There was a place. A not so...happy place, but a place. A place is a nice thing to have. It's better than not having a place. Places are wonderful things to go to, wonderful things to be going from, and wonderful places to be. Places exist, just like people, and have as many different personalities. Tastes. Textures. Perspectives.
This place was a good place. As said before, it was not a happy place. But not all happy things are good, and not all good things are happy. It was a creative place. A dark place. A fantastical place. All in the eyes of a would-be child in a world of adults. Berating, beating down, questioning their every move. Questioning every action, every dream, every aspiration. Discouragement. Deception. Manipulation.
So this is why the place existed. It was not a happy place, but a good place. A distraction from the hateful world outside itself. But it was a place of illusion, and the soul who created it knew this, and that is why it was not happy. There was the illusion of happiness, but deep down, the child knew that it was not real. And the tears became the rivers, and the shudders earthquakes, and the cries thunder in the valleys.
It was an outlet for the child's imagination. Though the child knew it was not real, sometimes the illusion was enough for the young heart to follow. The child could do anything they wanted there, away from prying eyes. They could create. Flow. Dream. Build.
Be.
Whoever they wanted to be.
Whatever they wanted to be.

It was a beautiful place.
An escape.