The girl had a dream.

She dreamt that she was a butterfly with silver wings that landed on a beautiful rice paper lantern whose flame mirrored that of her soul.

When she woke, she wasn’t sure whether she was a butterfly dreaming that she was a girl, or whether she was a girl dreaming that she was a butterfly.

In the morning they met with the leader. He was a clean-shaven man with slick hair and a military-grade smile. He sounded like the upbeat drum line of a marching band.

“A pleasure to meet you,” he said. His words were clean and sharp, like the light ding of a triangle.

“We are seeking a mirror that grants wishes,” said the girl, her soul-flame dancing around her with faint echoes of silver.

The young leader inclined his head. “We have heard of such a mirror,” he said, “and sought it, to no avail. I am afraid we cannot help you there.” He glanced at the dancing flames, which turned one shade darker. “May I hear what you wish?” he said. “We may be able to help you there.”

“We wish to see the ocean,” said the girl.

“I wish to see as she sees,” said the boy.

“I wish to hear as he hears,” said the girl.

The young leader inclined his head once more.

“Allow me to take you on a tour,” he said.

They followed him, descending through winding staircases and long corridors.

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“We have a girl who can float up into the air as she turns her palms,” he said as they walked. “And soar through the skies to anywhere she wills. She can take you two to the ocean in a jiffy.” His eyes glittered with pride as he spoke.

The girl squeezed the boy’s hand.

The boy heard blends of all sorts of sounds up ahead, past the deep velvet of the walls. There was the regular undulating of an accordion, the blaze of fire, the bright plucking of a harp, all jumbled up but faint, as though muffled by cotton.

“These are the training grounds,” said the leader.

The girl saw several children, some younger, some older than her, but she could not make out what they were doing. One boy appeared to be focusing intently, another was doing something with his hands, meanwhile a girl appeared to not be doing anything at all. Beneath them was a giant chalk circle crossed with a triangle

“Do not enter the circle,” said the leader. “It’s a safety precaution we added recently, to prevent people from getting hurt.”

“What are they doing?” said the girl.

“Learning how to control and use their manifestations,” said the leader. He smiled quietly, and the boy heard confident low beats of a bass drum emanating from him. “We don’t lock people up here,” he said, before turning and leading them down another long hallway.

“Welcome to the laboratory,” said the young leader.

The boy was intrigued. He heard rows upon rows of little spheres brimming with sound. Some sounded angry, some sounded soft, and some sounded mysteriously beautiful.

The girl saw a cavern filled with vials and potions on shelves in the walls. Something bubbled in a cauldron separated from them by a thin wall of glass.

“Essences,” said the leader. “We’ve figured out a way to distill the essences of certain manifestations, and study them here.” He smiled proudly. “Of course, there are other things we study here as well, such as the art of healing and the art of recovery.” He walked up to the cauldron. “This is a new formula we are working on that may allow manifestations to be shared with others. The prototype ought to be complete in a few days.”

The girl felt a trickle of excitement, and the air around her crackled and buzzed as though filled with electricity. But at the same time she wondered.

If her feelings were distilled and shared again with someone else, then did they, in a way, become her?

Or did a part of her, perhaps, become them?