Copyright © 2025 by Alice Brooks

This is a work of fiction. The people, events, circumstances and institutions depicted are fictitious and the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance of any character or any actual person, whether living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Published through KDP

Editing by Hannah G. Scheffer-Wentz, English Proper Editing Services. Interior designs made by @mgsdesiigns. Cover made by Alice Brooks through Canva.com.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission from the author or publisher, except as permitted by applicable copyright laws. This book and its contents may not be used for training artificial intelligence (AI) systems, data mining, or any machine learning purposes without explicit written permission from the author. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

Note: This book contains mentions and descriptions of multiple sensitive topics.

For a detailed list, please check the very last page of this book. If you are reading this in a reading sample without access to it, you can find the same list on my website

www.authoralicebrooks.com under the "my books" section.

You are free to avoid looking at that list if you want to steer clear of any spoilers.

The author may not be held accountable for any triggers that may not be disclosed in the list as those are only about the most noticeable or sensitive topics in the book.

For Ambra. Without you, this book wouldn't exist.

"Once upon a time, there was a young girl with hair as golden as the sunset and eyes as warm as honey. She was an ordinary girl; there wasn't a thing about her that stood out to others. She didn't mind it so much—she had people she loved and a good home to return to after a long day. But deep down, in the most hidden away corner of her heart, she was lonely. Even though she was adored by all those around her, nobody else experienced the visions like she did. Those visions that haunted her, that followed her anywhere she went. She knew that no one else had them, she knew that they weren't supposed to be there. The visions weren't scary. They were beautiful on the surface, often surrounded her in a sea of flowers—lilies, hyssop, hyacinths. The visions were warm, gentle, and safe. But they were off. Something about them was eerie, made the girl feel uneasy.

“But she couldn't stop them. She ignored them as well as she could, but over time, they became more intrusive. And soon, the girl learned that she could control these visions. She could lead them in any direction she wanted to, though within the limits of her imagination.

“The visions became stronger and stronger, and with the growing strength of her control over them came the slow, but steady loss of control over her own life. The girl knew that if she kept controlling her visions, she'd lose herself. She promised herself she was going to stop, and she was never going to tell anyone about them.

“It didn't work. She tried, but for too long had she allowed her mind to take over."

The banging on the door became louder, each knock a warning sign that my fear was far from being over. Mallory draped her arm around me and pulled me in closer. She flipped the page of the poorly bound-together pages colored with crayon and filled with uneven letters. My head came to a rest on her shoulder as she held me tight.

"What happens next?" I asked, even though I had heard the story a thousand and one times before.

My sister squeezed my arm, careful not to touch the bruises.

"Well," she said, "the girl tried harder and harder. She felt lost for a very long time, and it took all of her strength. But eventually, she was able to stop her visions. She took back control over her mind and she lived a long, happy life."

My sister closed the book and gave me a kiss on the head. "Just like you will."

I snuggled further into her arms. "I have visions, too," I said. "Like the girl."

"No, Ellie," she said. "You have dreams. It's different."

"But I can control them."

The banging on the door stopped, and I could hear our father leaving with slow steps. Almost simultaneously, I felt my sister's arm around me relax.

"It's good to be creative," she said as she met my eyes. "But if you feel like you can control your dreams, actually control them, I want you to try and not think of those dreams anymore, okay?"

"Why?" My dreams were so comforting. An escape from the life I lived every day.

"Because it's only going to make it harder for you to understand what is real and what isn't," Mallory said. "And I am right here for you to make you feel better. You're never alone in this world, you understand me?"

"Okay," I mumbled, snuggling deeper into her arms. The warmth of her embrace always made me feel safer; as if there was nothing in the world that set out to harm me.

"The sooner your dreams stop, the quicker you'll feel better again." She held up her pinky and interlocked it with mine. "I promise. I know it's scary to stay away from something so nice. But I know that you will be okay. You will always be okay as long as you have me. And I'm not going anywhere, okay?"

"There's a big tree in my dream," I said. "With my name in the bark. And a lot of flowers." I had a lot more thoughts to describe my dream, back then. The buzzing of bumblebees, the beautifully soothing atmosphere, the comfort and safety I felt whenever I went there. But I was lacking the words for it, so that was all I said.

"I know." Mallory leaned her head against mine. "It's probably really pretty in your mind."

I nodded, wanting to explain more. I wanted to talk about the woman with hair as black as charcoal, and the promises she made to me. I wanted to talk about someplace safe. Someplace far away from my home. But I didn't. Mallory wouldn't have understood. But Mallory was smart, and she was seven years older than me, so she had to know better. And I always listened to her.

I stopped dreaming.

I didn't think I'd ever write this. My memories. Perhaps it's like a memoir, a biography of some sort. Telling it to anyone certainly isn't an option. So here I am, equipped with my favorite pen and a journal I bought solely for this reason. If you are not future-me: stop reading.

I am not writing this for anyone to see. I don't intend to ever show it to anybody. This is merely for myself, for the sake of my own sanity, and to remind me that these things happened. They are real. I did not make them up, and if my future-self is reading this: YOU ARE NOT CRAZY. YOU NEVER WERE. THE DREAMSCAPES ARE REAL AND THEY ARE DANGEROUS.

Perhaps I'll keep these pages as a keepsake, a reminder. There's an equally good chance that I will rip them out, burn them, destroy them in one way or another. I'm aware that that's not what a diary like this is for—it's for jotting down emotions, rambling on about one's day, maybe even doodling little hearts on the edge of the paper.

But I'm not here to doodle hearts. I'm confessing.

People would think differently if I told them, if they knew. They'd judge me for what I did, and I suppose that's fair enough. I did a horrible thing. It haunts me every waking hour, sometimes it even seeks me out in my dreams. Maybe I am writing this solely for the reason of getting it off my chest and cleanse my soul. It's been weighing me down for years. I've learned to live with my guilt, but it will always be there, and I'm not sure how much longer I can go on without talking about it.

So, this is my story. The good and the bad. All of it.

"You could come with us, you know." Mallory shoves the last of the boxes into the moving van and rolls up her sleeves. "Ewan and I have an extra room. You could stay there, help us on the farm." She smiles at me helplessly.

"Thanks." I close the doors of the van and wipe the sweat from my forehead. I'm not fit enough to carry boxes in this weather. Leaning against the vehicle, I let my head thud against it and watch as my sister ties her hair and throws one last, relieved glance at the apartment a few stories up. “I love you guys, but I’m an adult. I need to be able to rely on myself.”

"You can do that with me.” She crosses her arms uncertainly, switching her weight from one leg to the other. "I don't like it, you staying here with his memory."

"I'm not a child anymore, Mal. I can handle it, I promise." I take her hands into mine. "I'm a big girl now, with a big girl job and bills to pay."

"Alright." She resignedly furrows her brows and pulls me into a hug. "Promise me to call when you need anything, okay?"

"I promise." Then, I add, "I'm gonna miss you."

She pulls back from the hug and puts her hands on my arms. With the face she makes, she looks like she could be my mother, worried about my wellbeing and future. "I'll miss you, too."

Ewan glances at us, a soft smile marks his face. “You’re always welcome with us.” He slings his arms around me, too. He and Mal have been looking forward to this for a long time, and despite how much I love them both, I have to let them go and be with each other.

They won’t be out of my life. Only out of sight.

I raise my hand to wave goodbye to the van, with Mal's fiancé behind the wheel and my sister waving out the window. A sense of loneliness washes over me when the van disappears behind the corner. It's just me now. Me and the memory of Dad. The one that lingers here, staining the walls like decades’ worth of nicotine, no matter how much time passes.

For a moment, I lean against the wall of the apartment complex. It looms over me like a threat.

Maybe I should’ve taken Mal up on her offer the first time she placed it months ago. I’d be far away from this cursed place, from the four walls I will never be able to call home.

I take a deep breath. The hands on my wristwatch seem to taunt me, tick, tick, tick. My head falls back against the concrete.

The front door falls shut behind me with a loud noise, echoing through the empty stairwell. I walk these stairs every day, and yet the way to the fourth floor feels longer with every minute spent in here. The walls seem to close in. Any moment now, I'll be buried under the debris.

Inside, I lean against the door and close my eyes for a moment.

One, two, three. Three, two, one.

I open them again.

The memory still oozes through every corner, but for a moment—however brief—it allows me to breathe. Between clutter and old furniture, the couch doesn't look as beaten down in comparison.

He used to sit on it all day. Sometimes, he called it his second home as a joke. Mal and I never laughed at that.

I need to clean this place up. I really do. Once the gray cloud fogging my mind becomes less heavy, I’ll get started on that.

All I can get myself to do is collecting some of the coins scattered on the sideboard and putting them into our—my—groceries jar. They clink as they hit the glass. I could swear there was more in there yesterday.

I shut the door to my room behind me. It hasn't changed much since I was sixteen. The terrible band posters on the wall are gone and I use less childish bed sheets now—plain blue instead of the horrid pink with red hearts—but other than that, I've left it untouched. The same sticker of a game controller on my desk that I can't peel off, the same once-upon-a-time-fluffy carpet, the same chipped wood on the wardrobe.

It hasn't even been an hour, but this place already feels like less of a home without Mal in it. Her contagious laughter, the silly stories she liked to make up, the sleepless nights spent with our favorite movies as we vented about life. She and I have been living here ever since I came of age. Everything else was too expensive to rent, and after we were able to leave our mother’s house, we returned.

She never admitted to this, but the only reason she didn’t move in with Ewan was because of me. Because she couldn’t stand the idea of leaving me to my own devices.

We've always been more like best friends and less like sisters. Ever since I grew up, our bond has gotten even stronger. When she got engaged, I was the first person she told. She showed off her ring and couldn't stop talking about all the things she wanted at her wedding. We stayed up late that night, brainstorming her dream ceremony.

I'm happy for her. I truly am. But no matter how hard I try, I can't push down that gnawing feeling of jealousy eating away at my soul. I wish Mal had decided to stay with me for longer.

It's an awful thing to think. She deserves this more than anyone. She and Ewan have been dating since they were nineteen, and after eleven years, it's about time that he put a ring on her.

Slumping down on my bed with one leg hanging over the edge, I stare at the faded glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, letting my mind drift.

Mal and I put those stickers up there ten years ago. She had promised me that they would watch over me when I felt unsafe. That was briefly before our father’s death. Even before that, we spent a lot of time in here. Time filled with fear of my dad and comfort from Mal.

He had never been a father for us in the first place, but after our mother left and her successor died, he became even less present. Mal raised me. She taught me everything, helped shape me into who I am today, even when we had to move in with our mother. Mal never took a break from being my person.

And now she's off to live her adult life on the farm Ewan inherited, and I'm still here, stuck in my childhood bedroom, paying bills for an apartment that haunts me. Sometimes, I wonder if I could've led a different life if I had taken a different turn at some point.

There's not a lot in the fridge, but with two eggs and some ham, I'm able to put together scrambled eggs and low-budget bacon. The mere look of it disgusts me. I shouldn’t eat it, I shouldn’t eat at all.

I do anyways.

If I look at myself in the right angle in the bathroom mirror, I almost look like my sister.

I wouldn’t call it a routine, but it’s what I do every night. I put on my favorite nightgown—pajama pants always seem to sit wrong everywhere—and tuck the sheets properly into the bed frame. The only piece that’s missing is the last conversation with Mal before going to sleep.

Mal's room is empty. The walls are naked without the postcards and photos to cover up the hideous, purple paint. The bookshelf is missing, and along with it all the books organized by color.

I sit on the dull carpet she left behind, crossing my legs and leaning back on my hands.

There are star-shaped stickers on her ceiling like there are on mine. Back then, I had suggested to leave some over for her, but she had insisted that I needed them more. I don’t need protecting from the stars, she had told me. But I will always protect you.

My phone buzzes. It’s her.

"I’m already missing you." The engine of the car rattles in the background. "I'm not even halfway there."

"Feels like forever," I complain.

"I wish you came with us," Mal says. "How are things over there?"

"Dull." My fingers curl in the carpet. "Empty. Lonely."

There's a brief silence. I can envision her pressing her lips together in a smile and throwing a pitying glance at Ewan. "Please come visit us," she finally says. After another bit of silence, she repeats, "Please."

“She hasn’t stopped talking about you,” Ewan adds, his voice quieter than Mal’s on the other line. “First chance you get, you come to us, alright?”

"I will." I shut her door behind me as I return to my own room. "Eventually."

"Okay." She sighs. I imagine her leaning back in the car seat. I do the same in my bed. "Are you doing okay?"

"I'm holding on. I don't know how to go to sleep tonight."

"Well, I am right here," Mal says. "One phone call away. You could go through your memory box. Distract yourself, dream of something nice."

"Something nice," I repeat.

"Something normal," she says.

"Okay." I flip to my stomach and let my head hang off the edge of my bed. My arm blindly feels for the box hidden away under it.

"Ugh, I hate this," Mal groans. "The connection in this area is bad. But I want to talk more. Call me tomorrow, okay?"

I find the box and pull it out. Its green color has faded a little over the years, and it's covered in dust. "I'll call you." Holding my phone between my shoulder and my ear, I wipe off the thin layer of dust. "Love you."

"I love you, too. Take care." The phone beeps when she hangs up, and I toss it aside, opening the small box in my hands. I know exactly what's in there, and yet I feel a strange sense of anticipation come over me.

The very first photo on top of the stack shows me and Mal smiling widely at the camera with her arm wrapped around me, the beach in the background. It's the first family trip we ever went on. Mexico. I was six, she was thirteen. I remember being terrified of the ocean, shying away from the salty foam licking my skin, but Mal held my hand and walked in with me. We only stood on the shore, letting the water tickle our feet. And she stood by my side until I was ready to leave.

Three years before things got worse.

The next photo is of us in London, right in front of Big Ben. It was raining that day, and we asked a stranger to take a photo of us. The only vacation we ever took together, just the two of us. I was seventeen.

Eight years after things got worse. Seven and a half after they got better again.

A few other photos depict me with Aiden, some with my mother, and more of Mal herself. Underneath all the pictures is a journal. A thin, leather-bound journal with a sticker of a flower on the cover. I know the contents of it. I know how much pain it carries.

Still, I open it.

My handwriting was a mess. I was only around nine-years-old, after all. The pages are filled with stories. Fantasy stories, things I made up in my dreams. Back then, I believed it all. All those tales of beautiful gardens, of being able to control my dreams.

It's all made up. I know that, because that's what the therapist told me back then. "That's a really nice story, Elaine," she said. Then, she wrote some things down and showed me a honey-like smile. My eyes were big and wide back then and hers were dull and narrow, though kind. "It's an escape mechanism," the therapist told my father. "Elaine has experienced trauma. Her mind is simply making up a world which she feels safe in. It's perfectly normal." My father nodded. I didn't, because the therapist didn't know she was sitting across from the reason for my trauma.

I read through every story in the journal. Some of them are pages long, others only a couple sentences. There's something special about the vivid, fantastic beliefs of children. Most people don't realize when it's lost. I do. I can remember the exact date it happened, because it was the day after our mother left us and my dad began giving me special attention. More attention than he ever paid to Mal, more than I wish he had given me.

One day. Just for one day, I'd like to go back to before. To the time I still had vivid beliefs, when I still wondered about Santa Claus, when my biggest problem was homework and whether or not the other girls in my class liked me. When I believed that the dark-haired woman in my dreams was real.

I don't let go of the journal as I go to sleep. The last thing I notice before drifting off to sleep is the book slowly slipping out of my grip and falling onto the floor.

Someone is talking to me.

I'm blinded by bright sunlight in an azure sky when I open my eyes. I slowly prop myself up on my arms. Right in front of me is a giant willow tree, ancient, aching. In its bark, my name.

Dazed, I stand up and realize I can feel the grass under my feet. Bees are buzzing around and flowers fill the air with an ambrosial scent.

"Ellie," the voice says. "You're back."

Then, I see her.

The woman. Raven hair against porcelain skin, dark red—almost purple—roses framing her like a painting. In the distance, a raven caws. "I'm glad to see you again," she says, her voice soft as silk.

I carefully take a step toward her. Her alluring beauty draws me in like a quicksand.

"Do you remember me?" she asks, a soft smile grazing her lips.

"I'm dreaming," I say instead of answering her. I stroke down the fabric of my nightgown, smoothening out the wrinkles as I take another step. The soft grass blades tickle my skin and I have to squint to avoid the bright sunlight from above.

"Dear," she says and reaches out to me with both hands. "There is nothing to worry about now. You're safe here. You always have been."

The tips of my fingers touch hers and she closes her hands around mine. Her skin is warm.

"Who are you?" I'm an arm’s length away from her, as if we're strangers, but her hands around mine speak volumes.

"I'm Aura." Her smile settles. "You're home now."

It's warm here.

Warmer than home ever felt.

I remember it like I had just been here yesterday. And still, it's as strange to me as any place.

"It's your world," Aura says like she can read my mind. "It's anything you want it to be."

"No." I shake my head slowly, trying to cram all the sensory input into my brain. "This is a dream. I was reading the stories I made up. Now I'm dreaming about them. It's not real."

"That would mean that I'm not real," Aura says. "I am very real." The smile on her lips remains as she lets go of my hands and walks away. I follow her. It seems right to do so.

"There's a darkness inside you all the time, isn't there?" She doesn't expect an answer. "You can find the light now. This is your light. You can go anywhere you want to go," she croons and turns her head to me while I catch up with her. Dark strands of hair fall over her face. "Where would you like to go?"

