I was eight the first time I sneaked out of my house.
The tiny window at the back of the attic was just large enough for my child body to wriggle through. The ledges that framed the windows were just wide enough for my nimble feet. And I was just stupid enough to think that climbing tall trees meant I was perfectly capable of scaling down from the third story of a brownstone so I could go and collect rare flowers that only bloomed at night.
I was young and reckless.
Now I’m older…and apparently still reckless.
Moonlight streams in through the windows of the lunch nook. Somehow, the room I destroyed has already been put back together. A shiver wriggles up my spine and I wonder if it’s the phantom sensation of the elf magic that I know had to have been used to repair the damage, or if th
