Made Different

Seymour's Perspective

I had been told all my life that, out of all of us that lived by that pond, I was the most different. Every time I asked what was so different about me, I got a different answer. 


Some were very superficial. They said my eyes were too far apart, and it made me look less threatening. Or that my belly was too round. Or that my head was full of lumps.


I could not help this. If possessing threatening looks is a good thing, I am glad my appearance is "bad". People do not want to be friends with someone who looks surly all the time. At least, I wouldn't want to be. 


Some said I had no good sense about me. That my head was in the air far too often. I am a dreamer. To get away from this pond and its judging eyes is my greatest dream. I want to see new places, and find a home where I am accepted. Anyone with good sense would not blame me for dreaming such a dream.


Others said I was too friendly, and that it was hard to take me seriously. That I was too curious about the fae folk. I was told to be cautious, and to not go near them. 


I didn't listen though. If I was as different as they made me out to be, I figured there was nothing I could do about it. Heeding their advice would not make them like me any more, or any less.


And so, when I started hearing that voice pleading for help from across the pond, I ignored the others around me. The ones that had called me different, and made me an outcast, begged me not to go. 


"It's all in your head!" 

"No one is calling out you."

"You're a fool!"


Why would I listen? Someone wants me to help them. Someone needs me. 


So, I crossed the pond. Though I nearly ran out of breath as I swam, I knew I must persist. This is what finding your calling must feel like. An impending storm that you want to face head on. A question that you've known the answer to all your life. Finally unlocking the door in which your key fits. I could not reach the shore fast enough; I could not leave that life behind quick enough. 


Heaving, I threw myself upon the shore. Just as I had known, she was sitting there in the reeds, all alone. Crying and afraid, my heart sank for her. 


Still, my enthusiasm got the best of me, and I crashed through the tall grass, startling her. She threw her covers over her head. I paused, then approached more gently. Peeking out, I caught a glimpse of her face in the starlight. 


She was not fae folk, as I expected her to be. She was entirely new. Entirely different. Just like me.


She spoke to me; asked me a question I didn't understand. Though everything was foreign to me, she made me feel welcome. 


For the first time, I glowed. 


And my glow comforted her. I made her feel safe. So safe, she was able to sleep. 


As I sat there, watching her rest, I vowed that I would not leave her side until I knew she would be safe. And I could see those who were eyeing her from afar. She would not be safe for a long while.


When she woke, she fed me, and gave me a new name. A name that I love. A name that was given to me out of love. 


She held me close and called me friend. We traveled far and wide together. We saw mountains, seaside, and great palaces. I gave her my light. She gave hers not only to me, but to everyone she met. Her light brightened even the darkest places.


Once she was safe, I knew I would have to let her go. But I did not mind. In the end, I know I will see her again. Because she is the reason that I was made different.

From the perspective of Seymour, a character in my first book who often does not have much to say.