✧The Earthe of the Elves✧

1

Mia's POV

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According to Google, people dream four to six times per night. And yet, most of us can never seem to remember any of them. If we do it's usually only for a few hours. I wish I could remember my dreams. To have the fantasy worlds of them stored away for when I need an escape. For when I get so tired of life that I just need to go back to the ease and unproblematic world of my imagination. Too bad my dreams have to end, right?

Well, little did I know my life would turn into a dream.

Kinda.

But this dream was definitely not unproblematic.

-

"I'll be home for Christmas" blared from my alarm clock, waking me up bright and early. Goody. I look outside at the snow falling gently, muffling the sounds of cars going slowly by outside my window.

I live in California, but, like, wayyyyy up where it snows. Near the Sierra Nevada. So, it's snowing. Which I actually love. The cold of winter gives me a refreshing feeling, a certain energy that comes with the raw temperatures.

I get up eventually, willing myself to get ready for school. After getting dressed as quickly as I can to avoid being exposed to the cold any longer than necessary, I pull my soft, forest green hoodie over my head and it immediately  warms my cold skin.

My feet pad gently on the wooden floors as I head to the island of our kitchen with my bowl of cereal, plopping down and starting to eat even though I'm not really hungry.

"Morning!" Mom chimes from the living room as she comes over and kisses my head. I turn to her and smile a tight-lipped smile, my mouth full of cereal.

"Morning," I say once I swallow. Mom looks at me for a few seconds, then tilts her head, the lines on her face deepening as her brows furrow a little in confusion.

"What?" I tilt my head right back at her.

"Your hair looks lighter than it did yesterday.. Or a few weeks ago. Did you get it colored?"

"No," I reply lightly, hopping off of my stool and walking to the circular mirror on the living room wall. My eyes look back at themselves as I stare at my reflection. Running a hand through my annoyingly straight hair, I realize that my mom is right. My hair is naturally golden, but it has definitely gotten lighter in the past few weeks. Even days. I shrug and turn on my heel, heading back to my meal and feeling my hair whip across my cheek.

"Yeah, I guess... Did Dad's hair start out gold? Maybe I got his hair."

I hear a scoff and look over at mom, spooning some more Cheerios into my mouth. She's frowning and looking at the ground, her blue eyes far away.

"Like you need any more of his traits. And no, it wasn't. He always had super blond hair."

I shake my head slightly at her response. The only traits I got from my mom was the brown tint to my blond hair and tan skin. My dad gave me my long, dark eyelashes, freckles dotted across my cheeks and nose, my lean build, my bright green eyes, and a lot of my facial features look like him. My mom has barely given him a thought since he left us when I was 5 and never came back. Never even called or wrote to us. It's like he just up and disappeared. But I'm 17 now. I can live with that fact. I think it's still hard on mom.

My spoon scrapes out the remaining mushy cereal into the trash and I head upstairs, leaving whatever hovering, unsaid words between us to disintegrate in the air.

-

The school day passes slowly, each class just as boring as the last. Recently I've become very bored with my classes, although I have no clue why. I still laugh and have fun with my friends. It's just that every day feels the same.