Colina, light of my life, ink of my pen. My sin, my Queen. Co-lee-na: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Co. Lee. na. She was Co, plain Co, in the morning, standing four feet eleven in a striped neon sock. She was Cola in converse. She was Colly at school. She was Colinaphen on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Colina. Did she have a precursor? She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Colina at all had I not loved, one year, an initial girl-child. In a rural farm by a river bank, a murderous rope dangleing on a tree branch above. Oh when? About as many years before Colina was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns.

Leslie trotted into my life briefly, each soft step as graceful as a little nymphet like herself could make it. She was a crafter of the imagination with hair like straw in the sunlight. She had eyes as blue as the paint in the set she gave me for my thirteenth birthday; as blue as the murkey water that drowned her.

Leslie and I were destined, yet I didn't see it until it was far too late. Another pair of saphire eyes, much like hers had bewitched my mind. A woman much older, Ms. Edmunds. Long ebony hair that fell upon her fragile shoulders and her pale skin glowing like an angel in itself. She was likely a Nymphet in her school days, transforming into her original self with age and using the powers she had left to suck me in. Working for the treturous theives.

I was a faunlet in my own right and look at me. Look at what I have become. A predator. A terror who will not rest until he has his craving fulfilled. I now am aware of the trap that the seraphs set up for me. They muddled my mind and rearranged my very focus so that I wouldn't notice as my Leslie was stolen from this life of mine, this life that I am stuck enduring before we can be reunited.

It took years of failed candidates, to find a replacement suitable; but I had my fair share of possible Queens. Ones that I could take with me to the woods, to the treehouse where Leslie and I once played. I had taken a girl-child named Nichole who reminded me of my past love. She had many of the characteristics of a Terabithian Queen. There was first the large eyes of blue. Then the creative flare of clothing that caught my eye. She wore layers of color, similar to my Leslie's and she had a dash of her charisma and charm; but she failed in one respect. She was no leader. She quaked in fear, peading me to take her from the magical land. I suppose she lacked imagination. I drowned her at dawn.

I disposed of all the failed queens over the years. If none were a match of my Leslie, I would dispose of them in a heartbeat. I chose drowning, because no Queen left Terabithia alive if they were still an adolecent. Not under my watch, I was the king.

Maybelle was the last Queen, but she grew up. I allowed her to move on freely. She was my sister. Not my Queen. She could have invited her own king for romantic purposes, her own masculine version of Leslie. She had a few prince's in her school days. I didn't mine. I asked her to stay so that she could help rule the land, but she declined saying that the game was over and told me that I should move on. I asked for her return on my thirtieth birthday, alas she again rejected the idea and suggested I seek therapy. She lived only because she was my flesh and blood.

It was when I met Colina that I knew. I knew that she was the one. I was working at the art museum. The one that I attended on that fateful day with Ms. Edmunds. My job was to watch and make sure no items were stolen. I liked to look at the art, even though it made me sob quietly everytime I saw an artifact that had been there on the day of Leslie's death. The pain was too much sometimes.

I spotted Colina by an ancient model of swords. They were so well crafted that they looked real down to the gleam of the blade, when they were simply crafted out of paint and styrophome. Very impressive. I hoped to one day add my own work here if I could muck up the courage.

Colina had taken it upon herself to pick up a sword, despite the sign's deliberate letters:

DO NOT TOUCH

I was not entranced by her just yet. I was too miffed that she had shown no regard to the rules of the museum. This was a sacred place and she needed to know her boundries. I swiftly made my way over to the little rat of a girl, snatching her arm in my hold so she could not move it. She looked up at me with frightened bambie eyes of blue. I glared down into them with a harsh fire of fury. But, lo and behold, I ended up melting myself.

One would think it cliche' to fall in mere seconds, simply by a pair of eyes. Yet, here I was. I could see Leslie within them. This girl had chin length hair of jet black with a fringe that fell slightly above her soft brows. Her features were innocent and tender, like Leslie's. She looked strikingly similar. It was a pain like no other, but it was paradise as well.

"I-I'm sorry, Sir!" The girl spoke with a tremble in her tone. '"I was just looking, is all!"

I smiled a little, while remaining firm and still keeping her small arm in my hand. She was taller and lankier than my Les, but she was still perfect in her own right. I couldn't take my eyes off of her.

"Well, looking and touching are two different things." I told her, releasing her arm and lowering my hand to my side. She looked on the verge of tears, her puppy dog eyes resembleing Leslie's the day she had gone to console Janice Avery in the girls restroom at school.

"What is your name?" I found myself asking.

"Colinaphen." She answered, still weary.

"Colinaphen." I repeated in a hushed voice. The name rolled off my tounge so sweetly. "I'm Mr. Aarons, but you can call me Jess."

Colinaphen swallowed with a little nod. She looked as though she would rather be anywhere but that museum. I scanned her over. Her style was what I wanted to see. She wore a tee shirt with dark purple and black stripes along it and a pair of black leggings under a jean skirt. and combat boots. On her neck was a black choker necklace with a silver C dandling from it. She had spunk. Not as far fetched as my Queen's, but she still seemed to have a very rich and creative wardrobe.

"Are you parents with you?" I boldly asked. I looked around curiously.

"Yes." Colinaphen looked up at me with pleading eyes, "Please don't tell them I was messing with the swords. They told me not to."

Jess chuckled ruefully, "Then why, may I ask, did you do it anyway?"

Colinaphen's mouth twitched slightly into a half grin and she said with enthuiasm. "'Cause I'm a warrior princess!"

My heart swelled and I returned her smile. "I think you're more suitable for a Queen."