped right off of me.

I didn't want their attention, and they were used to not giving it to me.

When the distance got wide enough I turned and slipped deeper into the woods. I'd have to go the long way around my neighborhood to avoid meeting back up with them accidentally, but there was a good chance they wouldn't know I'd disappeared until they hit the sidewalk.

I needed space. Someone had ripped my nerve endings wide open and my whole body, my whole soul felt raw. I'd never felt like this exposed before and I knew this feeling was intimately connected to my recent over-socialization. I couldn't fathom going back to Max's with his happy family and loud siblings, or even to school on Monday, where Freya would undoubtedly ask about the dragons or my magic, and Max would check in on me constantly like I was something fragile and precious, and Roman would stand just a little too close and hover there looking concerned.

It was too much. All of it was just too much and I wanted to scream, just to get some of this feeling of over-abundance to dissipate. As lonely as it was before, it was so much worse, so much more exhausting, living while people cared about me. I wanted to beg for my solitude back, but there was no one who could grant that wish willingly.

I didn't go back to my house. I didn't want to be found, so I picked my way through the slowly darkening woods towards my tree-house, guided only by gut instinct. The weather hadn't warmed much since the last time I'd stayed out there, but being miserably sick wasn't such a terrible price to pay in the grand scheme of things.

I was already exhausted as I climbed the ladder, and by the time I'd pulled myself into my nest I had no energy left to close the hatch or take off my shoes. I tried my best to pull a blanket over my torso, but most of them were trapped under me and I couldn't find it in myself to care.

Sleep didn't come. I tossed and turned, listening to the howling winds pass around trees and shake branches. I squeezed my eyes closed, hoping for some form of relief. It was futile; I was stretched too thin, unused to the attention and the socializing, exhausted from the nightmares that haunted me even while I was awake. My mind wouldn't settle down.

Everything in my life had changed. In just two weeks I went from the most shunned kid in school to an actual human in the eyes of a few people. Now I was someone who was included in things, someone who was noticed and talked to and looked after. The worst part was that this was something I'd always wished for, and now that I had it it was all too much.

I curled into a ball, palms pressed against my eyes in hopes that I might stem the tears threatening to fall. My mind kept repeating 'too much' as if there could have been a way to lessen this weight by acknowledging it.

My attention was drawn away from my pain by a soft thump at my feet. I craned my neck to see whatever had managed to get into my hide-away and was surprised to see a cat. It was a very familiar cat, actually, and after staring at it for a few seconds, my mind supplied the name 'Marshall.'

My confusion, previously fairly high at the appearance of a member of the kitty commune, only grew when a head of soft honey brown locks popped in through the open hatch. I stared from one intruder to the other, but couldn't find anything to say to either of them.

It was Roman Miranda staring at me from the hatch, looking concerned – something of a permanent expression as of late – and he watched me for a moment longer before disappearing down the ladder again.

Now I was even more confused. What was Roman doing here? The cat stepped over me and curled up against my thigh, purring happily, and I didn't have the energy to move him outside. I didn't have the mental capacity to consider it, either, as my mind was too busy trying to pick apart what had just happened.

Roman had found my tree-house. It had been hours since I last saw him, so he probably hadn't followed me here. The spell I cast prevented anyone from just happening upon it by accident, although Tethyria said such a spell might allow someone to see through it if I felt they weren't a threat. Still it was a long walk here, and difficult to navigate. And why was the cat out here, so far from the dragon's den? Had he led Roman here? How?

I laid back down. However he'd gotten here, he'd taken one look at me and left without a word. I felt shame rise in my stomach. Was I such a pitiful sight that he couldn't bear to even look at me? Maybe he finally realized I was a lost cause and decided to just let me die out here in the cold. I was still unable to sleep as my mind had returned quickly to the worst-case-scenario route and I wasn't sure I could stop it.

Twenty minutes must've passed before I heard noise near the hatch again. When I looked this time there was a lumpy pile of fabric being pushed in, melting on top of my legs and disrupting Marshall's sleep. Roman's face appeared somewhere behind the mass, a small smile on his face. He didn't talk, he hardly even looked at me, instead focusing on building up my nest with what turned out to be more blankets and pillows.

When he seemed satisfied he laid down near me and shuffled some of the blankets over both of us, Marshall joining soon after. I could feel myself shaking – more of a tense vibration – as my mind filled with anxiety and confusion. I had no idea what the polite thing to do in this situation was.

“Do you remember,” Roman said in a low and calm voice, “when we first met?”

I didn't answer, couldn't recall, and the newly plush nest was calling for me. I couldn't help but lay back down and sink into its depths.

“You were so small.” He smiled, watching the flickering lights above us, “But you were never quiet. You told the best stories.”

Did I? I tried to remember.

“I told you so, when I first talked to you. I think you were seven and I was eight. After that you followed me around the schoolyard like a little duckling.”

I didn't remember this. Why didn't I remember this? The tears were back in my eyes, building quickly as I wondered what else I had forgotten in my youth. I felt them cascade down my cheeks and soak into my hair and the pillow beneath my head.

“You told me about the dragon back then. I always thought you just had a great imagination.” He chuckled, and I closed my eyes hoping to memorize that sound. “And then, one day, everything was different. You didn't talk to me, or anyone really. It was like a switch had been turned off and you weren't really there anymore. Somehow you seemed so much smaller than you were.”

The dying apple tree flashed through my mind and I bit back a heavy sob.

“People got worried. You hardly spoke, and you always looked a little dazed. I think people tried to reach out, talk to your family or you, but you never reacted. I kept thinking you'd traded minds with someone completely different.

“Then I was in high school and I worried about you constantly. I didn't know why. You were just some kid, but I knew something was wrong. All I wanted to do was reach out and take you away from whatever caused that change, whatever made you look so empty inside.

“I tried to talk to you, when you were a freshman.”

The leaves of the apple tree had browned so quickly. The fruit it bore wasn't ripe yet, and never would be again.

“You looked at me like we'd never met.”

There are stone pavers pressed into the disturbed earth in a careful pattern. The yard seems so much smaller, but now it's my entire world.

Roman reaches out and takes my hand in his, and my magic surges.

“I'm sorry.” He says, “I didn't mean to make you cry.”

I didn't share these memories, barely remembered any of my childhood, but I wondered if that was why I had always felt so attached to Roman. Maybe it was just muscle memory to want to be near him. Above us the string lights had started to twinkle, their glow escaping the little glass bulbs to float swiftly through the air.

I drifted off, watching their dance, my hand secure in Roman's.