Chioniphobia

Magic

Mim used to have a different name. He can't remember it, but that doesn't really matter: everyone calls him the Man in the Moon anyway. Even if he could recall the moniker he was assigned at birth, it wouldn't matter, because he'd still be the Man in the Moon.

He remembers words, of all forms and textures. Warm, cold, soft, sharp, hard, silken. Others had tossed them around almost carelessly, as if such luxuries could be taken lightly. Not so him. He'd mulled over each one before deciding whether to spend it, and often he'd find spending precious syllables was not necessary at all. On other occasions, he'd find the right words a moment too late, which was as good as if he'd never found them at all.

Back then, no one had expected much of him. He'd been nigh invisible, which was advantageous for a thief.

Now everyone could see him, whether he wished them to or not.

Mim doesn't regret stealing magic. If he hadn't been the first to do so, someone else would've been, and he doubts anyone else could've borne the consequences as well as he. Another mortal, upon becoming immortal in such a fashion, might've been afraid. They might've mourned the loss of their family or friends. They might've succumbed to madness, isolated in the moon, destined to never again feel the warmth of human touch.

Not that he wasn't afraid, when he'd first found himself in the moon. He had mourned losing his friends, and there were days where he felt as if he might be going a bit insane. Still, if it hadn't been him, it would've been someone else, perhaps even someone who didn't even believe in magic.

The person who cuts Grim's wings is not a believer. They think Grim is a charlatan or a mutant, fooling people into thinking her a god. Which she isn't, of course, but it isn't the Reaper's fault that mortals have assigned her the title, just as it isn't Mim's fault that humans sometimes worship him as a deity.

I'm not a god, he wants to scream down at them sometimes, but he's never been one to waste precious words on deaf ears. Even before he splits the world in two, even before all magic is cloaked in a veil to guard it from unbelievers, humans only ever see what they want to see.

Mim was the first human to ever wield any sort of dominion over magic, but he can't do much with it. He can take it, which he already did, but not from others. He can use it to shield itself from the eyes of unbelievers, which is a very specific use that took decades for him to figure out.

The only use he really has for magic now is to give it away.

The first one he gives magic to is the Sandman. Mim calls him the Sandman, and later others call him Sandy, but he has no real name. Even if Mim can't remember it, he had a real name, but the golden creature who weaves dreams in the night? His only names are the ones that are given him.

The thing is, the magic Mim gives to the Sandman is linked to the belief of humans. There is no end to how powerful the Sandman could become, if enough mortals believed, but there is an end to how much he could be diminished.

You can't grow smaller if you've already vanished, after all.

Grim hates Mim for a long time after he makes her brother a Guardian. She shouts and rails up at him, trapped in the moon, asking him over and over how dare you, how could you do this to him, how could you do this to me?

What if he fades? she asks, and Mim has no answer to give.

Finally, she stops talking to him altogether. The silence is infinitely worse than the shouting.

When Grim begins talking to him again, it's because of a Guardian, ironically enough. Or nearly because of a Guardian- the boy is given some magic, but Mim leaves him a choice. All magic depends on belief to be seen, but only a Guardian depends on belief to exist.

If he'd made the boy a Guardian immediately, Grim would've killed him, never mind his immortality. Not that he would've done that in any case- becoming a Guardian had little point if it was involuntary.

But the boy did choose, as Mim knew he would.

His silence had hurt the boy. He realizes that now, seeing how much happier he is among people who talk and chatter and toss words around without thought. He'd thought the boy would be angry that the Man in the Moon didn't have all the answers. He'd thought the boy wanted a full explanation of some grand plan from a deity who always knew exactly what to do.

He'd never considered talking to the boy just as a person. No mortal had ever talked to Mim as a person, not since he'd found himself set in the night sky.

Pitch talked to him as a person, sometimes, but it was always as a nemesis, an enemy. Mim had never understood why the Nightmare King was so determined to wage a one-sided war. The Boogeyman seemed to consider the Guardians as some sort of personal attack when Mim had just been trying to protect his own kind. Humans needed to be guarded from fear, especially the young ones.

Grim understood, after eons of snarling and silence and boiling anger that cooled to a leaden acceptance. She came to see that humans' brief lives were still worth protecting, however short they were. She learned to appreciate the small, quiet moments that mortals loved to steal from the relentless charge of time. She even began to indulge in such moments herself.

Sometimes, she invites Mim to join her.

The Reaper lifts up her hand, and up in the moon, he pretends to take it.

There's a voice, soft and silken and so very, very human, serenading them. Mim looks down and sees an odd little machine with a circle of black spinning around.

The machine is singing, he thinks, and is amazed at how alive it sounds.

Grim stands in the middle of the lake, the same lake where he asked her to give up the boy. She hadn't, of course- back then, Mim should've known better than expect her to do so. Now she is older and wiser, perhaps even wise enough to not pick a fight that she cannot win.

If he'd asked her to leave the boy tonight, instead of back then, would she give him up? Mim wonders.

She twirls, the surface of the lake untouched beneath her feet, and he twirls with her. They move together, two immortals destined to outlast the Guardians, humanity, and the world itself. They steal a moment as mortals do, though their lives are endless.

Well I wanna make love to you tonight

I can't wait 'til the morning has come

And I know that the time is just right

And straight into my arms you will run

And when you come my heart will be waiting

To make sure that you're never alone

There and then all my dreams will come true, dear

There and then I will make you my own

Anytime I touch you, you just tremble inside

And I know how much you want me that you can't hide

Can I just have one more moondance with you, my love

Can I just make some more romance with you, my love

Can I just have one more moondance with you, my love

Can I just make some more romance with you, my love