THE FOUR REALMS

Eleven years earlier

Everyone tells you fairy tales are made up.

They’re wrong.

The real question isn’t if magic is real, it’s if you're brave enough to admit it.

The boy had chubby cheeks, his brown hair was curled at the tips and his eyes just shone enough color to look green. I smirked at his soft features and bundled myself tighter into the blanket.
The boy in question was my brother, he was eight and I was the ripe age of six. We huddled together under a quilted blanket my mother had made. The fabric was patchy and wasn’t the most comfortable. But it felt safe, like my mother herself had her arms around me, and that was good enough, at least right then.
The fire was warm on my face as I waited for my father. I inched closer to the fireplace. It was warm and made me feel like melting away.
As I glanced at my brother's face, the soft glow of the fire made him look as if he himself was on fire.
Patiently we waited under the blanket, my eyes going from my brother to the woman who was in the kitchen cleaning the dishes.
Her brown hair was pulled tightly back into a bun at the very tip of her head. My mother was a sharp woman, the kind that demanded attention.
She always hummed while doing the dishes. The same soft sweet tune every single time.

The creak of the door and the tick of the clock marked his arrival.
The man that walked through the door was lean, his glasses balanced precariously at the tip of his crooked nose and his sandy blonde hair was almost long enough to cover his green eyes.
Almost, but not quite.

Quietly I slipped out from under the blanket and into his warm arms. His big hands scooped me up and wrapped me in a gentle embrace.

My eyes settled on his face that was just inches from mine, my little fingers reached up and I touched the tip of his nose, “Boop.”
His green eyes lit up as he carried me over and sat me down next to my brother.


My father walked over to the big leather chair and huffed down onto his seat.
Just as my father finished taking off his mud soaked boots my mother drifted from the kitchen and sat herself right on his lap.
He kissed her softly and out of the corner of my eye, my brother made a disgusted face, I did too.
My mother shifted in the chair until her and my father were hip to hip.

“Who’s ready to hear a tale?” My father asked, putting his hands on his knees as he leaned forward.

I shot my hand up real excited. “Me!” My hand wiggled in the air before lazily slapping down on to my side. The smile I wore stretched from ear to ear.
“And how about you mister?” My mother pouted, putting her hands on her hips.
Her foot stretched from the chair and nudged my brother in the side, causing him to giggle. He nodded sharply still wearing a smile.


“Well here we go then.” My father said, returning my crooked smile with a straight one.
He clapped his hands together sharply before leaning back to wrap an arm around my mother.

“Now my dear this story is a very old tale, it’s about a town, a town that is named Avonee. Avonee wasn’t a regular town, no it was filled with magic.” His eyes widened to emphasize the word magic.
“And one hundred years ago, everybody disappeared, people say it was an illness that drove them out, but I? I think they all disappeared because of the orange moon an-”
I cut him off. “An orange moon? That’s not possible.”
Parker challenged me, “Yes huh, Gwen now be quiet so dad can finish the story.”
My mouth widened in shock. “Shut it Parker, an orange moon is not something that could be real.”
He made a face, “Well according to daddy it’s real, so that means it’s definitely real”
I rolled my eyes and humphed.
My mothers eyes gave us a condescending look, “You two done there?” She said pointedly, it wasn’t a question, it was a statement. Her way of saying ‘you two are done, and there will be no more.’
My eyes rolled back into my head before I gave her a curt nod, and he continued on.
“Where was I? Oh! The orange moon, right. Now, Gwen, as you were saying people couldn’t just disappear from an orange moon, right?” His finger twitched slightly towards me and I returned his question with a clean and simple nod.
“Well the orange moon wasn’t all there was, legend says that the orange moon bore a powerful white smoke called mist and that’s what caused the people to all mysteriously disappear. But it remains a mystery.” His head tilted to the side as if to ask if we had any questions.
I did.
“That’s it?” Surely that wasn’t all. I anticipated more to the tale. More for my little brain to process, but no.

“Well dear, sometimes on nights like tonight you can see the tiniest hints of orange in the moon, and sometimes I think maybe this story is real.”

My eyes widened, real? I shared a look with my brother. I couldn’t quite decide if what I was listening to was real. I knew that ghost towns probably existed, but for forty seven people to just disappear with one clean poof, that was impossible.
“And dear one day I’m going to find out what happened to those people.” My mouth gaped open and just about as I was going to ask him how on earth he was going to do that my mother interfered.
“Alright kiddos, it's time for bed.”

I would’ve whined if I still weren’t in shock.
I leaned slightly over to my brother to whisper something in his ear. “You think he’s telling the truth?” All I got in response was a wide eyed nod.


I knew my father was a wanderer but even that seemed a little farfetched for him.
I mean back then I’d thought my father was just telling us bed time stories. I had no idea he was actually telling the truth.

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