Katie sat on a swing and watched as Max Evans paced in front of her. All he could see was a small girl, silver-blue hair falling all around her. Her eyes were wide and green to him, and her voice was small and terrified. "Maxie," she said softly, "Maxie come swing with me. I'll help you remember."

He looked at the girl, she was so innocent, he remembered her, but from where?

"Ok," he said, sitting on the swing next to her. Seeing small feet clad in Mary-Janes dangling above the ground instead of larger ones wearing heeled platform boots resting idly in the sand. He didn't see the dark denim that ran up the legs attached to the feet, but a pair of white stockings that led up to a pleated plain skirt. A white button up blouse took the place of the red strappy tank top the girl wore. Long silver-blue hair in place of short, untamed blonde. The eyes were the same though.

The eyes were always the same, no matter which keeper superimposed its image upon that of the lonely girl. They were always the same, because despite the difference in appearance, all three keepers were the same woman.

"Why can't I remember?" he asked quietly.

"You aren't meant to just yet, Maxie, you can't. Because you live behind glass walls and no one can tear them down but you."

"You can," he said quietly, "Liz could…"

"No, Liz built them up, adding layer after layer, trying to tell you things you know in your soul aren't true. That despite your differences, despite the fact that you're from another planet," this she scoffed, for the notion was completely absurd, "despite everything that fate has put between the two of you," she paused, taking a breath for emphasis of her coming point. "Despite all that, you were meant to be."

"I think she's right."

"She's not Maxie, you know it, deep down within you, you know why, too. You know, you just don't know it yet."

"Why do you keep saying that?" he said sadly, "why can’t you ever give a straight answer?"

"Because I'm like the butterfly," she smiled, "all butterflies know are songs and poetry and anything else they hear," she sighed, almost sadly. "They always mean well, but fly away before you learn anything about them."

Laughter filled the small playground; it was the sad, doleful laughter of a child dying inside. It was horrid, and made Max want to get up and run, far and fast, anywhere that soul wrenching laugh wasn't.

"Is that what you are then?" he asked, after the laugh had faded away on the wind, "a butterfly?"

"To some," she said with a little half-shrug. "To some I'm a wild stallion, or a white mare, a unicorn, a dragon, phoenix, lion, lamb, serpent, stag, goddess, demon…" she trailed off.

"How can you be so many things?" he asked skeptically.

"I'm not. I am what I am, you see me as one thing, they see me as one thing, and I see me as one thing, never the same. Always changing," she said enigmatically.

"From what?"

"One thing to another, flower to flower, day to day, life to life. I'll be here one minute," she smiled up at him before she stood up slowly and walked away. "And gone the next."

As she walked she still looked as if she was fading out of sight. Max stood, trying to stop her from going. "I don't understand you!" he called after her.

She laughed, that same, hollow laugh that made his soul burn and his stomach turn inside out. "You do, Maxie," she said, without looking back. "You just don't know it yet."

"What does that mean?" he moaned, pleading with her.

"Glass is stronger than truth, Maxie," she said sadly, still walking away.

"I don't understand!" he cried, tears of frustration forcing their way to the fore. "HELP ME!!" he shouted forlornly, "if you ever had any soul at all help me to understand!"

The little girl sighed, "listen, Maxie," she said in a hushed tone.

He looked around, "Listen to what?" he asked in an equally soft tone. She didn't respond, "listen to what?" he demanded.

"Listen," she said sadly, desperately. When he looked all around him (for she had fully disappeared by then) she sighed, and called out to him with abandon, "no, no, don't listen to me!" he voice was strained, almost weeping. "Listen!"

It had been a last cry for hope, but nothing came of it. Max Evans sat on the swing set and listened to everything around him…