Mae

“Tell me a story, Mae.”

Lynn was laying on his side beside me on the bed. The flickering of the grand fireplace before us lit the room in an orange glow, reaching into the darkest corners, as if wanting to absorb everything in its heat. I could hardly feel that warmth at all. The only source of comfort was in the body heat of my lifelong friend, who’s arms had been tucked between us. I’d turned to see him, moving my own body towards him.

We were both in our uniforms still, despite the fact that it was already pretty late into the night. The abrupt announcements of the professor kept us from ever taking them off. We figured it was safer to do so. It was nerve wracking—living in a constant state of fear. I worried what it could be doing to Lynn’s mind.

Although he was the backbone of the family, I didn’t want others to forget that he was still human. Behind his happy face, was definitely a man who was tired. He carried so much emotional weight on his shoulders . . . the weight of most of his siblings.

“What kind of story?” I entertained him. When the professor had made that announcement not too long ago, about a student escaping one of the rooms to rescue another, Lynn had been stressed. I’d had to do everything to convince him to leave his glued spot at the door. He hadn’t budged, until I’d brought him to the bed to lay down. He couldn’t strain himself, not with his injury.

Lynn could tell that I was always thinking about him, concerned. I could see it in his ocean eyes. “A very old story. Not a scary one.”

I laid flat on my back, arms over my stomach. Staring at the top of the canopy of our shared bed, I thought to myself. Lynn rarely asked for stories, but when he did, I usually told him wicked tales that I’d heard my elders tell throughout the years.

Though this time, I guessed I could tell him my oldest story. The one my grandmother used to tell me before she passed, when I was too young to completely understand how death would affect me later on.

Quietly, I cleared my throat. I could already tell that he hadn’t looked away from me, not even for a second. “Through the wooded expanse of Kingston’s Forest, the forest just a few feet from this very manor, a king and a prince lived in the realm of faeries. Faeries that could use their magical abilities to create incredible things from the earth.”

I closed my eyes, thinking back to that very real forest. My grandmother must’ve told me that story because she probably believed it would make me less scared of it. The forest was a wild place, therefore I had only ever stuck to the organized gardens of the estate. It wasn’t until she told me this story that I grew intrigued by the fact that creatures from stories could be real.

But to be honest, as an adult I did not really believe in them anymore. The forest was a dark and scary place, even for grown-ups. It was normal for a child to fear it.

This wasn’t a scary story, though.

“The king had ordered the prince to take over the magical kingdom, but the prince did not want to create the same things as his faerie siblings. He defied his own father and left Kingston’s Forest, but when he did . . .” I inhaled softly, remembering the story. “The prince lost his memories as soon as he left his kingdom. His magic had faded into nothing.”

Hearing Lynn’s calm breathing soothed me. He was safe, for the moment. I could keep him safe. The other men in our party could distract the professor for a while.

“But when the prince came back after many years, his father had already died.” I said this in a low tone. This story hit too close to home. “Whilst in his kingdom, the prince began piecing together the memories that’d vanished when he left.”

I stopped.

Lynn moved closer to me as I opened my eyes. His fingers were on my sleeve. “And what did he do with those old memories?”

Looking at him in the firelight, his golden hair seemed like it was on fire. He appeared healthier, even amidst such a stressful environment. I hoped my presence alone could be the reason as to why he was relaxed now. He was the type of person who hated being alone.

Maybe that was why he was so eager to be my friend.

Or perhaps . . . he had sensed that longing in me, too.

I turned to him again. “What do you think he did?”

Lynn let his eyes travel over my face. I didn’t know what he was thinking. “I hope that someone saved him.”

“ . . . the prince?” I questioned. “No one saves princes in fairy tales.”

With that statement, Lynn laughed, “Then this story is a tragedy.”

“It’s not scary . . .” I pointed out. “It’s just sad.”

He continued to chuckle at my straightforwardness. “Regardless, Mae, it is a story that distracted me from everything.”

I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t.

Sometimes it was good to only tell one story at night. My grandmother used to tell me that it was a great responsibility to pass down stories, because they all belonged to someone else. Therefore, I found that holding those responsibilities became too exhausting.

When it came to my own responsibilities, Lynn was one that I had to take great care of. I really did not want him to think the same of me. Loving me would be too much on his shoulders, and he already had enough to worry about.

So all I could do was provide him comfort, and support, and a story if he wanted one.

And then, maybe . . .

His memories would come back, too.