There was a garden in the distance, a beautiful garden filled with colorful flowers and floating orbs of light. In the middle of the garden sat a stone bench, and on that bench, a girl. The girl was maybe six years old, strawberry blonde hair straight to her chin and blue eyes lit with excitement. The garden was her sanctuary, a place where she could go for an escape from life.

This was no average garden. This was a place where anything could happen; fairies could dance upon her palm, dragons could soar above her, knights could test their skill. It was a magical place where the little girl felt comfortable, even a little brave. She could dance with the fairies, ride the dragon high in the sky, battle the most fearsome knights to ever cross her path. The garden could grow plants that glowed, flowers that spoke, and trees that literally sang in the wind. The garden was a place of dreams.

She opened her eyes and instantly was slammed with disappointment. Here she was, not brave or in any way extraordinary, and no longer a child. She was fifteen, with homework and college-level classes, with no one she could trust and nothing she had to risk. More importantly, there was nothing to risk it on.

Still, she held firmly onto the hope that some day, she would have a real adventure. Not just something she reads in a book, though once that was enough. She gripped that hope that she would one day be the book, going on adventures she had never imagined. She hoped that one day, she would be something.