Violet Sinclair stares at the ceiling in her room. Her parents, when they’re around, barely acknowledge her existence. She rarely leaves her room, only to go downstairs to make instant oatmeal with the sugar dinosaurs in it.
One day, no different than any other, Violet began to feel faint.
She sits on her bed, trying to read her book, while the silk curtains drift slowly in the wind. She’s fatigued, but she’s not sure if she’s catching a cold or if it’s because she’s hungry. In the corner of her room, her Himalayan salt lamp quietly sits.
The words begin to rearrange themselves. Violet rubs her eyes. What? The words begin to say something.
She blinks. “Uhm, hi.”
The words move again.
“I’m Mahogany, but you can call me Mahog. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too…” Violet says with trepidation.
“What’s going on here exactly?” she says.
“Well, I’m here because you called me.” Mahog replies. “You need to be reminded.”
“Reminded of what?”
“Of the truth, of course! You can’t go around not knowing forever!”
Violet stares at the book, her right eye squinting with confusion.
“When was the last time you saw the sun?” Mahog asked Violet.
“This morning, when I opened my window.” she replied.
“No, I’m not asking about the last time you saw the sun with your eyes. I’m asking when the last time was when you embraced its warmth, and understood its significance.”
“Oh.” Violet says. “Well…a while I suppose.”
The book sits for a minute, with no motion. Then, the text begins moving again.
“Do you have magic in your world?” Mahog asks.
“Well no, I don’t suppose so. To me this world is a rather dreary place.” Violet responds.
“Of course it seems dreary! Your entire world is within these four dark walls. If you step outside, I promise you’ll find something that inspires you. Go to the place where the sun touches and try and find the edge. Then I want you to tell me if magic exists in your world.” Mahog replies.
“But how do I get there?” Violet asks.
“Turn the page!” Mahog replies.
As she turns the page, a metal locket falls on her lap. She notices a switch on the right, and opens it. On the inside is a compass. And on the door of the locket, there is an inscription. True North it says.
Violet flips back to the page where Mahog lives. “What do I do with this?” she asks.
There is no reply. The words have rearranged themselves into their normal position. After waiting few more minutes to be sure, Violet dog ears the page.
Violet stands, puts the book and compass in her backpack, walks down to the kitchen, and puts 4 instant oatmeal packs in the front pocket. She walks through the living room to get to the front door. Her mother sits on the couch, her eyes glued on the TV.
“Bye, mum.” Violet mutters, as she steps onto the front door and closes the door behind her.
After Violet left for her adventure, the quietness of her room was only slightly more noticeable than usual. The curtains continue to drift slowly in the wind, the bed neatly made.
And in the corner of her room, her Himalayan salt lamp quietly sits.