Disclaimer: Neil Gaiman and Some Other Guy Called Dave (Methinks) own this. So does Kermit. I am not Kermit. Nor am I Neil Gaiman, or even Some Other Guy Called Dave. I know it's easy to be fooled nowadays, but NO. I am turkey. I live in Wales. Live long and prosper, my friends.

A/N: First Mirrormask fanfic. This came into being because there should be more Mirrormask-y goodness in the world.

She stares at the wall.

Someone once told me that the scariest dreams are the ones you don't want to wake up from.

She rebuilt it, after it had been ravaged by the other girl's anger.

He then went on to tell me that he used to have nightmares about baking cakes for hours and then never getting to eat them.

It had now been shifted into her trailer, and had grown like a striking black and white ivy with ink faces as flowers blossoming along its run; all the way around the walls of her circus bedroom.

He said the cakes had little butterflies on them.

Her favourite spot to sit and stare is on her bed, facing a wall filled with what she thinks of as an entertainment district. She hopes he likes it.

He never made much sense for very long. I didn't really mind though, no matter how much I tried to pretend to.

She purposely didn't ink in any jugglers; she thinks he would prefer to be a novelty act. She enjoyed drawing the All-You-Can-Eat Stand, though.

Sometimes things he said come back to me and hit me in the face; things that are usually triggered by things I see.

She could stare at that wall for hours. And she does; watching over her creation and willing it to move and prove to her that she's not insane, or stupid, or that it wasn't all a dream.

Mum wonders why I don't like watching Uno and Miette's best act anymore. It's the one where they strap wheels to the bottom of their feet and roll around.

It's not pining, because she's not the pining type. That word is so…feminine. And weak and whiny. It sounds like something one would find in a watery romance novel.

I don't miss him.

Her life isn't a romance novel, it never has been.

I can't, he's still here. All over my wall.

She only drew him so she would remember.

I only wanted to remember him because then I'd know it wasn't a dream.

She remembers how clear that face was.

He's my proof. And if I want to draw him an entertainment district and nice food and fields to land his tower in then I can.

While that face smiles back at her from the walls, she knows it wasn't a dream.

If I want to stare at my wall pointlessly I can.

The wall is staring back.