"I-I don't know," I stammer. "I don't know this place at all."

She stops walking and turns to me. The white, silky dress she's wearing moves with her, a perfect contrast to the bright colors of the garden. "You do. You're the only one who knows it perfectly."

I stare at her, searching for words. It's as if my mind is blank—all ideas and thoughts are gone. My eyes move on their own. The large willow is surrounded by flowers, winding their stems around the wood and blossoming through every crack in the bark. They reach all the way to the top, adorning the green with colorful spots.

"This is all for you," Aura says again. "Only you."

"My name.” I glance at the willow, proudly standing in the center of the garden with a thousand stories to tell. "My name is in the tree." It's carved into the bark with big letters. "I didn't put it there."

"You didn't have to," Aura says. "Why don't you stay a while?"

I look back at her. "I want to go home."

"Home?" Aura asks with a tilted head. "Why would you want to go there?"

I know home. I know every room and every corner of my home, just like I know every bit of abuse and misery of it. "It's familiar.”

Aura reaches out for my hands once more, and I let her take them. "Let me show you what you can do."

The garden around us vanishes. For a moment, I think I've fallen through the ground, but it's quickly replaced by smooth cobble roads. The flowers make way for narrow brick buildings, each distinctive from the next. Broad windows overlook straight canals, colorful bicycles lean against Victorian lampposts. A breeze catches my hair.

"What the—" I begin, but my words stay stuck in my throat.

Aura isn't done yet. The town topples around us. This time, large jungle trees sprout from the ground, leaving us in shadows between dark green plants and moss. Colorful birds flutter through the canopies. I swat at a large insect buzzing around my head.

"The only limit is your imagination," Aura says, and with a wide gesture, the jungle turns into a beach. Sudden waves touch my ankles, startling me as I move away. "Okay, stop, this is freaking me out." The sand is rough under my soles as I make my way toward a road adjacent to the beach, cold wind biting my eyes.

"This is only a glimpse of it," Aura calls after me through strong winds being carried over by the ocean. I stop, turning to her. She's ankles-deep in the water, the deep blue framing her thin figure. "Of your abilities."

"My what?"

"You can do all this," she says. The sand turns to rough grass with rocks, the beach to an undergrowth, then a desert, a snow-topped mountain, and finally, the garden. "And far more."

"I'm sure I can." I can't hide the hint of sarcasm in my voice as I turn away from Aura. "How do I leave?"

"All you need to do is choose." Aura doesn't come any closer. The air around her seems to be filled with buzzing energy. "You have to want to come here, and to leave. Whenever you're here, you'll be safe." Her dark eyes dig into me like daggers. "You're powerful, Ellie."

"I'm anything but powerful." Just choose to wake up. I close my eyes, assuming it's probably easier to do this without anything distracting my senses.

"You are here." My eyes fly open when her hand touches my shoulder. "You can do anything in here. I promise you that." The gentleness in her eyes changes to sorrow. "You've been gone a long time. It's time for you to believe again." She lets go of my shoulder and steps away, turning her back to me. "It's okay if you want to leave. I don't blame you."

The garden vanishes around me, and her last words to me turn into a ghostly whisper. "Come back soon."

Her voice is replaced by the irritating noise of my alarm clock.

Grogginess takes over me when I slowly open my eyes. 6:30 in the morning. With a groan, I swing my legs off my bed and take a moment to breathe before getting up. Staring at the wall opposite to my bed, my dream starts coming back to me.

I don't usually remember my dreams. Not that well, anyway. The strange feeling of it lingers like the scent of a distinct perfume.

The music blasting through my headphones isn't enough to drown out the noise of loud conversations and screaming children on the bus on their way to school.

I should have brought a book.

I'm on the same bus I take to work every morning. It’s packed—I wasn't able to get a seat, which means I'll be standing for the entire way. In my mind, I'm going over everything I have to do at work today. I'll have to call a few people, some more people are going to call me and address me as 'Miss Hunt', which always makes me feel ancient, and there's a ton of e-mails I need to answer and send. Sometimes in between that, Mr. Dickson will probably want me to make him coffee because even after three years in the IT-department, he still views me as an intern he can push around.

Serves me right for choosing a job in a male-dominated field, I suppose. There's only one other woman—Miss Aguilar—who works there. She doesn't speak any English, and her job is to clean up after the chaotic male staff, so I hardly see her or talk to her. She seems nice, though.

I'm sure Mr. Dickson only hired her because he thinks that cleaning is a job only Hispanic women can do. Mr. Dickson is who I would describe if someone asked me about my nightmare-scenario boss. Even down to his name, the man is the most sexist, condescending ass I have ever met. More often than not, I come home after a shift to vent about him to Mal with a mug of hot chocolate and angry fire in our hearts.

But he is my boss, and he's the one who could give me a whole lot of problems if he decided to fire me. Which is why I put on a pleasant smile as soon as I enter the office, greeting everyone I see while wishing I could set this whole building and everyone inside of it, including myself, on fire.

In Mr. Dickson's defense, he's not the worst of the men here.

The worst one is Kenny. I share my office with Kenny. He's about ten to fifteen years older than me, and he always wears a tie even though it's not in the dress code. He's the type of guy to go on a tangent about how to properly use a printer when mine gets paper-jammed, even though I know more about technology than he does. He's the type of guy to eat food with way too much garlic every day and refuse to open the windows for even a moment to let some air in. Kenny is also the guy I've reported to HR twice in the past six months. But he won't get fired, because he's Mr. Dickson's son-in-law and, therefore, untouchable.

"Mornin'," he greets me when I walk in and drop my backpack on the floor. "You look tired. Got railed last night?"

"Morning." I've stopped replying to his inappropriate comments long ago. I could get mad about it and report him again, but it hasn't gotten me anywhere. It's in my best interest to keep my mouth shut and ignore his antics. I turn on my computer and stare at the screen, waiting for the brand logo to disappear and my desktop to light up.

Kenny leans to the side to look at me. The monitors block his direct view of me, so he always does gymnastics purely to get a glance at me. "Pretty girl like you shouldn't be so grumpy," he says, his voice dripping with slime.

There are some days I wonder why God, or whatever sentient supernatural being that watches over me, hates me so much that I'm forced to work next to Kenny. On other days, I don't doubt that said being is Mr. Dickson, who gave in to Kenny's wishes to be near me at all times.

Finally, the image of my childhood dog appears on the monitor. I chose that picture as my screen saver so I'd have at least one pleasant thing to look at during my day. The image of a golden retriever is far nicer to look at than Kenny.

"Come on," he says, "don't ignore me. We're gonna be in this office all day long."

I open my e-mails. Fifteen unread.

"At least smile a little."

Pressing my lips together in a narrow line, I slowly lean over to face him. "I'm focusing on my job. Let me work."

"Come on," he says again, baring his teeth in a grin. He could do with some mouthwash. "I'm just tryin' to be nice."

"I'm just trying to work." I lean away again. I have to get through this, because I get through everything. Eight hours is only one hour eight times, and that's only ten minutes six times. Mal's voice is clear as day in my head. I glance at the watch. Eight hours.

"Alright, alright." Kenny raises his hands in resignation. "Do your work. I’ll still be lookin’, though."

"Do not look at me."

"Someone's in a rotten mood." He laughs. "Alright. We'll chat tomorrow instead."

"Mhm," I hum in neither rejection nor acceptance.

He still doesn't let off. His fingers tap the desk a few times before he leans over again. "Wanna go out?"

I don't look at him to answer. "No. I have a boyfriend."

"That's nothing that can't be changed." He props his head on his hands and stares holes through me.

"Hasn't changed in the last five years."

"Eh." He clicks his tongue. "I'm first in line when it changes."

I don't answer. There's no point.

This day will be exactly like any other day. Dull, repetitive, boring.

The first time I arrive there was strange, to say the least. It was my first and last time for a long while.

I was still young when it started. At the time, I needed something to believe in, a safe haven to escape reality.

I was used to dreaming normal things, like everyone else. Dreaming of memories or subconscious wishes like God, I wish that girl from across the street would notice me, or perhaps dreaming of Christmas on the night before as a little child. Sometimes it was weirder things, but still in the realm of what is generally considered to be a normal dream. Dreams of people with giant heads, or floating around on waffles, or suddenly being able to perfectly land a plane in the ocean, without sinking the plane, and going out to dinner afterwards with my crush. If I told anyone about those, they'd laugh with me, we'd have a nice moment, and we’d move on with our lives. No one would bat an eye.

It happened suddenly, one night. I dreamed of a garden. A beautiful, luscious garden with tons of flowers, and bumblebees, and happy feelings all around. The grass was soft, and the most impressive part of the garden was this huge, ancient willow right in the center of it.

Dreaming of a garden isn't a weird dream in itself. But this one was. It felt too real. I could feel things, control things. I remember feeling the bark of the willow under my fingertips. I thought it was just one of those semi-realistic dreams that you might get every once in a while, you’d shake off the weird feeling after waking up, and then go tell your friends about.

And yet I couldn't stop the feeling that this wasn't just any other dream. This was...more. I couldn't explain it back then, and I can't explain it now.

I wanted to explore the garden, wanted to see more of this strangely life-like dream. Before I could, she revealed herself to me.

She called herself Aura. Said she could be anything I wanted her to be. She appeared to me framed by crimson roses, ebony hair against light skin, and the darkest eyes I've ever seen. She was enchantingly beautiful, drawing me in with her presence from the first moment I saw her.

Looking back now, I can't in good conscience refer to her by that name. She is not human.

In itself, I don't have a problem with that. But it's not just that she as a species isn't human, her morals aren't, either.

I will be referring to her as The Raven in this journal. It's all I can bring myself to call her.

Perhaps I'm afraid. Maybe she'll appear behind me if I say her name three times, like Bloody Mary.

She tried everything to keep me in that world that first night. And yet, I didn't return for a long time.

Years later, when I met her again, she was there right away. She told me all about this magnificent garden, introduced me to every flower. I loved her in a way I would've loved my mother.

But the most intriguing thing she told me was something entirely different. She said I could do things. That I had powers, abilities unseen in the waking world.

I could control my dreams. I could be powerful.

I remember how her midnight eyes sparkled, how she gazed at me with that enchanting look, nearly hypnotizing me. And her words, oh, her words. Me? Powerful? That was beyond my wildest dreams.

The Raven told me that this place, the so-called Dreamscapes, existed in a separate realm, and I had the ability to travel through it.

She said I could go wherever I wanted, see whatever I wanted to see, be whoever I wanted to be.

She said I was strong.

That was only the beginning of her lies.

The doorbell to Aiden's place makes an uncomfortable noise. It's shrill, and startles me every time I hear it, even if I press the button myself. I don't have a key to his apartment.

I had one once, but he said he couldn't trust me with it after he caught me crashing at his place one time when he wasn't there, because I had a panic attack and I didn't feel safe at home. My key-owning rights got revoked that day.

Aiden always takes a while to answer the door, but gets upset if I ring more than once, so I patiently wait in front of the door until I hear his footsteps approaching. When he opens the door, I smile at him, but it feels forced. He doesn't notice.

"Took you long enough," he says, opening the door wider for me.

"I got some calls just before I wanted to leave." I place my backpack on his couch. It's old and worn out in several spots. Most of the things in his apartment are second-hand or passed down. Like me, he doesn't have a lot of money to spend on anything other than bills and food. But I don't mind it. I can pay for my own dinner and flowers. I don't need him to provide for me.

"Kenny was being extra gross again today." For once, I'd like to be able to vent about work to Aiden. He has never listened to it once, which is why I usually save the venting for Mal.

She gets to gossip and rant with Ewan, and he does the same with her. The moment she decides she doesn’t like someone, he’s on board. He makes her a tea and lets her talk on and on for ages, listening to every word, taking her side. And if he ever doesn’t, it’s for a good reason. She comes to understand and they talk about it. I want that.

"Who cares about that guy?" Aiden scoffs and pulls me in by the waist. "Don't talk about other guys when you're with me, baby. You know it hurts me."

"Mhm," I hum, pressing my lips together. "Sorry."

He's taller than me, and he's handsome. I look into his eyes, wondering if their deep green is the reason I fell in love with him five years ago—or if the complete absence of any shimmer in them is the reason I fell out of love.

Kicking the door closed with his foot, he leans down and kisses me.

It's different these days.

It used to be exciting and invigorating. Now, it's just someone else's lips on mine. Something I could do without. His hands wander over my waist and pull the tucked shirt out of my jeans.

It's not like I didn't know what was expecting me when I rang his doorbell. Most of the time when we see each other, we either fight or we have sex. Neither of those activities are very enjoyable to me. And when we do have sex, he only ever wants to do what he's in the mood for. My desires are irrelevant to him. But I let him do it, anyways. It's best to get it over with than to make a big deal out of it. In my case, anyway. At least when he gets his way with me, he doesn't complain about the way I look or act or talk or think.

His hands slide under my shirt and unhook my bra. I know I'm about to be part of something I don't want to do, so I let my mind wander. Let time pass by.

We've broken up a few times before, but we always got back together because I couldn’t live without him. I kept crawling back. When we met, he was sweet. He was the only one who understood me, having few friends and being bullied in school. It was easy to talk to him. I was starving for love and affection. Plus, Mal being with Ewan in their picture-perfect relationship only made me hungrier for attention. They were so perfect for each other. I wanted that. I wanted someone who would surprise me with roses and dates, who would listen to me when I felt bad and tell their friends about me. And Aiden was that.

For a while, at least. The first year of our relationship was perfect. That's how I remember it, anyway. Maybe I was too lovesick to see straight.

But once the honeymoon phase was over, he started criticizing me. Those shorts are too short, that dress too tight, your hair is too long. He said he wanted me to cut bangs, so I did. He wanted me to stop dyeing it copper red, so I let it grow back into the natural hazel color I never liked on myself. He asked me to use more makeup when I'm with him and less when I'm not with him, so I carry an emergency eyeshadow palette and lipstick everywhere I go. He's made it clear on several occasions that he does not find me very attractive without my makeup, my face being too round, or too red, or too tired. My body is too plump, too curvy, not curvy enough. His type changes almost every month, so every month he finds something new to criticize.

I wonder why he ever started dating me in the first place. Maybe it was because he had no social life and I was easily impressed. We did start dating really quickly. A week after meeting each other, he kissed me at the spot by the river that would later become our spot. It was my first kiss, so it was even easier for me to get infatuated. And finally being able to say that I have a boyfriend felt amazing. Everyone always said Aiden and I would get married one day. We'd be together forever and have kids, because we seemed like such a good couple. I believed it, too, back then.

But now, with his body above mine and his hands in my pants, I'm not so sure anymore. I'm completely zoning out, my eyes staring straight ahead at the ceiling. He doesn't care. I'm only here for his pleasure and he can do whatever he wants to get it.

I start to think about work. The calls I have to make tomorrow, whether there is any chance to avoid Kenny at all. There isn't.

Then, I think about the dream I had. About Aura, and the cobbled streets, and the ocean. About flowers and ancient willow trees. When I close my eyes, I can still see the garden in front of me, I can taste the salty air by the sea.

I'm not delusional. I know there is no such thing as dreamworlds and the powers she spoke of. It was simply my lonely brain getting mixed up with the childish fantasy of regaining control over my life.

I'm brought back to reality a while later. My chest covered with the blanket, I stare at the ceiling, distantly hearing Aiden get up and get dressed. He's never bothered to do aftercare, or to tell me he loves me when he's done. He hasn't told me these three words at all in a long time. Sex, to him, is a necessity any girlfriend should provide when being asked for it. To me, it's a chore.

Eventually, I sit up, too, staying covered with the blanket. Because even though Aiden sees me naked on a regular basis, I'm too self-conscious to walk around like this when I'm not giving him what he wants.

I'm perfectly aware that I don't need to be Aphrodite. It'd be enough if I was pretty like every other woman out there.

"I should go," I say while collecting my clothes, getting dressed with my back toward him.

"Meet me again tomorrow?"

I hesitate. "I don't know." My brain frantically searches for an excuse I could use. I don't feel so well is the one I used last time. I'm swamped with work has never worked. "I need to clean my apartment." It's the only thing I can come up with.

Aiden groans and runs his fingers through his hair with a glance in the mirror. "That doesn’t take you all day. It’s not that bad."

He wouldn’t know because he never comes over. "I’m moving some of the stuff that Mal didn't take with her to a storage unit," I lie. "It’ll take a while."

"Fine," Aiden scoffs. "Go home, then. I guess I'll see you whenever."

There it is again. That slow, creeping guilt etching its way into the back of my heart. The fear of losing him, of being on my own. "I'll let you know when I'm free again," I offer, half expecting that to be good enough for him.

"Nah," he says. "In two days, then."

"Fine." I sigh. "What if we go on an actual date, then, instead of having sex? We haven't gone out in a while."

"Seriously?" He zips his hoodie that he wears no matter the weather. It smells accordingly. "You know I don't pay into the whole 'men have to pay for women' crap. I'm not paying for your food."

"I'd be fine with a walk," I suggest. "You know, holding hands, maybe sharing headphones, enjoying the weather." The fantasy of it warms my insides for a moment before he dumps a bucket of ice over my heart.

"I don't go on walks, I'm not a girl," he says before opening the door of his bedroom to show me out.

"Dinner, then. I'll pay," I add, before he can complain more. "Please. I just want to go out."

He still looks unconvinced, so I take his hand and look at him with the sweetest face I can make.

