Page 57 of Gift from the Tree

“You’re going to be fine,” he says in a soft, smooth tone that sends chill bumps spreading down my body and heat in my lower belly. All I can do is nod at him. My mind and body are in such a tizzy right now, I can’t form any words. Tucking a piece of hair behind my ear, he lets go of my chin, gives me a nod in return, then poof, he’s gone too.

Shaking my hands out, releasing some of the nervous tension that’s starting to build up, I seek out Gaster and find him looking at me with understanding eyes. “They can be a bit much, those boys.”

“Tell me about it,” I grumble and roll my eyes. I’m being so ridiculous right now.

“Ready to go?” Gaster asks, holding his elbow out for me.

“Fuck yeah.” Fake it till you make it. I hear Gaster laugh at me as we enter the darkness.

No turning back now.

“Gaster, look at all of this,” I say as I touch everything in his office, which is also the archives. It’s like standing in the middle of a small museum. There are books, parchments, strange skeletons, rocks, gems, and so much more. It’s absolutely amazing.

“There must be thousands of years’ worth of history in here. And you’re right above the library,” I say, pressing my face against the window that shows the largest library I’ve ever seen below.

“So you like it,” Gaster says, beaming with approval.

“Like it? I love it. I thought my little library in my room was impressive. I could stay here forever and pore over all of this.”

“Wonderful. I’m glad you’ll enjoy this space. I have something for you,” he says like it’s nothing that he continues to gift me things.

“What? No, Gaster, you already gave me an entire wardrobe and so much more. I can’t accept any more gifts,” I tell him sincerely. It’s difficult to continue accepting gifts when I’m so unused to it, but I won’t lie and say I don’t secretly love it.

“Nonsense and I had help, a lot of help, with the wardrobe, I swear it. Entertain an old man and let me spoil you. It’s nice to have someone appreciate what I make as much as you do.”

The sincerity in his voice forces me to fight back tears and lessens my guilt over being selfishly in love with all the things I’ve been given.

Fuck, why am I so emotional today?

“Okay, Gaster, let me have my gift then.” I sniffle as I close my eyes and hold out my hands. I can hear him laugh as he moves around the room before placing what feels like a book in my hands.

Opening my eyes, I stare down at a vintage leather-bound journal that’s been dyed purple and my name’s carved in the bottom right corner. Clearing the emotion from my throat, I run my fingers down the spine, then slowly trace my name before unhooking the leather strings and unbuttoning the cover. The pages look like the same parchment paper decorating Gaster’s office but are blank, begging for ink to cover them.

“It’s so beautiful, Gaster,” I choke out.

“It’s for you to keep notes, write your enchantments, or really whatever you want to write down, you can. There’s more to it, though, that I need to show you,” Gaster says as he holds his hand out for the journal. I don’t want to give it over, but I also want to see what he has to show me.

“I want you to close your eyes and try to locate your magic. It’s a little different than pinpointing your air element, as your element is in one spot in your chest. You said it reminds you of a rope. Well, your magic is going to be larger than that. Take a moment to think of the things you’ve learned that we all can do. Enchantments, transport, spells, and so on. You might not know how to do any of that yet but think of the things you’ve seen happen around you so far,” he instructs as he places the journal down on the desk in front of me, closing it back and retying the strings carefully.

Closing my eyes, I think of all the things he described. How the guys just can poof out of existence, when he spoke in a different language to try to open my Memoria stone, how it’ll only open if I sing my lullaby. After a few minutes of nothing, I get discouraged.

I grab my stone and begin singing in my mind, hoping maybe this time it’ll show me something that’ll help. As soon as the stone begins to heat within my hand, I smile.

Come on, don’t let me down now, show me.

The familiar flash of light beams behind my eyes, and I’m thrown straight into a memory. I remember this purple dress. It was one of my favorite ones. I wore it all the time. Well, for the short amount of time it fit. It was lying on my bed for me when I woke up on my fourteenth birthday. I never knew who gave it to me, but I have an idea now.

“Focus, Willow.”

“I am focusing,” I argue, stomping my foot.

“No, you’re pouting.”

“Damn it.”

“Language, missy,” my stranger playfully scolds me. There’s no heat behind their words, and by the way I smirk up at them, I knew that.

“You say bad words all the time.”

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