Page 82 of Magical Moonbeam
And the fog didn’t answer.
Because it couldn’t.
Because it neverhad.
The memory of the mansion flickered behind my eyes, but I didn’t look back at it this time. Let it watch me leave, if it wanted. Let it report back.
I had my truth now.
And no matter what happened on Moonbeam’s Eve, no matter how he tried to twist the story or use the Veil or call to something ancient and cruel,I would know the difference between fear and control.
I turned toward the edge of the illusion, toward the place the magic thinned and the real world waited.
The air warmed as I approached, the ground firmer beneath my steps. Somewhere, I thought I heard a bird squawk faintly in the distance.
It grounded me. Pulled me back.
But before I crossed the Veil entirely, I paused once more.
The thought came so fast, I nearly laughed.
He can’t see me here because I’m not afraid.
It wasn’t bravery, exactly.
It was ownership.
And maybe that was the secret.
Maybe fear was the invitation.
And I was finally,finallylearning how to revoke it.
The fog curled low along the crooked street, a hushed breath held too long. My boots clicked softly on uneven stone as I wandered past the first shop front.
Its windows were smeared with the kind of soot that didn’t come from time but from something more intentional and unsettling.
I leaned in cautiously, my breath fogging the already-clouded glass. Inside, shelves slouched beneath the weight of forgotten wares—glass bottles with faded labels, empty birdcages, jars of what might have once been fruit preserves but now looked like curdled shadow.
A faint light flickered in the back of the shop, a lantern swinging on an invisible hook. It wasn’t the cozy flicker of flame but the pale, blue-tinged shimmer of magic that had gone too long untended.
I straightened and moved to the next building.
Its sign was hanging by a single nail, swaying slightly despite the stillness of the air.Needle & Bone,the carved wood read. Thelettering had a strange gleam to it, as if someone had pressed something silver into the grooves and it hadn’t quite dried.
The windows here were clearer, though the interior was anything but.
Mannequins stood in tight rows, their heads tilted just a fraction too far, like they’d turned to listen and forgot to turn back. Bolts of cloth were unspooling on the floor, forming strange spirals that reminded me of crop circles. A single sewing needle hovered midair in the back corner, slowly rotating like it hadn’t realized time had passed.
I shivered.
This wasn’t just an illusion. This was memory. Echo. Impression.
A place trying to convince itself it was still real.
The next building had no door, just a yawning black archway with vines grown thick around the edges. I took a cautious step back. No sign. No windows. Just… dark.
I wasn’t ready to explore that one.