"Our anniversary is in two weeks," I say. "This could be like a pre-anniversary. I know you don't like celebrating anniversaries at all, so this could be a replacement for it." I take his other hand. "Please."

"Okay, fine.” He lets go off my hands to hold the front door open for me again. "Let’s get it over with."

"Mhm." I don't look at him again when I leave the apartment. I welcome the shame and guilt falling over me like an old friend the second he closes the door. Mal has told me time and time again that it's wrong how he treats me, and that I deserve better, but I don't think I'm ready to believe her. Deep down, I know that he's a terrible person. My brain has accepted that. But I don't think my heart will, not any time soon. I'm filled with the desire to do better, to be better for him, to be the person he wants me to be. Because otherwise, there really is no place for me in the world.

The warm day has turned into a rainy summer evening. The raindrops patter on the window of my room as I pull the blanket higher to my chin. Even though it is still warm, nothing beats the comfort of cuddling up in bed. The coziness of my blanket combined with the sound of raindrops on the window makes for the perfect evening. All I'm missing is some tea and a good laugh with my sister. All those times we spent reading together under the sheets, way past our bed time. Back when she'd refuse to leave my room at night after learning what had happened between me and our dad. She brought new books to read with me, made up voices for the characters, and laughed with me until we fell asleep.

My phone buzzes, distracting me from the empty feeling between my ribs. Mal's contact pops up on the screen.

How are you doing?

I text back immediately. Mal is the only one who cares about how I'm doing, the only one who bothers to check up on me. And I usually tell her the truth, because she understands me.

I'm okay. It's a lie, this time. With everything going on in her life, with moving out and renovating the farm, she doesn't need to worry about me. Instead, I tell her about reliving my memories and childhood stories last night helped me, and that I intend to do it again soon.

She texts back quickly.

Sounds great. Don't get too involved in your stories, or at least write me into them!

We’ve always had this fear that one of us would get left behind in the other's life one day, so we've been trying to include each other as much as possible.

After all, she is the only person who appears in my happy thoughts. The ones that don't make me want to leap off a bridge, the ones where she stops me from walking off the ledge. I wish more people were like Mal. I wish it would be easier to find people who are like her, but I'm twenty-three and it's hard to make new friends at this age. I wouldn't even know how to begin.

Dinner is only scrapped-together leftovers, but it's the best I can manage today.

Afterwards, I stare at myself in the mirror, trying to see my similarities with Mal.

Just like every day.

Mal calls me right after I'm done, as if she'd been sitting around, waiting for the right time to call.

Falling asleep is not as hard as I thought it'd be today. Aura is prevalent in my mind. Even though what she did was freaky, and she definitely doesn't seem like a normal thing to dream of, it left an impression. The beautiful garden, the way her voice seemed to cover all my sorrows with a silk blanket—muffling them until I couldn’t hear them anymore.

The same flowery smell that I encountered last night prompts me to open my eyes. The sun blurs my vision. I hold up my hand to shield my eyes from it.

"I'm so glad you came back.” Aura stands a few steps away and watches my every move as I push myself up from the ground. The ancient willow casts shadows on her face when she takes a step toward me. "Do you want to learn more about your abilities?"

"This is freaky." Not freaky in a déjà vu way, but freaky in a I talked about a lion sculpture once and now it's all I see way.

"It'll take some time to get used to," Aura says. "It's new to you."

The sun warms the top of my head as I walk closer to her. "What exactly is this, then, if not just a dream?"

"Let's put it this way." Aura links her arm with mine, and together, we stroll through the garden. In the distance, birds are humming their own melody, and bumblebees buzz through the air. "You are dreaming, that's true. But you're also in control. You're capable of shifting into your own dreamworld, capable of controlling the things around you, of achieving greatness." I almost miss the sly twinkle appearing in her eyes. "You are, what we call, a shifter."

"A shifter," I repeat. "Sounds like something silly my mind came up with. People can't control their dreams. That's crazy."

"Maybe you are a little crazy." Aura winks, amused. "One day, you'll be able to fully grasp what is really happening. Until then, you can enjoy it."

"And what happens after that?"

She smiles. "Even more enjoyment."

The garden is lovely. It's soft, soothing my soul from deep within.

Soft like Aura's hand braiding flowers that she handpicked into my hair. Soft like a warm hug from a loving mother.

She puts the last blossom in my braids. The red is a nice contrast against my brown hair, suiting me in a way I had never deemed possible. I don’t wear red a lot; it’s a bolder color, and I prefer calmer shades like lilac and mint.

Aura marvels contently at the work she made of my braids, the woven stems through the strands, and curls her lips into a smile. "Are you ready to learn about your abilities?"

I turn to face her. "I'm not sure," I say. "It's just a dream."

"You are capable of great things." Aura stands and reaches out for my hand to pull me up. "You have a bright future, but it will be even brighter if you understand your powers."

Powers. Like I'm a witch. Or a superhero. Someone who needs to save the world. Save their loved ones, perhaps.

If I had any powers, wouldn't I have noticed them by now? Wouldn't I have been in control over my life? Over myself? It’s hard to believe that I could have lived my life, oblivious to the skills I supposedly possess.

Aura reads the doubt off my face like a book. "You're letting your subconscious take control over the places you dream of," she says. "You can do way more than that." Her dark eyes lure me in like a moth drawn to light. "I want you to control it. I want you to recognize the strength within you. It's easy to let your desires take over. To control them is what makes you powerful."

"Wouldn't I know how?" In all the superhero stories I know, the protagonist simply has powers with no need to learn them. How would I do that? Aside from my overwhelmingly strange dreams, there is nothing that makes me anything beyond average. It's not like they teach children in middle school how to control their dreams.

Aura holds out both her hands with her palms facing upward, and waits for me to take them. Her thin fingers close around my hands when I do. "Do you feel it?" she whispers, narrowing her shimmering eyes.

"Feel what?"

"The energy surging through you." Her voice is hardly above a whisper, designed to make me listen. "I can feel it just by standing next to you. It's yearning to burst out of your body, screaming to be released." She leans forward. "Use it."

"What should I do?" I whisper back, too captivated by her voice to even think about the absurdity of the situation.

"Choose a place you want to go," she says bewitchingly. "Any place. Your imagination is your limit. Close your eyes. Feel your energy. Harness it."

"Alright." I shift from one leg to the other and close my eyes. I try to concentrate on the energy she's talking about, but nothing happens. My eyes screw shut harder as I think of a tulip field with windmills in it. Specks of color dotted throughout a wide field under cyan skies, the still blades of the windmill hinting at a comfortable day. It’s someplace I haven’t seen before; someplace I’d stay forever if I could.

When I open my eyes, nothing has changed. It’s still the same garden—although marvelous and comfortably familiar. "See?" I look around. "I don't have any abilities."

"Try again," Aura encourages me, her thumbs stroking over the back of my hand. "For a start, it's easier if you focus on a place you've been to before."

I haven't been to many places. My life circles around work, home, and Aiden's apartment.

One city in particular pops into my head. I close my eyes again and attempt to focus on this alleged energy. It's hard to feel a concept like the energy to manipulate space.

An image starts to form in my head. A fizzling image, hardly recognizable as London, that keeps getting away from me. I peek through my closed eyelids for a brief moment. I'm not in the garden anymore. Aura is holding onto me, but the air around me seems to be shifting—no, I seem to be shifting. Splotches of darkness, peeking sun rays, puddles on the ground. I feel like a glitching video game character.

I press my eyes shut again, trying to conjure the image of London again. The London Eye. The river Thames. Big Ben. The rain that burst from the clouds the day we visited the crowded streets, leaving us drenched, but happy.

I can feel Aura's fingers getting tighter around my hands, as though in support of me. The next thing I feel is a raindrop on my nose. Carefully, I open one eye first, then the second.

Rain patters down on the street, drenching both of us. Streetlights reflect in puddles on the ground, creating a bokeh of colors. Right in front of us, Big Ben.

Aura beams next to me.

It's definitely not the London I remember. No crowds, no noise. But everything else is exactly as pictured in my memory, down to the lingering sense of freedom I felt that day, running through the rain with Mal. It was the first time I had truly felt like I could do more with my life. The first time I allowed myself a glimpse into a future that could be mine.

This is so, so freaky. I'm used to my dreams being weird, I'm used to waking up with the feeling of not being sure whether something was reality or not, but this is on a whole other level. This is straight up nuts.

"You did it," Aura breathes with a wide smile, and turns to me. "This a great first step. You see what you're capable of?" She gestures wildly to everything around us. "With some practice, you can shift to any place imaginable, whether real or not. And once you've mastered that, you can do so, so much more." She once again takes both my hands and looks deeply into my eyes. "I am very proud of you, Ellie."

The phrase takes me aback. I haven't heard those words in a long time. Bewildered, I stare at her, then at the distantly familiar streets in front of us.

Aura doesn't mind my silence, and keeps talking. "Think of all your possibilities. You will never be out of control here. The more you practice your abilities, the more you will be able to do. I promise you, there are great things ahead of you."

I don't mind the rain at all. The words she is saying to me are like warm sun rays, drying my skin, keeping me comfortable.

I can feel a smile slowly sneaking onto my face. "What else is there? What else can I do?"

"All in due time," Aura says. "You must master this ability first."

"No," I disagree. "Tell me. I want to know. I won't try it. I just want to know." My wet hair is sticking to my skin by now.

"Let's talk about it next time," Aura decides, and I can tell there's no talking-back to her when she's made up her mind. "All you need to know is that this," she gestures around, "is only the beginning. It's the first percent of your journey to becoming a skilled shifter. Your journey to becoming you."

Mornings don’t differ. Never have, never will. They will forever keep me in the loop of knowing what I want to do, and doing what I have to do. Time always flies by quickly, but this time, it’s different. This time, I'm occupied by the memory of my dream. The way Aura spoke to me, so authoritarian, yet so softly. I can't get through the day quickly enough, eager to return to bed and go back to my dreamworld. I hope it's real. I hope I'm not crazy.

Just like that day in London, I could have a taste of freedom again.

Kenny is already standing by the door when I arrive.

"Mornin'." He grins, smug as always, his hair gelled back with an obscene amount of hair product. I smell it even before I get remotely close to him.

"Morning," I mutter. I go to walk past him into the building, but I'm stopped by his hand grabbing my arm.

For a split second that may as well have been an eternity, he's my dad, touching me when his second wife didn't look.

"Don't touch me," I hiss, yanking my arm away.

He raises his hands in resignation, but his face still shows that nasty grin of his. "Sorry," he says, "didn't mean for you to get catty."

Anger bubbles up inside me, but I push it down. There's no use getting upset over him. I duck under his arm and into the building, swiftly followed by his footsteps.

"Come on," he says, "don't be like that. I'm just tryin' to talk to you."

Stay calm. Stay civil. I exhale deeply and slow my pace. I'll get through the day like I always do. It won't be any different today. After today, I get to go back to Aura and explore my dreamworld, learn about those powers she claimed I possess.

Kenny does this to every woman he sees at work: me, and to the cleaning staff who mostly happen to be female, which I assume is not coincidental. I remember back when I started, there was a young girl who worked here, an intern. I think she was about eighteen at the time. Her internship was supposed to be six months long, but she quit after three weeks due to Kenny's behavior. And yet he keeps doing it. He keeps getting away with it. It makes my blood boil.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" I ask caustically when Kenny keeps following me around. Sure, we share an office, but I'm certain he can keep himself busy without being on my heels all day long. Even to the kitchen, he follows me around when I want to get a cup of coffee, trying to make conversation with me.

"I'm just tryin' to be friendly," he claims and leans on the kitchen counters with one arm while I impatiently wait for the coffee machine to finish.

"And I'm just trying to get my work done, so please, back off." I wish the machine would hurry up. It's more comfortable to be annoyingly stared at in the office from behind monitors.

"What are you doing after work?" he keeps bugging me.

"Cleaning up." I stick to the lie I told Aiden. No reason to think of two separate lies.

"What about tomorrow?" He takes a step closer to me.

The coffee machine is finally done and I grab my mug. "Going on a date with my boyfriend." I put the emphasis on boyfriend. Maybe he'll finally get it. Kenny seems like the type of guy who would respect another man more than the rejection of a woman. "We're getting dinner."

"He payin'?" Kenny asks, like it's any of his business.

"No, I am." I don't know why I'm telling him that. It’s really none of his concern. "And I offered to. I don't care for the patriarchal belief that men always have to pay. I earn my own money. Men can't do shit, anyways."

The smug smile on Kenny's face falls the smallest bit, but it's enough to make me feel triumphant. But it's back sooner than I'd like it to be. "You deserve a guy who pays for you," Kenny states with the confidence of a lion. A very, very delusional lion.

"I deserve a guy who leaves me alone at work," I spit back. "I need to get started." With that, I leave the kitchen as fast as I can, knowing full well he will be right behind me and continuing to make inappropriate comments all day.

To my surprise, he doesn't. His face has changed from the smug, slimy grin to a brooding stare. I don't know what it was that I said that made this happen, but I'm not complaining.

The Raven taught me about shifting. Shifting: the ability to move through dreams seamlessly. It only takes mere seconds, and if one is practiced well, it can be done in the blink of an eye.

According to her.

She told me I could do it, too, that I only needed to stay for longer and practice more. She said it was all to improve my abilities and reach my full potential, because without a doubt, I was talented. I only needed to enhance my skills.

The excitement about being something other than ordinary blinded me, kept me there for a long time.

Back then, I was already plagued by expectations weighing down on me. I was too young to feel this way, but worries and anxieties always crept into my mind whenever I was awake, or in my realm, as The Raven called it. I couldn't do anything without additional emotional support, and it stunted my mental growth, being behind all my peers.

My mother used to get worried about me because of it all the time. Say I came home from school having forgotten my pencil case in the classroom, she'd ask me if I got bullied and if someone had taken it from me. She wouldn't take my word for it.

She wasn't entirely wrong. I did get teased because I wasn't very smart. The classroom didn't suit me, I was better off playing outside. My mother knew this, but insisted that education was still important.

Over time, I was able to focus less and less. My soul kept pulling me outside; not just into the fields and forests, but away from my life. I needed something else. I needed more.

Naturally, when The Raven told me about all those powers I supposedly had, I couldn't resist. I finally gained control, even if only over my dreams.

I wasn't very good at shifting. She kept asking me to come back, to practice, to learn more. Telling me she believed in me, and she knew I was bound to be powerful.

Her manipulation was too sweet of a treat to ignore.

The door falls shut behind me, and I kick off my shoes.

I used to keep them neatly next to the door, but now, I find there is no point in trying to maintain meticulous order in a house that I only I live in. I want to shout that I’m home, out of habit; I want to sit down in the living room with Mal and vent about our days.

Instead, it’s dead silent.

Quieter than it was after the day our father died.

Mal was the one who called the ambulance two weeks after our stepmother died. She was the one to tell me to stay in my room, but I didn't. The image of my dad on the stretcher—half dead, clinging to the last bit of life left in him—will stay with me for the rest of my life. I'm lucky I wasn't there to witness the beginning of it, but it haunts me that my sister was. That she was the one who had to find him like that. Mal took care of me from that point forward. Even when we moved in with our mother, she was the one who truly raised me. Who always knew what I needed, and when I needed it. Our mother put food on the table and made sure we went to school. She made sure Mal got a job once she was older. But that was all she did; I don’t recall having a single pleasant conversation with her.

Some of my fondest memories come from those following years. Being near Mal all the time, reading with her. Finally getting a break from my father's assaults was a refreshing change of pace.

Guilt chews a hole through my heart thinking like this. He died. And even though I’ve lived here for the better part of my adulthood, getting used to the stain his abuse left on my soul, it had always been a haunting place and hardly worth the money we saved by living here. At least I had someone with me. I wasn’t alone to deal with the aftermath.

The fridge is still empty. I need to go to the shop. Usually, Mal and I would go together and get ourselves a snack on the way. Staring at the empty fridge and thinking about Mal makes me tear up, but I swallow it down. No point in crying. It’s just another chore I need to do, nothing more.

When I close the fridge, my eyes fall on the calendar pinned to it with magnets. I like to cross out the days that have passed, sort of like a reminder that life keeps moving forward and all that pains me lies in the past, but still, the date jumps to my eyes as if painted in glow ink.

It’s July 14th. His death day.

I couldn’t have forgotten it, my mind must’ve been preoccupied. Along with the bitter memories this date brings me, it reminds me that I haven’t been to his grave in a long time. The flowers I laid out there years ago are dust by now, and I haven’t been able to convince myself to go again since.

I used to do it out of guilt, maybe out of obligation. Our mother made us go. I went once or twice more after I moved out, but I haven’t since. I know there’s a chance she’s there today, and there’s a chance Mal is thinking about it, too.

At least he is reunited with his second wife. I hope he treats her better than he treated me.

I turn my back to the fridge, shaking off the memory, and retreat to my bedroom. I’ve lost my appetite.

In the hollow apartment, my heartbeat seems to reverberate. The day needs to end, then I’ll be fine. There’s no reason for me to exist today, I could simply fade away and I wouldn’t be bothered.

When my phone rings, Ewan’s name pops up. His voice is a comforting sound at the other line, and right from the start, I can tell he called to check in, not to chat.

“How are you doing?” A faint smile is audible in his voice.

I close my eyes and lean against the wall adjacent to my bed, digging the fingernails of my free hand into my palm. “I’m okay. I’m going to sleep soon.”

“To stop existing,” he verbalizes my thoughts. “Mal isn’t doing well today, and she asked me to send you tons of hugs and love, so I’m sending that.” He smacks his lips to make a kissing sound, and I chuckle. “Did you hear it? That was all the love.”

