Page 83 of Barbie: Dreamscape

If I’m not painting, I’m usually here, trying to find my magic. But there’s no pressure. No rush.

“Barbie!”

I turn to see Clover, a girl with curly red hair and tan skin. She’s been struggling to find her center of magic for a little longer than I have.

“You’ll never guess what happened!” she says.

“You found your center?”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. “Oh. You guessed.”

“That’s incredible!” I say, throwing my arms around her. “I’m so happy for you.” And I am. She’s worked hard, doing breathing exercises from early morning until noon, most days.

“You’ll get it, too,” Clover reassures me. “Something just… clicked. Like a key in a lock. I’m telling you, it’ll happen for you, too.”

I’m hoping it does. But I also don’t feel shame and worry that it hasn’t, not like I used to feel if I couldn’t get something right on the first try or, even worse, if I failed.

Because in Dreamland, there are always second chances. Choices can be made—then changed. There are no strict guidelines. There’s room for everyone on every team and in every profession. There’s no competition. You’re just… free.

Free to be completely and wholly and infinitely happy.

Negative thoughts slip through my mind the second I think them. The outrage I felt toward Robin when I first learned the truth about my mother’s past and the Fates has dissipated to just a hum under my skin, something itching beneath the surface that scurries away whenever I try to claim it. Or even missing Callie, which I did desperately at first… It all just falls away into a big vat of happiness and cheer and joy and celebrations.

Not just figurative celebrating, either—literal celebrations happen every single day in the town square.

And I mean: Every. Single. Day.

That evening, I’m there, smiling just like everyone around me.

“What are we celebrating this time?” I ask, confetti stuck in my hair, colorful balloons whirling overhead, spinning in a hypnotic ring. A plate of pink cake with thick magenta icing appears out of nowhere and is placed in my hands.

“Everything!” the woman next to me exclaims, and okay! I chew my cake, the sugar melting away any questions or doubt.

The next morning, I stroll over to the training grounds to see Clover holding a glowing comb. She sticks it in her hair… and her red strands tumble into all different sorts of shapes, then streams of gold, then liquid magic.

“I sparked!” Clover squeals when she sees me. “It was amazing, Barbie. The Treasure Trove, it’s—it’s so… I don’t know. Amazing?! There were so many accessories to choose from!”

As thrilled as I am for Clover, as I watch her tresses magically grow and transform, as she brushes one of my own strands and it turns bright pink, a glimmer of disappointment forms in my chest that I still haven’t summoned my magic.

But the thought is snuffed out as soon as it forms.

I’ll get there.

Everyone always does.

And I’m my mother’s daughter. She was one of the strongest wielders of magic. This power is in my blood.

I just have to stop blocking it.

A few hours later, I sit on the edge of the pink water the way I like to do and close my eyes. I do the same breathing exercises Lune taught me that first day. I take a deep breath, hold it… then release. Until my mind feels completely empty and calm. Until my troubles float away.

My body thrums, a new sense awakening. It’s gotten stronger with every day.

I grip my mother’s “B” charm, feeling the silver warm in my palm.

“I’m here, Mom,” I whisper. “I’m here where you grew up… I know about your past. I know you had magic.”

My throat thickens.