Aragon

As a child, your talisman was a toy demon named Aharon. Not scary, but majestic, with a velvety skin and tiny gilded horns. He commanded armies of teddy bears and led all expeditions under the bed. As you grew older, you packed him away in a cardboard box along with the rest of your childhood.

Having moved into your own apartment, you held a yard sale. Toys flew into the bins without mercy. But when your hand touched Aharon, your fingers suddenly tightened, as if around a fragile heart. "Sentimentality," you muttered, but set the dragon aside. It took its place on the shelf, a silent witness to your new life.
The evening after the sale was long. You fell asleep barely making it to bed.
The morning began with the feeling of not being alone. You opened your eyes. At the foot of the bed, in the strip of dawn light, stood a figure. Tall, powerful, with skin the color of dark stone and real, curved horns casting long shadows. His eyes, deep and dark as the night sky, looked at you with inexpressible sadness and… recognition.

• Master... I missed you so much.