“Heard it, loved it.” The skin in my hand leaves behind crescent-shaped marks where I press my nails into it. “Send her all my love, too.”

“Great, now I gotta make more kissing noises?” He groans jokingly. “Seriously, though, El, are you good?”

He’s the only one who calls me El. Mal insisted to be the only one to ever call me Ellie when we were younger, and even though the name ended up being used more commonly than my full name, Ewan remained with his own nickname for me. He says it makes our friendship more special that way.

“I’m…holding on. Surprisingly okay for my standards. I miss you, though.”

“We miss you, too.” Ewan exhales, and I imagine him leaning against the wall with his eyes fixed on the floorboards. He does that sometimes when he’s on the phone. I’m not sure if it helps him focus or if it’s just a mindless habit he’s picked up. “Mal keeps talking about wanting to visit.”

“I’ll swing by eventually, on a free weekend.” My hand finds its way into my hair, twirling a strand around my finger absentmindedly. “I need to be on my own for a bit, too. I need to learn to be alone.”

“Yeah.” He pauses. “It’s a good skill to have.”

“But I do miss you.”

“You can call us any time. Her or me. We’re just a phone-call away. And we can talk about whatever you like, or, you know, about what I like, because you don’t need to be babied.” I can hear a grin sneaking onto his face halfway through the sentence. If he was here, I would’ve smacked his arm.

“You’re right, I don’t.” I look down at my hand where the indents from my fingernails are disappearing. “Would you like to talk about something?”

“With you, always. I’ve got heaps of time on my hands.”

“You better be comforting Mal just as well.”

“Comforting? Please, I am merely chatting with my good friend, El. El doesn’t need comfort, she is perfectly capable of comforting herself, thank you very much.” Whenever he laughs, his nose scrunches up. “Don’t worry, I’m taking care of Mal.”

The willow stands as majestic as ever. I stare at the letters carved into the bark. They're trying to convince me that this place is made for me.

Aura isn't here.

Is she with someone else? Does she not only exist in my dreams?

Did I imagine her this whole time?

I turn away from the willow and let my legs carry me through the garden. Soft grass grazes my ankles and patches of moss sink into the ground where I step on them. There is no fence limiting access to the garden, no locked gates stopping me from going anywhere.

Is there a limit to this place?

Your imagination is your limit.

I know it's just a dream, but the promises Aura made still linger in the back of my mind. I want it to be real, I need it to be real.

As my legs carry me through flowerbeds of roses and lilies, I slow my pace and close my eyes. One step after another, I do what Aura told me to do. But not with London, this time. I want to go somewhere new, someplace of my own.

Serenity unlike anything I've ever felt before washes over me as my mind is filled with a sea of flowers—lilies, hyssop, hyacinths.

It's the image of the fairytale Mal made up when I was younger. The memory envelops me as though it's Mal hugging me again.

My whole body tingles pleasantly, and for a moment, I'm close to believing I can do it. I'm close, until I smell the flowers. Until the air around me feels different, until I hear her.

A soft voice, distant and enchanting, singing a melody I don't know.

I open my eyes carefully. I'm not in the garden anymore. Large fields of white lilies surround me, the occasional red rose peeking through.

The voice puts me under a spell, draws me in like a moth to light.

She's not far from me. Every step I take toward her makes me calmer.

Amidst the lush grass and under warm sun rays that cast a golden light, a young woman dances to the melody she's humming. Softly and slowly swerving over the flower fields, her arms are not fully stretched out as she almost glides across the ground. She looks as though she's not fully here, her mind wandering other places than the present.

I'm captivated by her movements. Her face is so vague, yet so interesting that its shape would stick to one's mind for days. Everything about her is round and soft. Golden waves frame her rosy face, almost as if reflecting fragments of sunlight. She looks like a flower that someone planted in their garden far away from where it's native—unique, but lonely among all the other plants.

I'm intrigued to step closer, to see more of her. Nothing around me seems to exist anymore when I watch her movements. I'm so fascinated that I almost don't notice when she stops her dance. She turns toward me, her eyes widen. They're a warm brown with orange undertones, captivating me even further.

Sunset hair and honey eyes.

"It's you." She's so close, I could reach out and touch her. "Are you—did I create you?" Her face—everything about her—is exactly like the girl in the story that has brought me so much comfort.

Her lips curve into a soft smile. Sadness sways in her eyes, and she lifts her left hand as if to greet me, when suddenly I feel someone else's hand on my shoulder.

I turn to find Aura looking at the woman with narrowed eyes, standing firmly next to me. "What are you doing here?" she asks me. "You're not meant to be here."

Her grip on my shoulder tightens lightly as she guides me away from the field.

"I made her," I say, turning my head to look at the woman again. She's fallen back into her gliding dance through the flowers, eyes closed as her fingertips graze the top of the grass blades. "I think I did."

"I've been searching for you," is all Aura says. The flower field turns into an emerald green undergrowth, canopies casting shadows over us. A raven caws.

"Did I make her? She's just like this girl in a story my sister made up."

Aura strolls through the forest. It's as if the trees move to the side to make way for her. "We don't talk about her." The smile on her lips doesn't reflect in her eyes.

"So, you know her. She's not a product of my fantasy." I struggle to keep up with Aura's stride.

"Yes," Aura says and stops walking. "And no." She doesn't look at me. "She used to be like me. A guide for shifters like you. Perhaps that story of yours shaped her into what you see her as. It is your world, after all."

"She's not like you anymore?"

Aura's hand hovers over where her heart is. Her focus trails off, into an unknown distance. "Her name is Light," she says. "She was talented. Almost as capable as me." Aura sits down on a nearby fallen tree. I join her. "Our—my folk's—task is to shape people like yourself into talented, capable shifters. We made a vow. Light broke that vow." Aura's hand gently squeezes my shoulder. "She led her shifters down a dark path. Which is why she is banished from our folk. You cannot speak to her, do you understand? She's dangerous."

I narrow my eyes in thought, the image of the beautiful, young woman flashing before my eyes. "But she looks so—"

"Innocent? Yes. She does." Aura guides my face toward her with her finger on my chin. "You cannot trust her. Light is like a siren. If you speak to her, she will lure you in, she will break you like she broke her own shifters. You're not safe around her."

"I don't get it. She was only dancing around. I mean, is she okay?" I turn my head again, imagining for a moment that she's still there, but all I see are tall, dark trees.

"She's as okay as she can be," Aura says. "My folk aren’t cruel. We wouldn't lock anyone away in a place that's less than beautiful. Light can't leave the field for good reason. We had to make sure she doesn't hurt anyone else. It's safest this way."

A thousand thoughts swirl around my head like a hurricane. "Why weren't you here before?" It's the first thought that verbalizes itself.

"I had some business to take care of." Aura lightly pats my shoulder. "Don't you worry about that. There are more important things to talk about. You shifted all by yourself."

"I did. It was easy."

"Was it?" A twinkle appears in her eyes as quickly as it vanishes again. "Most shifters aren't able to do that until their third or fourth week. You're impressive."

"I'm—what?"

I've been called many things before. Funny, smart, pretty—all by Mal or Ewan. The occasional insult or sexual remark from Aiden or Kenny. But never impressive.

"I've seen hundreds of shifters go through this," Aura says, holding onto my arms with both hands. "None of them have done this as quickly as you have. Impressive, Ellie, that's what you are."

She leans down close enough to be face to face with me. "Promise me you won't try to talk to Light?"

I swallow, captivated by her dark eyes. In them, I see warm honesty. Worry, too. "Okay." My voice is just barely a whisper. "I promise."

I remember the day when I started believing what The Raven told me. I had always wanted it to be real, but it had taken me a while to come to terms with it. No matter how twisted it was, it was real.

It was in the middle of a gray November. It had been raining all week, locking me inside my home with my breath fogging the window while I stared outside. As I was drawing images into the foggy glass with my finger, I was thinking about the Dreamscapes, about what I'd do next in there. All the fantastic places I could see. It was the only thought that kept me from falling victim to the glumness aching in my chest.

I remember wishing that I had friends to sit here with. I never really fit in anywhere. I was either too boring, too loud, or too quiet. No matter what I tried, I couldn't get it right. My reputation in school was the weird kid. Every class has one.

I thought back to the only friend I had once. We had been close in kindergarten and first grade, but after that, we drifted apart. We still talked from time to time, but we weren't as close anymore. And the day I heard the most grueling news of my life, was the same day she pulled away completely. Nobody wanted to be friends with the kid who can't get through the school day without crying.

That same night, I went back to the Dreamscapes. The most special thing about this magical, horrifying place is the illusion of choice. If you possess those abilities, it's only a matter of choosing whether you want to go or not. You stay in control. Until you don't.

In this specific night, I woke up in an infinite abyss of nothingness. At first, I was scared. There wasn't any sign of life as far as I looked, and I felt a panic cloaking me. What if I could never get out of here again? Or was this how normal dreams felt? Did I imagine my visits to the Dreamscapes? Maybe I was going insane.

But then I heard the voice of The Raven, distant and hollow, telling me to use my abilities. To shift out of there.

I tried to remember everything she had taught me up until this point. Her efforts were high, but my talent wasn't. Still, somehow, I found that energy inside me, however minuscule it was. I didn't know how to use it, how to harness it, as she called it, and it seemed to move around me uncontrollably, taking me out of that void and into the garden. It wasn't the garden that I knew, it was simply my version of it—distorted and disrupted by my mind. But it was something. A first step.

The Raven told me that this dark void means that I am getting adjusted to my abilities. I'm only going to get stronger from here, the only way forward is up.

When she said it, a mix of excitement and anxiety overcame me. Of course, I was elated to be able to test my abilities further, but what if I can't do it right? What if I mess up? What if I'll never be as powerful as I wanted to be? I barely have any powers, and suddenly I had to be able to use them, and it was overwhelming. How does one cope with this sudden change? And it was ripped away again each time I woke up in my realm. Gray, ordinary, depressing.

I couldn't stand it. I thought if I would just manage learning to control my powers, I'd be stronger in real life, too, and I'd be able to do the one thing I wanted to do. Maybe I could reverse what had happened, or make it easier.

So, I pushed myself further and further toward the Dreamscapes, sealing my fate long before I knew it.

Aiden is already twenty minutes late. I'm ordering water for the third time. The hands on my wristwatch keep ticking, on and on. My nervousness rises with every passing second.

After what feels like an eternity, Aiden finally shows up. Dressed in sweatpants and his smelly zip-up hoodie. Great.

"What are you wearing?" Couldn't he have dressed up at least a little? Jeans and a clean shirt would be enough.

"What?" he complains. "The pants are washed. I even put on perfume for you."

I can smell his so-called perfume. It's body spray. It's the only one he owns, and it smells like a car park somehow. I remember the day he bought it. He acted like it was a huge romantic gesture to not smell like sweat for me.

"Nothing." Escalating the situation by complaining about it won't get me anywhere. "Let's just order."

I picked this restaurant because it has great food, despite the low prices. I used to come here with Mallory from time to time, ordering the linguine every time. It was a tradition to us, a very irregularly practiced tradition, but a tradition nonetheless. It's one of their cheaper meals on the menu. Considering I have to pay tonight, I choose it again and mentally go over the money that's still in my wallet.

Aiden decides on the grilled scampi. The most expensive item on the menu. When he reaches for the wine menu, I put my hand on his arm to stop him. "I can't afford all that." My head hurts.

He scoffs. "I thought you were paying?"

"I am. But I don't earn that much. I still have to pay for rent and food. Maybe some flowers for my dad’s grave, I don’t know." I force my leg to stop bouncing and push my hair out of my face. Stay calm. Don't freak out.

"Here we go again," Aiden says and rolls his eyes. "Your dad is the most important man in your life, I get it."

"It’s complicated—"

"I should be more important to you than he is," Aiden snaps. "You keep prioritizing him, your whole world revolves around him. I’m glad he’s dead, and so are you. Stop pretending like he means something to you, stop insisting that grief somehow makes it okay for what he did."

There's no stopping my jittery leg now. "Aiden, please," I whisper-shout. I glance around the restaurant and focus on straightening my back. This is not the time to freak out. "Don't do this here."

"Do what?" He puts no effort into matching the volume of my voice. "You know I'm right. If he were still around, he’d still do the same shit to you, and you’d let it happen." I know he doesn’t speak out of worry for me or empathy for my past. He’s jealous. I blink quickly to keep the tears from gathering in my eyes. My stomach twists and my heart hammers against my ribcage. "I didn't choose what happened to me."

"But you let it happen, and you're still making excuses for him."

He successfully draws attention to us. Even the waiters are glancing over at our table.

"Shut up. Shut up.” The last thing I want is for everyone to know what is going on between us, to know the part of my past I try to repress so relentlessly.

"Nah," he says, just as loudly as before. "You shouldn't even be living in that same house anymore; you know what that feels like to me? You’re still choosing to be around him, even if just in spirit. Somehow, what he did doesn’t bother you. Somehow, you’re still allowing him to have an effect on your life."

I can't stop the tears from forming anymore. "That's not true," I whisper, unable to produce a sound louder than that, and it sounds choked, weak. My head is relentlessly buzzing.

"Oh, don't play victim," he scoffs and leans back in his chair. "You could live anywhere else.”

His words echo through my head, distant and muffled. How it makes him feel. I can't stand the feeling of everybody's eyes on me. They're glaring, judging, snooping.

My trembling hand reaches for the wine menu, and I slide it across the table for him to have. "Take your pick," I whisper. "Take your pick, order your food, and get it over with already. And don’t talk to me. I'll eat later."

When the waitress comes, a sympathetic smile on her lips. I don't order anything. She flips her notepad, scribbles down Aiden's order, and asks me again if I'm sure that I don't need anything. I shake my head. My mouth is pressed against my folded hands, propping up my head to stop myself from letting it fall on the table.

Aiden reaches over the table once to take my hand, but I flinch.

The waitress returns with his food and wine, and a glass of Coke for me. "On the house," she says with a smile. I barely take note of it.

After dinner, Aiden tries to hold my hand as we walk through the streets toward his apartment, but I keep my hands in my pockets. When he unlocks the door, I hesitate.

"I should—" I vaguely gesture behind me. "Um, I should probably go home."

"Why?" He opens the door wider for me to step inside.

I shrug, avoiding his eyes. "I'm tired."

Aiden tucks his hands into the pockets of his pants and lets his shoulders fall. "Is this about earlier?"

"No, I'm just..." I take a step back. "I'm really tired. I'll see you soon."

"Come on," he says and reaches out for me with one arm. "Let me treat you. I'm sorry you got upset."

"I'll see you soon," I repeat. Turning away, I cross my arms and clutch the fabric of my sweater.

In a few days' time, I'll be over it. All I need is a moment to process, then it'll all go back to how it's supposed to be. That's how I've always handled things, that's how it works.

I hear the door close behind me without another word.

It's not far to home from here. A couple of minutes down the road and one left turn, and I'll be there.

I don't last that long.

Tears already roll down my face as I make my way across the street. My phone rings Mal before I get the chance to register dialing the number. She picks up almost immediately.

"Dad or Aiden?" she asks like she can read my mind. I want to reply, but no words come out, only a choked sound through tears.

"Remember that fairytale I used to tell you?" Mal says. "Before you can even begin to panic. Remember the story."

I nod, breathing in through my nose.

"Do you want me to tell it to you?"

I wipe over my eyes. "Yeah."

"Okay," she says softly. "Once upon a time, there was a young girl with hair as golden as the sunset and eyes as warm as honey.” She keeps talking to me, tells me the whole, childish story she made up for me to ease my anxieties.

I'm taken back to the memory of us sitting on my carpet, her arm draped around my shoulder, flipping through the handmade book while our father shouted at us through the door.

"Remember how it ends?" Mal asks.

"She lives a long, happy life," I mutter. "I'm okay."

"She does, and you will be."

"What's her name?"

"Oh." Mal pauses. "I don't know. I've never thought of one."

"I think her name would be Light." I wipe away the last tears on my cheek and wait for Mal's response. It takes her a moment.

"That's a strange name, but sure. Light it is." She pauses again. "So, Dad or Aiden?" she asks again.

"Aiden." The building of my apartment complex comes into sight as I tell her what happened. I leave out the part of paying for his wine and food while I ordered nothing.

"Christ," Mal says. "I hate that guy. I hate him so much. Next time, take your knife and stab him with it, please. Do the world a favor."

Something moves inside my head. It happens suddenly. A flash of light flickers behind my eyelids. Someone's hand, holding a knife, with the blade reflecting in the sun.

It's over as quickly as it came, like a memory that doesn't belong to me.

"Ellie?"

"I'm here." Dizziness washes over me. I lean against the building with one hand, letting my head fall forward. "What the hell?" I mumble to myself, lifting my head again and pressing my hand to my forehead. It feels normal.

"What happened?"

"Nothing." I pull the door open. Each step up the stairs feels heavier than the one before. "I just got home, I'm okay now."

"Are you sure? I have time, I can stay on the line forever."

"No." I fumble for my keys. Opening the door to the apartment with jittery fingers proves harder than anticipated. "I'll go to bed now. Bye."

I press the red button quickly, shoving my phone back into my pocket and pausing in the entryway before heading inside.

I stare into the bathroom mirror, squinting. I almost look like my sister. She’s prettier than I am, though.

I'm not crazy. I'm not starting to hallucinate; I've had a really long day. It was an unusual imagination, that's all.

