"Sometimes I just want to take a step backwards off of the flat, flat world," the girl said to no one in particular. She was alone, lying under the newly shorn tree that had once been so glorious. It was broken now, like everything else. It had no glitter. The tree shook its limbs valiantly and only a few dead leaves fell into her hair. The tree hung its branches low. It had meant to tremble flowers.

The girl didn't notice the dead leaves, or the creeping spider that had landed in her hair as well. She was busy staring into nothing. The spider perched in her hair, fancying itself a butterfly. This wasn't to be so.

The girl rolled onto her back, sighing as she noticed the blue piece of chewing gum stuck to the tree's bark. "They've gotten you, too," she said, and the tree nodded, although neither had any idea who 'they' were or what exactly they had done. The girl stood up then, which was unfortunate because the spider chose that moment to leap from her hair, flapping his eight legs furiously as a butterfly would. The wind sent it spiraling into the chewing gum, still faintly sticky, and three of its legs were held fast. It dangled and struggled and pulled, then hung limply. It contemplated its fate, wondering if it had the courage to pull the three legs off in order to save the other five.

The tree was merciful. It slapped a long branch against the gum with a smack. The girl noticed none of this, just concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other as she walked away. Her body left no imprint in the grass where she had been lying. Her footsteps didn't make a sound. Nobody saw her as she floated by, brown leaves falling from her hair.

Once again, the tree wished for flowers.

She fell asleep on the floor of her apartment, watching for a mouse to pop out of the hole in the baseboards. In truth there was no mouse, and she knew this, but perhaps if she hoped with enough fervor it would come to pass. In her dream a flood came and swept her away. She watched her hair sway like seaweed, in its element like it belonged to a nymph. She turned to face herself and smiled.

"I don't want to surface," she said, and promptly drowned.

She watched the tide pull her along, her fingers loose and relaxed, her curious dead eyes the same color as the sea. She briefly worried that the floating, swirling white dress that she was wearing had pushed up so far that it was exposing too much pale thigh, but dismissed that thought easily. The sea can be a gentle lover when it wishes, and really, what's a little leg? She felt envious watching her empty body spin lazily in the current.

"Well, I don't want to surface, either," she thought, but she did, waking up cold and stiff on her kitchen floor. The mouse still hadn't been wished into being, no matter how many crackers she had placed in front of the hole. Maybe tonight she would learn to pray.

She slipped on a soft robe and sank down into the chair at the vanity. She pulled the pins out of her hair and tossed them into a bowl before picking up her brush. She had scarcely brushed a stroke when her eyes caught somebody else's in the mirror.

"It's you," she said.

"It's me."

He took the brush out of her hand and went to work on her hair. She sat quietly while he did this, wondering vaguely if he had simply walked through the wall as he usually did.

"Yes," he said.

"I thought so."

Her hair began to shine. The leaves and cobwebs fell out of it and hit the floor with the sound of chimes. She thought of stars.

"I might have a mouse," she said.

"Yes," he said again.

He came by every so often, leaning against the wall looking at the palms of his hands, not acknowledging her before leaving. She never remembered what he looked like when he was gone. She had never asked his name.

"It doesn't matter," he said.

No, it didn't.

He set the silver brush down and pulled her to her feet. Putting one hand on the back of her head, he kissed her.

She returned the kiss dutifully and without passion. She placed her hands on either side of his face, pressing her hands against the solid bone beneath his skin. She traced the features of his skull with her fingers, and her skin shimmered and passed through like fog.
The girl took a step back in vague surprise. He took a deep breath, and a swirl of vapor left her body and passed through his lips, down into his lungs. She felt that part of herself disappear.

She dropped her transparent fingers from his face. "I don't like that you're solid and I'm not."

The man watched her with quiet eyes. "You didn't want to surface," he said.

Oh. That's right. Somehow she had forgotten.

Her eyebrows worked as she frowned. "But I don't want to disappear entirely," she said. She bit her lip, looking at the ground. "I want to still be here."

"Do you?"

Did she?

Her robe was too thin. She clutched at it, realized her hand was trembling. Her eyes met his, and she saw herself there.

"I don't know," she said honestly. Her fingers worried the soft fabric. It was too flimsy and yielding. She wanted to be dressed in crisp leaves and curls of bark. She wanted to sway under the sky. She reached out and felt the fabric of his shirt between her fingers. It was stiffer, more substantial. She imagined taking it and wrapping it around her. She looked away in case he could see what she was thinking.

"I always know what you're thinking."

She ran her fingers down his sleeve, slid them inside the cuffs with his hands. There was no warmth there. No coolness. Nothing at all.

"You don't really exist," she told him. His lips turned up slightly at the corners, but then it was gone. She took a step closer. "You are a figment of my imagination." She wanted to bite the underside of his jaw to prove that he wasn't really there, but she stopped herself.
His voice, as always, held no emotion. "Does thinking this make you feel better?"

She didn't know.

She turned from him and looked out of the window. The tree from earlier waved its branches at her happily. She timidly waved back. The tree caught a glimpse of the man behind her and suddenly snapped to attention. It held itself straight and proud, no leaf daring to drift from its branches.

The man stepped closer and pinned her arms to her sides. His mouth was close to her ear.

"I am more real than you are," he said. His breath made wisps of her hair flutter. She was not certain that her breath could do the same.

She thought about this. "Then I must not be very real at all." This thought didn't seem unpleasant.

He released her, started walking away. "You are as real as you want to be," he said. He turned and smiled at her then, and it was heartbreakingly lovely. "It's your choice, you know."

Her choice. Yes, she thought she liked that.

The man was fading, and soon there would be nothing left. She took a small step forward.

"I…think that I want to come with you." Her voice already sounded like the wind through the trees. "I want to see where you go. I want to see what you know."

He held out his hand. She could barely see the outline of it. "Come, then," he said. She reached for it, and this time his fingers felt warm and strong and substantial as they curled around hers.

Her robe collapsed into a silken pool on the ground. It was exactly right. Outside, the tree bowed deeply. Your majesty. Your majesty.