The Sphinx Who Forgot How to Smile

Lily was running through her backyard on a Tuesday afternoon when she discovered something impossible. Behind the old oak tree, where nothing but weeds and dandelions usually grew, sat a sphinx.

Not a statue. A real, live sphinx.

He was small—only the size of a garden gnome—with golden fur and wings the color of sunset. But instead of looking proud and mysterious like the sphinxes in Lily's storybooks, this one looked lonely. His wings drooped, and his bottom lip stuck out in a pout.

"Hello?" Lily whispered.

The sphinx jumped. His emerald eyes went wide. "You can see me?"

"I think so," Lily said. "Are you real?"

The sphinx sighed, and when he spoke, his voice sounded like wind chimes. "I'm supposed to be magnificent and terrifying. I'm supposed to guard treasures and ask impossible riddles. But I'm too small. The other sphinxes laughed at me and sent me away."

"That's terrible," Lily said, sitting cross-legged in the grass. "I'm Lily. What's your name?"

"Sunny."

"Well, Sunny, would you like to be my friend instead?"

Sunny's wings perked up. "Friend? But I'm not magnificent enough for friends."

"Friends don't need to be magnificent," Lily said. "They just need to be kind. Want to see my favorite tree?"

She was running toward the oak tree when Sunny fluttered after her, his sunset wings catching the light. They spent the afternoon making dandelion crowns and playing hide-and-seek among the garden gnomes.

By sunset, Sunny wasn't lonely anymore. And Lily had discovered something magical: sometimes the best treasures aren't gold or jewels. Sometimes they're just a friend who sees you when you feel invisible.

Sunny forgot about being magnificent. He was too busy being happy.