When I fall into bed, I hold onto my blanket like my life depends on it, staring at the ceiling until my eyelids become too heavy.

I hope I get to see Aura today. I hope I can have a flicker of happiness.

Sleep finally finds me, but something is different. I don't open my eyes to a luscious garden or flowers or the ancient willow.

I wake up in a dark void with nothing else around me.

This isn't what's supposed to happen.

I spin around slowly. There's nothing. Absolute nothingness.

"Aura?"

She doesn't respond.

Carefully, as if I could fall at any moment, I take a few uncertain steps. Each one echoes through my mind.

"Aura!"

No response.

My heart is hammering against my chest, threatening to shatter my ribs. My voice fades into a whisper when I call for Aura again.

I keep walking, uncertain of where to go and whether anything awaits me at the end of the path I've chosen. My mind rattles with thoughts and fear, surging through me like electricity.

My breath hitches.

I stop walking, my legs and hands numb. I close my eyes and force myself to take a breath.

What would Mal do?

"Once upon a time," I whisper to myself, "there was a young girl with hair as golden as the sunset and eyes as warm as honey."

Breathe, just breathe.

"She was an ordinary girl."

Light's dance through the lilies flashes through my mind. The way she looked at me with those doe eyes.

I exhale through my lips.

"Lilies, hyssop, and hyacinths." My voice is steadier now.

In through the nose, out through the mouth.

Mal's arm draped around me. Dad's fists banging on the door.

The world around me seems to spin. I sway on my legs, my fingers curling in the cotton fabric of my nightgown. I don't dare to open my eyes, afraid to let the dizziness take control.

One more, deep breath out. "She stops the visions," I mumble. "She lives a long, happy life."

The electricity in my bloodstream bubbles over, transforming into raw energy. I can feel it shift inside me.

In through the nose, out through the mouth.

Grass tickles my ankles when I open my eyes.

It's the field of lilies, but they're all black and the sky is shrouded in heavy clouds. The few rose heads in the middle of the field are white, growing taller than the lilies.

Wind bites my skin, blowing my hair out of my face. I almost trip over my own feet, uncoordinatedly stumbling away from the blindingly, bright lightning flashing through the sky.

"You made it out." Aura appears next to me with one hand comfortingly resting on my shoulder.

"Was this some sort of test?" The wind sweeps my hair across my face.

"Not at all." Aura turns around with me, and in the blink of an eye, the lily field is gone, replaced by the mossy undergrowth. "You're beginning to grasp your reality."

"I was trapped," I say. "Surrounded by void."

"You were never trapped, dear," she says. Her hand lets go of my shoulder. "It means you're getting used to your Dreamscapes," she says. "You're finally starting to believe that it's real." The sun falling through the canopies basks her in golden honey-like light, turning her raven hair into a warm, deep brown.

"How is that related?" I ask.

"Simple," she says, "your mind is finally accepting that you're powerful. Infinite possibilities are ahead of you, and you are starting to grasp the concept of it. You will find yourself in that void more often than not, letting you decide from the start where you want to go." Her eyes twinkle. "You will discover your full potential this way."

"But—" I hesitate. Yesterday, she told me I was impressive. And now? "I didn't want to end up where I did. It was all wrong."

Aura tilts her head, a smile grazing her lips. "It's difficult, getting used to your abilities." She links her arm with mine, leading me through the forest. "Your mind was distracted by emotion. You'll learn to control them and shift wherever you choose."

She leads me through a narrow path between thick trees.

"What if you won't find me there?"

"I'll find you wherever you go. I will always be right by your side."

"What if I want to see Light?"

Aura slowly moves her head, an uncomprehending expression in her eyes. "Why would you want to see her?"

"Something connects us." I can't explain it. Maybe it really is my subconscious creating her in this dreamworld of mine. Or maybe…there's more to her.

"Ellie," she says, and it sounds so vastly different to how Aiden says my name–so much more soothing and loving. "Light is not a good influence. She may look sweet and innocent, but I promise you, she is not. You do not want to be near her." She stops walking for a moment and turns to face me, her hands gripping my arms. "She will captivate you and lure you in until you are close enough for her to hurt you. You have to promise me to not let her get to you, Ellie. Can you promise me?" Her eyes are pleading, her hands squeeze my arms, but she doesn’t wait for my response to continue speaking.

"She is locked away in that meadow." Aura walks again, and I make an effort to keep up with her. "Her ability to move through this realm has been limited. She can't leave that place. You noticed she wasn't there when you shifted to her..." she pauses, "alternate field? She's in that one place only. We've made sure of it, we've hidden her so she stays away from shifters. You're safe as long as you don't approach her." She glances at me without turning her face to me. "It must be a coincidence that the girl in your story is so similar to her."

"Yeah," I mutter. "Coincidence."

A clearing opens in front of us. The trees align in a nearly perfect circle, making way for the sunlight to shine through the opening in the canopies. The moss here shimmers in an emerald green. Birds tweet in the branches.

"Why don't you try shifting again?" She gestures broadly at the sky. "Make it night."

I take a step into the clearing, lifting my head to the blue above me. "I don't know if I can."

"What was it that affected your shifting?" She's right next to me. Her presence puts me under a spell, slowing my heart rate.

I turn to her. "I think I might be going crazy," I whisper. "Everything is going wrong."

"Listen to me." She holds onto my face like it's a precious treasure. I never knew darkness could radiate such warmth. "You're capable. You're skilled. The only thing you need is belief. If anything goes wrong, I'm right here with you to help."

I nod slowly, freeing my head from her grip and facing the sky. "I can do this."

It's easier, now that I'm not overwhelmed by fear. Clouds cover the bright blue sky, making way for a deeper, midnight black above us.

The moon shines a dim light onto the clearing, the birds tweeting stops and a distant, low chirping of crickets turns the air into music.

"You're doing great," Aura praises me. "You're improving at a fast pace. Faster than any other shifter I've ever seen." A proud sparkle appears in her eyes.

It’s the type of look that makes me weak to my knees, that I don’t know how to respond to. It’s what makes me turn red and mumble a quick thank you instead of properly responding to the compliment.

Aura seems to notice, easing my discomfort with her words. "There have been many shifters. Too many to count, too many to remember. Over time, they all become one, their hearts become bound to this realm, to truly be who they’re meant to be," she says. "Time moves differently here. It moves as fast or as slowly as you want it to. Every shifter that has ever been here comes from a different time, some from the same, and yet they’re all connected in here through their souls. You can’t meet anyone else in the world tailored to you, but they are here." Her eyes wander over the lovely sky, a warm smile defining her expression. “They’re everywhere.”

When she notices my confused expression, she adds, "There's no such thing as days, or months, or years here. It's more like one big blurb of presence. Time is silly like that. That's one of the perks that comes with being part of this realm," she says as she brushes her raven hair behind her ears. "There is no limit to however much time you want to spend in any place in particular."

"I wish I could do that, too." I let out a sigh and let my eyes wander over the moonlit clearing. "I'm stuck right where I am, I can't change any of it."

Aura's eyes widen slightly, then narrow with a twinkle. "There are plenty of ways to change your life. Give it some time."

I shrug. "I guess. Maybe when I stop going crazy."

"Oh, Ellie," she says and strokes my hair. "You're far from crazy."

Fourteen years ago, Dad began seeing me as someone else. I was never sure who that person was, but I wasn't his daughter.

It started a month after our stepmother's death. On the day precisely. My former therapist said that anniversaries or certain dates cause trauma to bubble up. If that's true, I can't explain why I never experienced it. Maybe I'm not traumatized enough.

She didn't know about what Dad did to me.

He seemed so much taller back then in my young mind. I didn't know what he did was wrong. It didn't feel right, it never did, but he told me it was fine; I just couldn't tell anyone because it was a secret. And besides, he was my dad; he wouldn't lie to me. All I wanted was to make him happy, because if he wasn't, I'd have to explain another bruise to my teachers after he hit me for crying. I fell in the yard. I slipped in the shower. I was being clumsy.

They believed me.

Eventually, he stopped.

I think he was afraid that I'd say something. Afraid I'd get him arrested. But I never did, because he was still my dad, and I still loved him for some reason. And even though the memory of it is now merely a hollow echo from the past, it still haunts me, still guilts me. Because maybe if I had been a better daughter, maybe if he hadn’t seen me in the way that he did, he wouldn’t have killed himself. It’s not my fault, I know that—but it haunts me nonetheless. It’s a poisonous mixture of pain and guilt. I taste it in every meal I eat, see it in every corner of the apartment.

It lingers.

It will never stop lingering.

I only ever told Mal and Aiden. Mal told our mother, who made a scoffing noise and dismissed her concerns. Maybe she believed her. Maybe she knew exactly what was happening, but didn't want her ex-husband to be this monster that touches her children. I made Mal promise not to tell anyone else, which she didn't, but sometimes she came over to my room at night and slept next to me in my bed to make sure I was safe.

Aiden didn't understand. I told him when we started dating and he wanted to be intimate. It was difficult to keep something like that from him because it was near impossible for me to get physically close to anyone. Any time I tried, the memories would flash in front of my eyes and it'd send me into a panic attack. Aiden was comforting at first, until he got too impatient to wait around anymore.

I did make him wait for a long time. I can't blame him for being upset about that. I figured sex doesn't have to mean anything, it can just be an unpleasant chore that I have to do in order to stay with Aiden.

It's okay with me. I've gotten used to it.

My pillow billows out where my head doesn't hold it to the mattress. The glow-in-the-dark stars stare down at me, reminding me of the happier days I used to have.

The doorbell rings; a familiar sound in the midst of emotional turmoil, causing me to roll out of bed and tuck my hair behind my ears before opening the door.

"Surprise!" Mal hesitantly grins at me with open arms as I stare at her, processing.

Then, I close the distance between us, falling into her arms and she holds me tight. Her hands stroke over my back and rests her chin on my head.

"What are you doing here?" I mutter as I let go of our embrace, still holding her close.

"I missed you," she says, her lips curving into a sympathetic smile. "Okay, I was worried after our phone call."

"So you drove for three hours, not even a whole week after moving out?" I shake my head at her. "That's insane."

"I am a little bit insane," Mal says. I let go of her fully, and she closes the door behind her. "Something else happened on the phone last night, and I need you to tell me about it."

"Nothing happened, I swear." I slump down on my bed and she sits down on the edge of it. It reminds me of my therapy sessions. "Only the thing with Aiden."

"Ellie." She puts her hand on my shin and crosses one leg over the other.

"You look like a shrink right now."

"Maybe you need one again."

"Mal." I straighten up and lean back on my hands. "I swear, I'm okay. I don't want you to worry about me."

"Mission failed," she says. "I'm already worrying. If you don't want to tell me, that's okay, but I am staying for a while."

"I'm okay."

"I don't care." She forms a careful smile. "I'm staying because I love you and I'm making sure you actually are okay."

I lean forward to rest my arms over my knees and tilt my head to my shoulder. "What did you have in mind?"

"Anything to get you out of here for the weekend." She stands up and holds her hand out for me to grab. "You're staying as far away from Dad and Aiden as possible while I'm here."

My book shields my eyes from the sun. I distantly hear Mal flip a page in hers, but I've been staring at my page for ten minutes without a clue about any of the words. They swim on the paper, merging and mixing in a blur of letters.

"You okay?" Mal asks without looking up from her book.

I glance at her. The tree she's leaning against casts shadows over us. It's the only spot on the grass around us to sit in the shade. Mal ran for it and claimed it with a picnic blanket before anyone else could.

"Do you ever dream weird things?" I put my book down, laying it opened across my chest.

"Everyone dreams weird things," she says and closes her book. "It's how your brain processes your experiences."

"No, like..." I pause to think for a moment. "Like oddly specific dreams. About specific things."

"Like what, exactly?"

"I dreamed of the story you always tell me. The one with the girl."

Mal straightens her back and lifts one eyebrow. "That doesn't sound too weird. It was fresh in your mind, so you dreamed of it."

"It felt real." I move my head to look at her, meeting an illegible expression. "I talked to her."

"To the girl you named Light?"

"Yes."

"What did she say?"

I narrow my eyes in thought. "Nothing. She didn't respond."

"Sounds like a regular dream to me. Normal level of weird."

"It was like the dreams I used to have."

Mal puts her book down entirely. "If you have those feelings again, you need to tell me." There's a surprising sternness in her voice. "The story about the girl is made up. It's a fairytale."

"I know that, but—"

"I made it up to help you settle yourself in a panic attack. That's all it is. The girl doesn't exist, her story doesn't exist. Okay?"

"But—"

"Ellie. Okay?" Her face is hard, looking down at me like I'm nine-years-old again and telling her about my dreams for the first time.

"Okay." I stare into the sun, letting it blind me. Aura is going to have to remain a secret.

Mal picks her book up again and flips the page.

"I know it's not real," I mumble. "It just made its way into my subconscious. It's not like last time, I swear."

She lowers the book, her expression softens. "I know. I'm worried because I love you and I don't want the same thing to happen again."

"It won't." I raise my hand with my pinky stretched out. She locks hers with mine. "I promise. I'm not going down that path again."

"Good." She squeezes my pinky with hers before letting go and returning to her story. "That's all I want for you."

Mal crosses her legs on the couch with a bowl of ramen in her lap and stretches her arm to turn on the TV. It only reacts if the remote is held at a specific angle, and it always takes ages to get started.

Meanwhile, I shove the DVD into the player and fall into the cushions next to her.

"Best movie ever," Mal exclaims with a mouth full of ramen and settles further into the pillows. "There's nothing Meryl Streep can't do."

Mamma Mia is one of the movies Mal and I watch religiously at least once a month. Always together, always with a bowl of ramen, always singing along to the music.

It started on the day after Dad's attempt. Mal turned on the TV to soothe my anxiety—and as I realized over the years, her own—and Mamma Mia happened to be running. Mal watched it all the way through the end, while I fell asleep in her arms around the time Sam, Bill, and Harry realize why they were invited to the wedding. We rented and watched it again the following night. After that, Mal bought the movie on DVD and watched it with me every time I felt alone, and every time she didn't know how to replace our mother.

"I'll be right back," I say after finishing my meal. "Need to do my routine."

"Okay." Mal's hand is tangled in her chestnut hair, resting her head against her palm while her eyes follow the scenes on screen. Before I leave, she directs her focus toward me. "Hey, Ellie?"

"Yeah?"

"Wanna stay up all night and watch movies together like we used to?" A pleading look crosses her eyes.

"How could I say no to that?"

Mal and I stay up the whole night. Mamma Mia is followed by Sister Act, which makes way for Back to the Future and Beetlejuice. I doze off a few times, but never long enough to dream of anything. Every time my eyes fall shut, Mal shakes my shoulder and brings my focus back to the movies.

Whenever I open my eyes, she's right there.

She’ll never leave me, no matter what—and that’s all I’d ever ask of her.

The darkness of my bedroom soothes my tired eyelids. Sundays are best for sleeping, and after Mal fell asleep on the couch, I decided I could use some rest, too. I wish more days were like this. I wish Mal hadn't moved out and we could still have fun, comfortable nights every week. A small voice in the back of my head tells me that it’s better this way; I need to learn to be on my own. It’s about time that I do.

Blanket pulled over my nose, my thoughts stay with Mal and the comfort of her presence. Aura crosses my mind once or twice.

"You're later than usual," Aura notices. The gentle breezes carry red butterflies and a pleasant scent I can't define.

"I stayed up with my sister." I close my eyes for a moment, cherishing the soft air grazing my skin. "She came to visit."

Aura watches me for a moment, folding her hands behind her back. "I didn't know you had a sister," she says. Interest shows on her face as she tilts her head slightly, keeping her gaze fixed on me.

"She's great. We've always been close." A genuine smile sneaks onto my face. "She saved me more than once."

"What's she like?" Her right eye twitches, hardly noticeable.

"Oh, she's..." I trail off, letting my mind flush with memories. "She's kind. She always knows what to say, and she's protective. She loves animals, and reading, and poetry, and she loves me."

"That must be great." Aura's voice feels like a feather. "She's not like you."

"We're very similar." I catch a flashing look in her eyes as her lips perk up. "Oh, you mean—yeah, she's not like me."

"You know what that means?" Aura's face settles into a warm smile. "You really are one of a kind. There aren't many people like you. There have been, but rarely at the same time." Her eyes trail off to something behind me, lost in an unfocused distance. "I've seen a few. Shifters who shared the same time, the same dreams, even." Her smile turns colder, her gaze hardens before she shakes her head and reverts back to her usual, soft self. "It's rare." She holds out her arm, and I link mine with hers as she begins strolling through the colorful sea of flowers. "Shifters don't usually meet. Your dreams aren't typically shared, each one is tailored individually."

"It's only me and you in here?"

Aura nods once, her eyes fixed on the path before us. "Me, you, and any other one of my folk we might come across. Like Light."

"Your folk." She mentioned that word once before, but at the time, I didn't pay attention to it. Aura leaves the impression that she's the only one taking care of my dreams. "There are more of you?"

"Weavers. There aren't many of us."

"Weavers?"

Aura stops in front of a flat patch of grass and holds out her hand. Warm, golden light as thin as hair omits a soft glow onto her skin. "I don't normally visualize this," she mumbles, focused on the shimmer, "but for the sake of helping you understand your mind." She slowly stretches her fingers, first the index, then the rest follows, and the light vanishes in her hand as a single, crimson rose sprouts from the dirt, slowly unfolding its leaves and petals. Aura steps back, satisfied, and folds her hands behind her back.

