Mella’d always wished for an adventure. Her childhood had been full of wooden swords and dress-up capes. She’d daydreamed about finding a genie’s lamp and wishing on it-I want a friend, I want a million dollars, I want an adventure like the ones in my books. It was funny, really, that so often she’d put a box of matches or a mirror or an old tape recorder in her backpack, thinking, just in case. She’d stopped doing that in seventh grade, but she’d never stopped hoping. Dreaming. Wishing.
And now it was happening, really happening. Not the way she’d thought, but details didn’t matter. Yes, it hurt that she wasn’t the Hero, wasn’t the one Chosen by Fate to save the world. But who was she to complain? Magic was real. Unicorns were real, other worlds and prophecies and magic swords were all real, even if she didn’t truly have a place there. Even if it was only luck that she had been dragged along.
Years of wishing and reading and dreaming had led to this. She would make the most of it.