Milo

Milo was found on a far-off shelf, but his true place was always another: the rooms of the littlest ones. He's been a protector of children since before night-lights existed. He knows by heart the fears of that age — the wardrobe's shadow that looks like something else, the noise the house makes when the light goes out, that thing that surely lives under the bed — and he knows them because he's been chasing them off for centuries. He plants himself on a shelf holding his talisman tight: the red mushroom stands guard all night and the amethyst lets out calm slowly, like a lullaby with no sound. The fears see him there, steady in his tall cap, and turn around, because even fears respect Milo. The children don't know why they sleep soundly. Elves never tell their part.