"Our task is to seamlessly weave your mind into your dreamworld, allowing you to connect with it and discover your true purpose." She bows down to pluck the rose from the ground, not minding the thorns pricking her hands, and offers it to me. "There aren't many of you, and very few of us. We do our best to strengthen your mind. Your abilities. The more you practice your shifting and your other abilities, the more you stay with me, the stronger your connection will become."

I hold the rose close to my chest, inspecting the dark petals from above. "Other abilities?" I repeat without looking up. The petals are soft.

"There are a lot of things for you to discover." Aura ambles through the garden, followed by me, holding onto the rose tightly. "It'll do you good to learn it all. Someone with your skill set should focus on enhancing it rather than wasting your time with ordinary things and people."

I lift my head to find her already looking at me. "What?"

"Like Mallory." The corners of her lips twitch as she watches my reaction.

"I can't not spend time with Mal." I lower the rose. "She's my sister. I love her."

"I'm not asking you to," Aura says. "She must be a very special person. All I mean is for you to practice a lot. With me."

I press my lips together and nod. A strange, yet warm feeling creeps over me. "I will. I mean, I want to. I want to know about those other abilities." My imagination is running wild, picturing every scenario I can come up with in which I'm in full control over my mind. In which no one else gets to have a say.

"It may be too early to tell you about it all." Aura shakes her head softly. "You will learn soon."

"Please." My hand grasps her arm. "Please. I have to know."

Aura lifts her eyebrows with a soft grin. "I like your enthusiasm."

"I'll practice it all." I'm on my toes, leaning closer to her in anticipation of the knowledge I'm about to receive.

She gently frees herself from my grip and turns away, fixing her eyes on something far away. "You've been manipulating your own dreams," she says as she glances back at me, a mischievous twinkle in her iris. "You can do the same to dreams that aren't your own."

"You mean—"

"It's called dreamhopping." She turns to me fully, throwing her raven hair over her shoulder and brings herself to eye-level with me. "You can enter another person's dream—shifter or not—and affect it like you have yours." When she notices the impatient look on my face, she stands up straighter. "You need to perfect your shifting first. Otherwise, you won't be able to do it."

"But you'll teach me?"

"Once you've perfected your shifting," she repeats. "Once you can prove to me that you're able to stop your subconscious from influencing your dreams. That's what sets you apart from ordinary people, Ellie. They can't separate those. You can. You will."

My face gleams at her as I'm overcome with a surge of determination. "I'll do it right now," I tell her. "I'll shift without my emotions."

"Give it a minute." She nudges my jittery hands down and places her palm over my heart. The careful pressure she applies calms my nerves as she locks eyes with me. "You're too emotional right now."

I swallow and push my hair back. "I want to be like you," I say, straightening my back. "You're so calm. I want that. How do you do it?"

"Patience," Aura murmurs and removes her hand from my chest. "Patience and practice."

My heart is slowed, my head less occupied with hectic, though enthusiastic, thoughts.

"How's your head, dear?" she asks calmly.

"Clear. I can do it."

She nods. "Okay, then. Do it." She steps aside, letting me feel the full extent of my energy.

My eyes closed, I exhale a thin breath through pursed lips and search for the electricity flowing through my veins. It bubbles inside me like a cauldron, warm and invigorating.

Images rush through my head, each one clearer than the next, and I build it in my mind. It has to be something new. Somewhere I've never been, somewhere that doesn't exist.

The air around me sizzles with electricity, fueling me. Large skyscrapers build in my mind, sprouting from the ground like flowers. Overtaken by tall, wild redwood trees, intertwining in their canopies to cast large, dappled shadows on the ground. It's all building in my head down to the woody pine scent and soft rustling as insects and birds glide through the branches.

It's not just the air that's charging up; it's me. Without opening my eyes, I can tell that I've almost done it when a sudden, sharp pain shoots through my head and a bright light blinds me. The silver blade reflects the light, closer to my eyes than last time. It's as though I can reach out and grab the wooden handle myself. The pain in my mind intensifies, droning through my head and demanding to burst out.

Someone screams.

It's over quickly when my eyes snap open, my hands flailing as I instinctively reach out for anything to ground myself on the moss-covered asphalt.

Aura kneels next to me, her arms slung around me as I cling onto them for dear life.

"What happened?" I murmur as I slowly prop myself up with Aura's help.

She pushes hair that's sticking to my skin out of my face. "You shifted successfully," she says. "You screamed. And you fell."

"I blacked out." My heart is pounding at a thousand beats per minute. "I saw it again." Each word I speak feels like a hurdle.

Aura doesn't say anything, inspecting me with narrowed eyes.

"The memory," I continue. "I've had it before. It feels like a memory, but it's not mine." I inhale as deeply as my lungs allow.

"What kind of memory is it?" she speaks softly and brushes her hand over my hair.

"It's—” I pause, staring at the giant trees growing over and through skyscrapers, ivy climbing up concrete and colorfully speckled salamanders moving swiftly over the asphalt. It's so quiet. I carefully get to my feet, spinning around slowly to take it in. "It's stunning," I whisper. "Nature taking over."

"It's not real," Aura says, beaming with pride. "You did well. You made it all on your own."

"I did." A smile tugs on my lips as a blue-winged macaw soars over our heads. It doesn't belong to a city, certainly not to redwood forests, but it's here. I made it.

"It took you a while," Aura continues, "but that's okay. You're starting out and you made something impressive. Keep being impressive and you'll learn about dreamhopping in no time."

"Okay," I whisper, unable to take my eyes off the overgrown city. There are things I didn't even realize I was making up, discoverable behind every corner. Shattered glass in empty window frames where a thick branch sprouted, faded markings on the road, a rusty gate creaking in a gust of wind.

"Let's do it again." Aura takes my hand. "Do it again, do it quicker. Learn."

I blink slowly, adjusting to the light flooding my room through the small gaps in the blinds. "Christ," I mumble, rubbing my temples with my left hand to ease the headache.

"You're up," Mal says. I turn my head. She's sitting next to my bed on a chair with crossed legs, holding onto my right hand and stroking it with her thumb.

"What are you doing?" I pull my hand away and sit up with a groggy feeling. A truck may as well have run me over, it would've made no difference.

Mallory tucks her hands under her legs. "Nothing. You've been sleeping for a while, I just came to check on you."

"How long have you been sitting here?" The shadows under her eyes and fast-paced blinking hint to a complete lack of sleep since I left her on the couch. "Did you sleep at all?"

She shrugs lightly. "I dozed off on the couch for maybe half an hour."

"And then you just sat here?" I reach for the cord to open my blinds, squinting when the light enters the room.

"Of course not," she says and presses her lips together in an attempt of a smile. She pats her legs once before getting up and reaching out for me. "Wanna go grocery shopping? I'll cook tonight."

The timeline of what happened isn't entirely clear to me anymore.

I think I've always had the ability to visit the Dreamscapes, but I simply never felt the need to do so until I was a teenager. I went once as a child, but that was it for years.

Life was fine, for the most part. I never had the urge to be anywhere else, to escape my reality. A boring life is better than a tragic one.

I'm not sure how long it took after things changed, but it must've happened soon after I heard about it. It changed everything; the way I saw my life, my own power within that life.

Had I ever had any? Maybe, if I had been better at life, it would've never come to this. If it had only happened to me instead.

I remember laying down in bed that night, my hands folded across my chest as I tried to think of ways to change it. I couldn't think of any.

All my life, I had been ordinary, bored, frustrated. Now, I was powerless.

I could hardly sleep that night, and the whole time I was trying to find sleep, I was inwardly praying that tomorrow it would've only been a dream. Or that I would wake up to find out I suddenly had superpowers that would enable me to fix the situation.

That's what got me into the Dreamscapes in the first place. Having the ability combined with the desire to be in control; a dangerous combination.

I've thought about that night a lot since then.

And I've come to the realization that wishing for control was my initial mistake. Mistake zero.

If I hadn't wished for power, I wouldn't have ended up there. My situation would've just been a shitty situation that may have ended at some point. I would've hated every minute of it, but at least it would've been how normal people deal with things.

But entering the Dreamscapes—and deciding to return again and again—was the boulder beginning to roll down the hill.

I made things worse by wanting to make them better. I know that now.

If I could go back in time, I'd slap some sense into myself. But that was years ago, and the boulder might crush the village at the bottom of the hill soon.

There's a small store that opens on Sundays. I've been to it more times than any other store because I'm busy during every other day of the week, not to mention I usually need to recharge or meet Aiden.

The store is awkwardly cramped. Narrow aisles don't allow more than two people to comfortably fit through the rows, even without a shopping cart. And there's always a strange stench in the air.

But it's open, and it sells the Neapolitan ice cream wafers Mal and I like to get on our grocery trips. I'm craving it, or anything cold to eat.

"Ellie!"

Mal and I turn around at the same time to find Aiden jogging toward us on our way to the store, raising his hand mid-jog to signal me to wait.

"Keep walking," Mal says and tugs my arm, but I don't.

"Ellie," he says again and stops right next to us. "Can we talk?" His eyes then move to Mal, acknowledging her with a short nod. "Hey, Mallory," he says.

"Screw you," she spits. "Come on, let's go." She tugs my arm again.

"Wait." I face Aiden. He's catching his breath as he waits for my response. He isn't wearing his smelly sweater, but a red shirt instead. A clean red shirt. "Okay. Let's talk."

He cracks a relieved smile, while Mal glares at him.

"I'll be right back."

Part of me knows it’s pointless to talk to him, but there’s that tiny voice in the back of my mind again. Hear what he has to say. Something about having known him for a long time, about having been able to lean on him whenever I had to fight to stay alive—at least in the early stages of our relationship—makes me want to listen to him.

Mal remains where she is as Aiden and I go around the corner. I lean against the wall of a building, crossing my arms in front of my chest. Don't cave now.

He rakes his hand through his dark hair and glances at his shoes. "Do you ever think back to the day we met?" he asks after a moment of silence.

"I do." It was the week before we graduated. I was stressed and overwhelmed with studying. I had no friends to study with, and neither did he. He came up to me after class and asked if I could explain math to him. I laughed, because he didn't specify any more than that, and I could hardly explain the entirety of math to him in the span of a week. But I tried my best, and he tried to get close to me every day. And it worked—because less than a week later, we kissed for the first time.

He looks up again. "Do you ever regret it?"

"What?"

"Do you ever regret meeting me?" His eyes are dead-serious.

My chest tightens. I don't know the right answer for that question.

"I'm serious, Ellie," he says. "I'm sorry. I screwed up. I said things I shouldn't have said, and you have every right to be mad at me. So, I'm giving you an out with this." He keeps his gaze steady. "Do you ever regret meeting me?"

I clear my throat. I don't want an out. I want him to know what it's been like for me, to be truly sorry, to stop messing with my head. "There are some days I wish that things would go differently with us."

"Like what?" he asks, attempting a smile when he notices that I move away a little. "I want to do better for you. You deserve better."

"Where is this coming from?" A cold chill runs over my spine.

"You know," he says, shifting his stance, "the other day in the restaurant. And you've been avoiding me. I know you've been making excuses, I'm not dumb." He takes a step toward me. "I want us to work."

I turn my head slightly. Mal is staring at us from a distance, arms crossed and eyes firmly fixed on him.

"I haven't been the best boyfriend," he continues. "I know that. But I want to be better for you, please tell me how."

"Okay," I say slowly, facing him again. "Promise you won't get mad at me?"

"I won't." He holds up his hand and puts his other to his chest. "I swear."

"Alright." I rub my hands together like I'm freezing. My insides feel cold. "Sometimes, you get mad about really irrelevant things. Like the time the zipper on your new jacket broke and you went to the shop and yelled at the cashier about it." I take a breath in, because my following words hurt the most. “When I came out to you as bi, your first reaction was accusing me of cheating. All I wanted was some support, some understanding.”

He patiently looks at me, waiting for me to continue.

"And sometimes, you don't make me feel very safe. A lot of the time, actually." I scan his face before continuing, trying to determine whether I can continue to be honest or if I should start making excuses again.

"When did I do that?" he asks.

"When I crashed at your place while you weren't home because I had a panic attack, and you took my key away. Or in the restaurant when you blamed me for having been assaulted." I feel anger bubble up in my stomach. "Or the time we went to a concert together. You were driving, and something I said or did upset you, and you left me behind at the concert, driving home alone. I had to order a taxi and ask people on the street for money to pay for it because my wallet was in your car. And you never apologized for it." All my pent-up frustrations bubble up. "Or any time you want to have sex. I don't always want to, but I never say no because then you'd get upset, and we'd fight, and you wouldn't talk to me for days. But sometimes I really don't feel like it, especially on days when my anxiety is shit, but you never cared about that once!"

His hands are on my face then, wiping away the tears I didn't even notice were streaming over my cheeks, and he kisses me. It's a warm, passionate kiss, and he holds onto me like he's afraid of letting go.

"I'm sorry," he says when he separates our lips. "Genuinely. I've been shit."

I don't respond, perplexed by his response to my ramble about what I hate about him. I'd have expected him to get mad, to leave me here, to break up with me. Not this.

"It's okay," I whisper, sniffing and wiping away the rest of my tears. "I should've told you what was bothering me from the beginning."

"Nah," he says. "I'll do better. I swear. And when I'm being a dick, you can tell me, alright? I swear I won't get mad."

"Alright." The strange, warm feeling creeps into my heart again. "I love you."

"I love you, too." He smiles and kisses me again, and I put my hands on his shoulders.

When our contact breaks again and the butterflies in my stomach stop fluttering, he takes my hand. "Want to walk for a bit?"

I turn my head again. Mal looks like she's about to punch Aiden between his legs if he kisses me again. "Not today," I say. "Not now. I'm spending the day with Mal." I put my hand to his cheek and stroke over his cheekbone with my thumb. "Tomorrow evening after work?"

"Okay." He smiles at me. It's warmer than usual. "Looking forward to it."

"I swear to God," Mal rants while browsing the pasta on the shelf, "if he hurts you one more time, one more fucking time." She drops a box of rigatoni in the basket I'm holding.

"Mal, it's fine. I think he actually wants to do better."

"About time," she grumbles and squeezes past me to the other side of the aisle. "It's been five years, Ellie. Five years since you started dating him." She grabs a box of salt and inspects it. "We out of salt?" She drops it in the basket without waiting for my response. "Whatever, you'll run out of it eventually, anyway. I'm paying, by the way. What was I saying?"

"Five years," I remind her.

"Five years of shit!"

I follow her through the narrow aisles as she picks things from the shelves.

"How do you put up with that? Five years of pain and constant criticism from the person who is supposed to love you most. That's insane. Insane."

"He's not supposed to love me most." I switch the basket to my other hand to relieve myself from the weight. "You are. You love me most."

"Obviously."

"And he wasn't always so bad. There were good moments in the first year or so. And plenty since then, too."

"Well, pardon me," she says sarcastically. "Four years of shit and then some."

"I'm not saying that I'm forgiving him for everything. But he's trying. I'm giving him credit, that's all. A second chance."

"How many second chances have you given him?"

"Mal." I let the basket dangle for a change. The weight of all the items she picked out is noticeable in my shoulder. "We can't all have as much luck as you did. Meeting your perfect match right after graduation, never fighting, getting engaged and moving to your dream home. That's not the norm. That's not anyone, except for you and Ewan."

"Maybe not, but what you have isn't the norm, either. It's the other end of the spectrum, Ellie." She takes the basket from me and continues strolling through the aisles. "What I have doesn't happen to everyone. What you have, shouldn't."

"I won't break up with him over this."

"I know." She lets out a regretful sigh. "At least be careful around him, okay? I can't watch you being hurt all over again."

"I promise I will be." I attempt a feeble smile.

I say it only to make Mal happy. Maybe I don't need to be careful around Aiden anymore. Maybe he really wants to change for me; maybe he really loves me. That's all that matters. And if Aiden can change, then my life can change, and I won't need to seek happiness elsewhere.

As long as I have Mal and Aiden by my side, things will be okay.

Aura can hold out a night or two without me.

The doorbell is as shrill as ever when I ring it the following evening. Work passed by me in a blur, and I met Mal's reminder to be careful with a shrug.

My heart beats out of my chest when I hear Aiden's footsteps approaching. For the entire duration of the first month we dated, I felt like this. Always full of excitement to see him, impatient to hold him and kiss him. Before we had our first time together, when he still valued me for the love I had to give instead of only looking at my body.

When he introduced me to his parents, he told them how beautiful he thought I was. He told them I was the most amazing girl in the world and he'd do anything for me. Countless dates, roses, gifts; even love letters. I treasured it all. I treasured it long after the initial romance faded, long after we had slept together for the first time.

Sex ruins romance.

And now, I get a fresh start. A chance at retrieving the long-lost love I thought was forever sunken in the sea, never to resurface through the foamy waves and whirling sand that had clouded my vision for half a decade.

Aiden opens the door wide and smiles at me with a bigger smile than I've ever seen on him before. He kisses me, and I lean into it, feeling the scratchy stubble on his jaw with my hands. I trace the small scar on his right cheekbone where he took a hit for me once. His eye was swollen for two weeks. It had happened about six months into our relationship. A guy on the bus had flirted with me, and even though he had respectfully accepted my rejection, Aiden had insisted on getting out at the same stop as him. I didn't make the connection why he wanted to until his fist landed in the other guy’s face.

Aiden slowly separates from me, his hands still holding tightly onto my waist. "Good to see you." He smiles against my lips and kisses me again, and I let myself believe that this really is what I've been wishing for.

His fingers slowly run through my hair as my head rests in the crook of his shoulder. He smells fresh, like strawberry and coconut. I've long forgotten about the movie on the screen. I barely remember what we're watching.

My hand traces his chest, his ribs, his stomach. "Did you change your shampoo?" I murmur.

He replies with a kiss on my head, twirling a lock of my hair as his hand moves down my shoulder. His other hand gently nudges my jaw toward his, and our lips touch in a short, tender kiss. "I missed you," he whispers. The depth of his voice runs a chill down my spine. I kiss him again, leaning into his lips to turn the sweet, tentative touches into hungry exploration.

Aiden's hands run down my spine, settling on my thighs. I nudge his probing hand away without disrupting our kiss. He moves there again, further this time, pushing my legs apart. He only stops when I slap him on the wrist and pull away.

"Just kissing?" he asks, and even though he says it with care, he can't hide the disappointment in his eyes.

"And some light touching." I kiss him again, craving his lips. "Nothing under my clothes."

"Okay." He pulls me closer, kissing my neck and the crook of my shoulder. It gives me goosebumps and my heart flutters.

The sound of the movie fades away in the background.

"You alright?" he asks between kisses. I nod, holding onto his neck. My hair falls over his face. He gently pushes it away. "More than kisses, then?"

"Aiden..." My palm pushes against his chest, putting distance between us. "I don't want to. I'm not feeling it today. I mean, we just made up." I attempt a smile, but it comes out thinner than expected. I kiss him one more time, leaving my hand on his cheek when we part. "I need some time."

"Come on," he says with a crooked smile. "I've missed you." He peppers my neck with soft, warm kisses, one hand firmly planted on my lower back, the other moving down my thigh. "You're so beautiful," he whispers into my ear as he pushes my shirt out of the way to trace my spine.

"Aiden, I don't—"

"You rarely do," he keeps whispering. "And you always end up having fun. Trust me. I love you."

"I love you, too, but—"

He pushes my hair out of the way, holds my face tightly, and looks me right in the eyes. "You'll have fun," he says. "I love you. I'd never hurt you. You know you want to." He kisses me again and unbuttons my pants.

When his hand crosses the boundary I set, it's like he pulls a lever that controls my ability to be.

My brain shuts off, rendering me unable to move my body. My mind is transporting me back to that day, that day I started to learn what it meant to give up my bodily autonomy. When Dad started coming into my room at night, rarely at first, maybe once every two weeks or so. Then, more consistently, anytime he felt depressed, any time he missed his wife. Sometimes when Mal was asleep in the adjacent room. He told me to stay quiet, to relax and have fun. I tried to, but I never did.

I'm stuck in the memory like salty waves crashing over my head, pushing me under the surface. It's impossible to swim upwards. Anger and fear bubble up in my stomach, and I want Aiden to stop touching me, but no sound comes past my lips.

He doesn't seem to notice.

I'm paralyzed on the outside and writhing on the inside. The horror stays inside me, only trailing down my face in the form of tears. Aiden's touch translates to the memory of Dad's touch all over my body, leaving imprints I could never forget.

"I love you, Ellie," Aiden says and kisses me. It sounds distant.

It's a lie.

How could he possibly love me when he doesn’t notice or care about the tears streaming down my face? When he just takes what he wants? How can he claim to care about me when he ignores my sobs?

I manage to say his name between ragged breaths, but I'm not sure if he hears me. If he does, it spurs him on more. My limbs have turned into stone, numbness overtaking every last bit of me.

My trembling hand pushes against his shoulder, but he doesn't let up.

"Aiden, stop," I whimper. It sounds small. Pathetic.

He kisses me again. "Hold on, baby," he says, "I'm almost done."

When he finally is, he strokes my hair, gently, like he loves me. "You were great," he says, caressing my cheek. "I missed you so much."

Cotton encloses my ears. You were great. His words echo through my head. I was great. Great at not objecting to his actions.

I can't believe I'm this stupid. I knew that this was coming, I knew it before I made the decision to forgive him. Even Mal expected this. And still, I keep coming back, I keep looking past his mistakes and he keeps hurting me.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Aiden dozes off to sleep soon after. Anything that happens before that, doesn't register in my brain. I'm in bed, but I don't remember how I got there from the couch. Did I do my routine? Did I brush my teeth, did I call Mal? I'm not sure.

His peaceful, soft snores next to me are the only sound I hear. The world is quiet.

He assaulted me. No. He raped me. My boyfriend raped me.

Different options rattle through my head like the slots of an arcade machine.

One. I could leave. Run away, never look back, break things off for good with Aiden. I could return to my home where the memory of my father is waiting for me. I could do that, once I regain the ability to move my body.

Two. I could get in the car with Mal and drive to her farm. She'd take me in, she'd make me talk about Aiden, I'd live under her care, never to turn back. I'd leave everything behind.

Three. I could stay. Just...fall asleep. Wait until the sun rises, until I'm capable of finding a solution.

My emotions are mixing up with one another, leaving me with a confusing mess of anger bound to terror with a load of anxiety, until the slot machine lands on option three.

Stay. Wait it out.

My eyelids are heavy as lead, and through the paralyzing haze that seems to overtake my body, I allow my body to drift off into sleep. Aura will be waiting for me after I didn't show up last night. She'll make me feel better again.

"Something is wrong with you," is the first thing Aura says to me. She scans me from head to toe. "I can feel the disturbance in your mind."

"I'm okay," I lie. As if on reflex, my arms cross over my stomach. With my right hand, I pinch my skin tightly to stay in the present. Pain gives me something to focus on. Without it, I'd get lost in thought, trapped in memories.

The garden is colder today. A soft breeze sends chills down my spine and I don't hear any birds or insects whirring about. The absence of sound makes the world close in around me. Everything is open and empty, and I'm all alone.

I blink away my tears, pinching my skin harder.

"I care," Aura says. "Tell me." Her mellow voice makes me believe in the truth behind her words; it closes my throat and coaxes tears out of my eyes before I melt into her arms and surrender to her comforting embrace. Her hand strokes over my back—slow, soothing—until I breathe again.

"He hurt me," I whisper, my cheek pressed against Aura's chest where my tears stain the fabric of her dress, but she doesn't mind. Instead, her hand moves to the back of my head, continuously caressing my hair. "And I didn't defend myself." My voice becomes quieter as I speak those words because I'm not sure what's worse.

There's no difference to what Dad did to me. I stayed quiet then, too, pulled my blanket over my head and I didn't defend myself. I never did. I allowed him to take whatever he wanted and I allowed Aiden to do the same thing tonight.

Aura stays silent for a moment before she raises her voice. "You should hurt him back."

I pull back slightly, holding onto her waist as she brings her hand to my face. Her slender fingers gently trace the curve of my cheek. "Hurt him back," she repeats quietly. "You deserve more."

"I can't." I swallow around the lump in my throat. "I have no control over my life. All I can do is leave him, but even for that, I'm too weak." The idea of breaking up with Aiden doesn't excite me. It makes my blood run cold.

What comes after a breakup? Would he come after me to win me back? Would he resort to forced romance, flowers, and love that'd fade again the moment I'd let him back in, or would he be violent? Would he hit me and only stop if I forgave him? There are too many possible outcomes to imagine. Staying with him is safest.

I've never felt the need to take revenge on anyone. Sometimes, Mal speaks of hurting him, but never seriously. She talks about shoving him off a bridge sometimes, then laughs like it was a joke. But Aura? Aura doesn't even need to know who I'm talking about for her to desire my revenge above all.

"Leaving him won't hurt him." An indescribable expression briefly flickers across her face. "You need to take back your control. You have to show him what you're made of."

"I'm not that strong." My jaw clenches when another sob makes its way out of my throat. I can't even imagine that I have any control. My mind doesn't reach that far.

"In here, you are." Her eyes bore into me with a plan simmering behind her eyes. "Enter his dreams. Affect his subconscious, make him hurt."

"You mean—"

"You're talented enough." She lets go of me entirely, only her hand lingering on my shoulder. "What's better than taking revenge on someone who harmed you without any way to trace it back to you?" Aura takes both my hands and steadies her stance. "Close your eyes," she says. "You need to visualize your energy. Feel it course through your body, don't let it only be a part of yourself, let it be you."

I take a slow breath in. The energy flowing over me feels like a gentle, cool wave on a summer day that tingles through my entire body.

"Find him," she whispers.

It's as though I'm inside my void again, utter darkness in every direction, but it's different to closing my eyes. It's real, building around me. A gentle, distant wind whistles through my ears, but I can’t feel it. The ground is cold against my skin as if I’m standing in the midst of a black Antarctic, endless voids in every direction with the vague scent of loneliness; bitter, sharp, and minty.

The electricity in my veins threatens to burst out if I don't use it, when I notice something not far from me. A lingering, softly glowing orb of yellow light. It's hovering just a few steps away, slightly above me. Its glow is mesmerizing, and I reach out for it. It tingles where it touches the tips of my fingers, inviting me to come closer. I want to hold it, I want it to absorb me.

"Link it with your energy." Aura's voice is distant, merely a hollow whisper guiding me through my mind.

I direct the flowing energy inside me to the glowing light in front of me, visualizing how they connect and mix. It feels like I'm floating, like the mix of light and energy tickle me with a feather. I can't tell if I'm doing it right, but when the glowing orb fuses with the feeling of my energy in a strange mix of sensuality and absorption, an intense feeling overtakes me. It leaves me mentally paralyzed for a split second when the light takes over; blinding, surging.

For a moment, nothing seems to have changed. I'm still surrounded by darkness. The tingling feeling has vanished, replaced by a fierce wave of hatred weighing me down. It doesn't reach into my heart, but it's strong enough for me to understand I'm in the right place.

Is this how Aiden feels all the time?

It fills the air around me with thick, invisible billows of anger, slowly crushing me from the outside as I fight the urge to run away from it.

Only a split second later, it's over, and I feel smooth cobblestone under my feet. People around me are chatting, and in the distance, I hear seagulls. I push through the crowd until I find a railing overlooking a white sand beach and turquoise waves gently kissing the shore.

He's there, too. When he spots me, he smiles at me.

Is he conscious of what he's doing or is this like any other dream to him?

He looks like any other average man. No detail about him would hint at the actions he's done. The whiteness of his teeth and the dimples in his cheeks could fool anyone. It fooled me once.

He waves at me with a cheery grin, inviting me to come closer.

The salty wind from the sea blows my hair out of my face as I stride toward him. He waits for me to come close enough, then he takes my hands and squeezes them. He says something to me, but I don't understand it.

The kindness in his eyes and the tenderness of his grip don't belong. They're the lit match to the oil in my heart.

Wind starts to form, and it grows to a brewing storm. Aiden looks around, wrapping his arms around me to shield me from the growing gusts of wind. He says something to me again, but his voice is hollow and echoing.

I free myself from his grip and push him away, meeting his confused eyes with a steel glare. The waves crash against the shore now, sudden rock formations having formed and the water changed from a peaceful turquoise to an unsettling, foamy, dark green. The sand starts to whirl, wind whistling in my ears, mixing with a ringing sound I can't find the source of.

Aiden raises his arm to shield his eyes. Through the sand fogging up his vision, he stares at me with narrowed eyes and widens his stance to withstand the storm. He reaches out for me with his other hand, waiting for me to hold it.

I don't.

The storm I created stops, holding a pillar of sand in place right above him.

Aiden looks upward for a split second. His eyes widen, then shut immediately when the sand pillar crashes over him. He coughs and rubs his eyes, and the beach collapses around me, destroyed by flickering darkness, and I'm back in the void. The glowing orb is gone.

So is my void just a moment later, being ripped out of sleep by Aiden when he jolts upward in bed. A stack of paper that was on his desk is scattered across the floor as if blown away by a sudden gust of wind, the window is wide open.

And his side of the bed is covered in sand.

I did that. Holy shit, I did that.

Aiden—wide awake—stares at the sand, grabs a handful of sand, and lets it run through his fingers. He shifts his eyes to me, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. "What the fuck," he says.

My first instinct of disbelief is replaced with regret and a frantic search for an apology.

I'm sorry I manipulated your dream. I'm sorry I even considered hurting you. I'm sorry I let my anger take over. I'm sorry I didn't do something worse.

"What the fuck did you do?" The vein on his forehead seems to be jumping at me. "Are you insane?!" He runs his hands through the sand one more time, spreading it across the mattress.

"I—"

"Shut up," he snaps. "What the hell has gotten into you? I thought we're on good terms—"

"So did I."

"Why do you have to be such a bitch?"

The apologetic look on my face fades. It takes me no longer than a second to decide on the approach I want to take.

The smile I put on doesn't reach my eyes. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" he scoffs. "Did you put fucking sand in my bed?"

"Why would I do that?" I ask as innocently as possible. "You must be half asleep. There's no sand in your bed."

"What?" His voice is higher than usual and utter confusion marks his face. "I'm literally sitting in sand, what the fuck—"

"Where would I have gotten sand from at this hour? It's like four in the morning. You think I went outside, found sand somewhere, threw it in your bed, just to go back to sleep in the same bed? That's ridiculous."

It's an emotion I've never seen on his face before. The complete uncertainty on how to act. He wants to object, wants to say something, but he's lacking the words for it.

"Go back to sleep," I tell him. "I'm sure in the morning, the world will look brighter." In my sweetest voice, I add, "Good night. Love you." I turn back around and close my eyes, ignoring the sand itching on my skin.

"I can't sleep here," he argues. "There's sand in my bed." He sounds like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum.

"Sleep on your couch, then," I suggest without looking at him. "I'll enjoy the sand-free bed on my own."

"Fine," he spits. "I will." He pats down his sandy sweatpants and leaves the room, slamming the door.

Hurt him back.

I didn't. This is way better.

I stay up until I'm sure he's asleep to change his bedsheets and take care of the sand. There can't be any trace left of it in the morning. I sweep over the sheets, under the bed, and I close the front door quietly when I return from throwing it out.

Keep hurting him.

When Aiden wakes up a few hours later, I'm already in the kitchen making his coffee. He takes his coffee black because he claims that coffee with milk or sugar is a washed-down version of it, and only girls drink it.

Today, I'll find out how serious he is about this opinion.

I place the coffee on the table and wait for him to sit down. My head rests on my steepled hands as I watch his every move. The chaotic anger inside me isn’t gone, but it's smoothened out by the desire to take back control.

"What's this?" he asks, a hint of disgust in his voice. "You know I don't like sugar and milk in my coffee."

"I vividly remember how you told me you liked your coffee." My voice is steady and calm. "I've always made your coffee exactly like that."

"Bullshit," he says. "Why are you acting so weird?"

"Weird?" I tilt my head. "In what way?"

He leans back in his chair and narrows his eyes. "Just...different."

"Well," I say, mirroring his body language and crossing my arms, my eyes never once leaving his, "I don't know what you mean by weird, but this is how I've always made your coffee. Maybe you forgot." I push the mug toward him and watch as the put-on cockiness is replaced by skepticism. "Why don't you drink it to get your day started?"

He lifts his eyebrows, but he doesn't say anything else. Carefully, he takes a sip from his coffee, but stops the second his lips touch it. "It's too hot."

I lean forward, crossing my arms on the table and glaring right into his eyes. "Drink it."

"What—"

"Drink it," I repeat. "I made that for you. The way you always told me you liked it."

I can tell he's getting more flustered by the second and I watch with triumph as he lifts the mug to his lips once more.

I'll be late to work today, but I sit with Aiden until he finishes drinking his coffee, the triumphant feeling in my stomach growing with every sip, overshadowing the anger.

He's more uncomfortable and uncertain than he's ever been. He has no idea how to behave.

"You need to break up with him." Mal sits with me on my bedroom floor later that evening while I throw a bouncy ball against the wall over and over again, catching it in my hand each time. "He blames you for what happened with Dad, and then he comes out of nowhere to apologize and love-bomb you again. It's not right."

"I can't break up with him." The bouncy ball makes a soothing, repetitive sound. "Not yet."

I glance at her, wondering what she'd think if I told her about last night. If she knew that Aiden did anything but bombard me with affection.

"I'm serious." She reaches out and catches the ball before it hits the floor another time.

I let my head fall back until it hits the mattress, and close my eyes. "I'm fine, Mal. I don't need protecting."

"Are you? Are you really?"

"I've got it under control."

"And what exactly does that mean?"

I open my eyes again, staring straight at the faded, glowing stars. "Nothing."

"Ellie." Her voice softens. "Did something happen again?"

I don't respond.

"You're awfully quiet. I don’t like it." She moves closer to me. "Tell me. What did you and Aiden do last night?"

"We watched a movie, made out a bit..." I drag each word out as if speaking slower could prevent me from telling her the truth.

"Did you want to make out with him?"

"I did." I turn my head to face her, pressing my hands into my lap to stop their trembling. "Until I didn't."

"Ellie," she says again, slowly this time.

"It's not so bad," I mumble. "I don't think he did it on purpose, I don't think he realized that I didn't want it. And it's not like this was the first time I slept with him when I didn't want to, so it's fine." I fidget with my hands, avoiding Mal's eyes. This morning's confidence vanishes faster every passing second. "Besides, I know how to get back at him."

"You could start by breaking up," Mal says sternly. "He's literally the worst person alive."

"It's not so bad," I repeat, quieter this time.

"Ellie," she says and takes my hands. "He blamed you for getting assaulted. He raped you. Multiple times, apparently. You need to break up!"

"I need to make him regret it."

"Screw that." Mal places the bouncy ball back in my palm. Almost like a reflex, I throw it against the wall. "Get rid of him."

"I will, eventually. Let me do this my way, okay? I've got it under control and I don't need a babysitter."

Mal sighs deeply. She leans against the bed with me, following the ball with her eyes. "Fine," she says finally. "You're an adult. You can make your own decisions. But I am not happy with it."

"That's okay with me." I throw the ball harder. The repetitive pattern soothes something inside me. Any time the ball hits the wall with full force, I imagine Aiden’s face in its place; if I had a dart board, I’d pin a photo of him to it.

"Were you able to get any sleep at all?"

"Yeah." A pleased smile sneaks onto my lips. "I slept well."

Mal stays quiet for a while. The only sound in the room is the repetitive thud of the ball.

"Just stay away from him as much as you can," she says. "I want you to be safe."

The Raven has power far beyond my imagination. Of course, she could shift just like me, she could manipulate space in the Dreamscapes, she could take me wherever she chose. But there's more to her. She knew everything about me. Not just me, but the entirety of the shifters.

I wasn't the only one. There has been an endless amount of people like me, but The Raven's folk was careful never to let them meet. Normally, they can't.

I was told that each shifter's dreams are tailored exactly to their minds with no way to enter someone else's Dreamscapes. The only place that was connected was one of my favorite places in the whole world.

They called it the Eternal Library. Everything written in the endless number of books in there will last an eternity. It will cover all of eternity, and it's been going on for an eternity. It was a magical place, the ceiling hung with stars like a night sky and it was always filled with this incredibly calming atmosphere. Something as simple as breathing felt liberating in this place.

It had all kinds of books. History about the Dreamscapes. Background on the Weavers, which is what the dreamfolk called themselves. Books about the constellations in this place, the laws between this realm and my own, documented nightmares and forgotten dreams...Most importantly, they had books on the shifters. Not just our abilities, but us. What intrigued me most was the way the words were written. Most of what I saw sounded like a fairytale. Big, fantastical words woven around long, flowery sentences to tell a story that sounds entirely made up if you hadn't been there yourself.

The books and their stories write themselves, The Raven told me. That's why it was impossible for me to change my fate, even if I had known about it from the start. My story has been engraved in the book with my name on it since the beginning. Each shifter has one, containing everything about their life and their abilities, down to the smallest detail.

I didn't want to read it when she showed it to me. I was a dumb teenager, but I was smart enough to understand that having any information about my future would be extremely dangerous. It's what every time-travel movie or book preaches.

Maybe, if I had known, I could've changed it. Or maybe I'm too cowardly to face the consequence of what I did, to take on any responsibility for my actions. I made the choice back then. I knew what I was doing, and I still did it. Maybe, if I had made a different choice, things wouldn't have ended like this. I could've prevented the outcome.

It's pointless to ponder about it now. What's done is done. All I can do now is to protect those affected by my choice, and never speak of it again.

Knowing everything about every shifter isn't the only thing that makes The Raven so powerful. She knows exactly what to say to get her way, to force you to trust her. Which buttons to press, how to act around any shifter to make them love her. But as kind as her eyes may seem, as gentle her smile is, none of it is true. Behind the pleasant facade hides a viper. Vicious, just waiting for the right moment to attack. Those dark, kind eyes seem to protect and care. In truth, they're watchful, observant, analyzing. Her gentle smile hides sharp teeth, waiting to get the shifter far enough to devour them.

I was lucky enough to escape her fangs.

That night, I meet Aura in a pine green forest. The dappled shadows on the ground paint an image of dancing light, and the scent of pinecones fills the air.

"I can't believe you did it," Aura murmurs to herself. "I knew you were talented, but this is incredible."

I beam with pride. "It wasn't even that hard," I say, swatting my hand in a dismissive motion. "It was like swimming through a pool of his emotions."

Aura's footsteps are soft on the ground, quiet, almost like she's floating. "Tell me more," she says, studying my face as I do.

I tell her about the softly glowing light in my void, the desire to reach out for it, and the beach I took him to. I don't leave out a single detail, up to the sand in his bed when I woke up.

Subtle surprise draws on Aura's face when I end my story. "The sand from his dream was there when you woke up?"

"Yeah," I say. "Why? Is that not supposed to happen?"

Aura's eyes wander all over me before a smile creeps onto her lips. "The Dreamscapes don't interfere with your reality. Not this soon, not in this way. They shouldn't. But you..." she can't hide the pride on her face, "you're not just living in your reality and shifting in your sleep. You're manipulating both realms."

"Oh." My hands start to fidget reflexively. "I didn't mean to."

"It's a good thing," Aura reassures me. "It can be. I've only ever seen one other shifter successfully manipulate their own realm. It's the pinnacle of control." She leans closer, her voice creating goosebumps on my skin. "Think of all the possibilities. If you learn how to control your powers, you will be able to influence other people's dreams without it spilling over into your reality. You'll be able to make things happen in your dreams that will change reality at your will. You'll be more than powerful." She looks around for a moment, her expression brightening. "Come on," she says, taking my hand. "I want to show you something."

The dark green forest dissipates, making way for an impressively large building unlike anything I've seen before. Constructed of what appears to be dark marble with a blueish shimmer and an entrance held up by several thick columns, this place towers above the rest of the world. It's surrounded by lush, dark meadows with white flowers, located right at the end of a wide cobblestone path. The sky is dark here, stars glistening above my head, and the moon is full and bright.

Aura holds out her arm, and I link mine with hers. She leads me toward the grand white doors that mark the entrance to the magnificent building. Intricate carvings adorn the doors, resembling a map of flourishes and golden curves. Above the doors is a large sign.

ETERNAL LIBRARY

Each letter seems to dance in front of my eyes, shining down on me like they were freshly painted on today.

"Welcome," Aura says as she pushes the doors open, "to the Eternal Library."

Countless bookshelves reach all the way up to the ceiling, stacked with rows upon rows of books. A tranquil and mysterious atmosphere envelops me through the strangely still and cold air. Faint scents of old paper, ink, and wood reach me. My eyes wander upwards, following the shelves to the dark ceiling above me. There are no lamps, chandeliers, anything that would provide any light other than microscopic, dancing, white stars like fireflies hanging from above me. As we slowly enter the library farther, it sounds as though the books are whispering to each other—hushed, quiet voices in a language I don't understand.

I'm fearful to disturb the spirits that must be lingering here. Each one of the books look more intriguing than last, each one calling out to my heart, asking to be read.

Between the shelves, I make out a few silhouettes, inspecting different books, reading, stocking shelves.

Aura follows my eyes. "Those are other Weavers, like me." The Weavers all look incredibly human. The knowledge that they're not makes me feel out of place. "Don't worry," Aura whispers when they glance at us as we walk by, "we're all harmless."

"Who wrote all of these books?" I ask breathlessly. More stories must have been immortalized here than possible in human history.

"They write themselves." Aura stops next to a shelf and pulls out a book at will. Flipping through the pages, the words change and move over the pages, rearranging until forming new sentences. "They store all of our knowledge about shifters, your abilities, your realm, us Weavers. It is untouched." She places the book back where it belongs and lets her eyes wander over the starry ceiling. "It is the one place in the Dreamscapes that is the same for everyone, the only place you can't manipulate or change. It created itself, it sustains itself, and it will prevail for all eternity. All we do here," she gestures over to the Weavers, "is take care of it. We honor it."

Our steps echo in the wide halls as she continues strolling. "We don't normally show the library to the shifters," Aura continues. "Only the most talented ones; those who will gain from it."

She takes a turn and leads me down a corridor. Both rows to my sides are equipped with a rolling ladder, reaching all the way to the top. I wonder which books are stored up there.

We stop in front of a wide shelf made of light wood. On eye-level, a plaque reads Shifters.

Aura nods as if reading the desire to take a closer look from my face. I reach out and run my fingers over the leather-bound books. It's not just the worn down hide that makes them feel centuries old, but the energy I sense surrounding them. It sends a shiver down my spine, makes me yearn to hold them close.

The spines are unlabeled. When I tilt them enough to see the covers, they reveal only a name. No title, no blurb on the back. Ophelia Emberlyn. Ambra Neri. Percy Robinson. Odion Hajjar. Elenoa Suka. They’re impressive, every single one of them, the sheer number of them; and still, I can’t shake the memory of what Aura had once told me. There aren’t many people like you.

Looking at all of them would take me months, each letter of the alphabet is stocked with countless books. Only very few spots are empty, leaving the shelf naked with their absence.

"What happened to those books?" I ask.

"They're either being read," Aura says and sighs, "or they've been moved to the shelf of the Banished."

"The Banished?"

"Shifters like the one that fell victim to Light's lure. Those who betrayed our world." Her face darkens for a split second, then changes back to the familiar smile. "Don't worry about it," she adds cheerfully.

"Are there books on Weavers, too?"

"There are." Aura runs her slender fingers over the shelf, tracing the spines to the books that are shelved for E. "But most of those are about our history. Nothing that would interest you." Her finger stops on one book, tapping the spine thoughtfully before pulling it out of the shelf. "This one is for you." With a graceful movement that makes me wonder if everything she does is carefully coordinated, she presents it to me. "Elaine Hunt." Her voice reaches the far back of my mind when she says my name.

It's bound with shiny, brown leather. Gold letters stitched on the front spell my name.

Aura observes me as I open it, curiosity itching me like a flea bite.

The first page is ripped out.

"They don't only write themselves," Aura says in response to my questioning eyes. "They control themselves. This book," she taps the front page, "will contain everything about you. Everything from your past, everything of what's to come. Some pages will be written before others, some will show your fate, others won't be revealed at all. There is no true understanding of their rhythm." She flips through the pages for me, coming to a halt on an image of a rainy London. "All that must be revealed, will be."

I keep turning the pages. They're printed with small letters, blocks of texts about me, about my life, my abilities. Some pages contain pictures. Images of the places I've visited with Aura, making my blood tingle. The corners of each page are adorned with flourishes and symbols I don't know the meaning of.

"I'd recommend stopping here," Aura says eventually. "It is possible that your book knows your future. You might find it in here. Knowing your future doesn't do you any good." She gently moves my hand from the pages and closes the book for me.

"What other kinds of books are in here?" My eyes don't leave Aura as she carefully slots my book back into place.

"Oh, everything," she says. "Research about specific abilities. Some about Weavers like me. In-depth details about enhancing your abilities and how to control them. That's why I wanted you to come here with me. There's something I'd like to show you."

The first book she places on the dark, wooden table in front of me is heavy, it's pages yellowish. On the leathery cover, small, even letters spell REALITY BLEEDING. "I want you to practice this," Aura says factually. "Normally, I'd simply teach you. You'd learn it all from me, but I believe that you will benefit greatly from studying these books, starting with this. You will unlock your full potential this way." She sits down next to me and pushes the book closer to me. "Learning about this will grant you infinite control over your mind. You will learn to affect your realm through your dreams, and you won't make any mistakes like sand in someone's sheets." Gently, she places her hands over mine. Her voice carries a distant urgency as she locks eyes with me, luring me into their darkness. "Show me everything you can do," she croons. "You'll be perfect at it."

In her arms, she carries another book bound with a dark, nearly black leather and golden embroidered corners.

"What's that one?" I ask, pointing toward the intriguing book.

"That's for another time," she says and places it on the table. Accessing memories. The words are stitched in small letters on the cover, drawing me in.

"Can I look into someone's memories? Is that what this is?"

"Advanced shifters can," Aura states. "You still need some time. Don't worry," she adds cheerfully. "You'll learn quickly. We'll get to this when it's time."

An Introduction to Reality Bleeding

CHAPTER ONE.

If you are looking to learn about Reality Bleeding, you must master several separate skills first. Without those, you will be unsuccessful. These include:

-Shifting

-Maintaining your shift

-Harnessing your energy

-Directing your energy

Once you have mastered these, you may proceed with the next steps.

Reality Bleeding, in itself, is a simple concept. It is about affecting your realm through the realm of the Dreamscapes. While this may start small with concepts such as changing the location or color of an object, Reality Bleeding can be used for far greater things. Advanced shifters may use this ability to steer the course of a non-shifter’s dream. They may influence the non-shifter’s moods, emotions, or duration of sleep. While this is not something new shifters can do, once the skill is acquired, it does not take a lot of energy to successfully accomplish this goal.

In the following chapters, you will be introduced to the basic steps needed to learn this skill, as well as a more detailed description of each step. Furthermore, examples with instructions will be provided.

Do not skip any steps, or the results may be disastrous.

It is important to note that harming somebody in their own dream will result in the same harm affecting them in their realm.

Reality Bleeding, most importantly, is meant to affect the mind. As previously mentioned, it can be used to achieve small changes to your surroundings in your own realm, but that is not its purpose.

In recent history, using this highly advanced skill to change the color of your wardrobe has been deemed insulting due to the minuscule effort it takes to pull off.

Use this skill wisely. Practice it regularly.

"Ellie."

A hand nudges my shoulder. Through mumbled groans, I turn over, burying my face in the pillow.

"Ellie, wake up."

Disheveled hair obscures my vision as I lift my head, attempting to orient myself. "What?"

Mal sits on the edge of my bed. "You're late for work. You slept through your alarm. Get up."

"I wanna keep reading." My voice is hardly above a mumble as my mind fights through the grogginess of the dream. The weariness slowly peels off me, but it's not enough to keep me awake. When I let my head fall back into the pillow, Mal drags the blanket from my body and tosses it on the floor.

"Get up," she says and shakes me again, firmer this time. "You'll be late. You hate being late. Move." She pulls on my arm, heaving me into a sitting position and brushes the hair out of my face. "Let's go, come on."

I miss the earlier bus by a landslide, and later one drives off the second I hurry out of the door. Crap.

It's fine, I tell myself. A few minutes won't hurt me. I can handle this, it's not a big deal. It's just a slight change in routine. It happens all the time.

It's fine.

"You're late," Kenny remarks when I carelessly drop my bag next to the chair. He leans to the side to catch a glimpse of me behind my monitors. "Out with the boyfriend?"

"Just sleeping."

"Boyfriend, then," he says confidently. "Must be great, bein' your boyfriend." The disgusting, insolent smile glued to his oily face severs a wire in my brain, frayed from years of patience.

I slowly mirror his leaning, equipped with a thin smile because I don't have a weapon on me. "For the love of God, Kenny, what is your problem?"

"My problem?" he asks, like he's taken aback by the question. Like he never expected me to say anything about the way he speaks to me.

"You keep pestering me. You talk to me like I'm some prize to win." I grip the edge of my desk, my knuckles turning white. "I'm never going to date you, you are abhorrent to me." My palms pressed together, I gesture at his furrowed face to drive the point home. "You disgust me. Besides, aren't you married? What does your wife think of your flirting at work? You will never have a chance with me, so, for crying out loud, shut the fuck up." Only after the words cross my lips, the blood rushing to my head becomes apparent to me.

He stays quiet for a few horrible seconds. Glares at me with the eyes of someone who doesn't take kindly to being insulted. Finally, he speaks again, making me shrink in my office chair. "Your boyfriend will leave you," he says, his voice is dripping melting ice rather than the usual poison, "and when he does, you'll have nobody. You're an entitled brat. I hope, before he leaves you, he gives you a lesson on how women should behave. You're not special for speakin' like this. All you girls are good for is some fun."

My immediate instinct is to punch a hole through my monitor, but the need for violence is quickly replaced by pain shooting through my chest. Suddenly, I feel the weight of Aiden's body on mine again. I feel his fingers locking with mine, his breath on my neck and his lips on my skin. He must've tasted the salt of my tears when he kissed my face, so why didn't he care? Why didn't he stop? Why didn't I make him stop?

Kenny calls something after me when I leave the room, his voice drilling through my skull, but I can't understand him. With icicles instead of hands, I lock the bathroom door behind me and grip the edges of the sink, forcing myself to breathe in.

Exhaling, as it turns out, is harder than its counterpart.

My mind is liquid fire, throbbing, and my limbs are cold as ice. I know how this goes, I know that my heart rate is picking up because my brain is releasing adrenaline to prepare for potential fight or flight. My hands are cold because my body is more focused on sending blood to my muscles and lungs. I've done this more times than I can remember, and every single time, it's the same. Every single time, I die a little.

And still, every single time, it catches me off-guard, shoving me off a cliff I didn't know I was standing on.

My right hand instinctively reaches for the phone in my pocket, pressing the keys for Mal's number excruciatingly slow, but before I can ring her, it happens again.

I touch the handle of the blade, discovering an intricate carving of five-petaled flowers weaving their stems around the wood. My hand closes around the knife, watching as the silver reflects the sunlight. The memory engulfs me, but I don't control it. I raise the blade, my eyes never leaving the silver material in front of me.

The screen of my phone shatters on the tiles of the bathroom floor, white glass lines like spiderwebs pulling through the display. I'd have fallen, too, if it weren't for my iron grip on the sink, almost painfully cramping my hands. My rapid heart rate is still pulsating through me, making me uncomfortably aware of my blood flow.

When I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror, the girl looking back isn't me. She looks terrified beyond repair, desperately trying to hold onto the last ray of hope that she isn't going insane, that it's simply a memory she has forgotten, not a hallucination. The girl in the mirror can't be helped; maybe she doesn't want to be helped, because she stares at me with a hatred in her eyes that sends shivers down my spine.

I avert my eyes because I can't stand looking at her. She looks angry, afraid, and wistful simultaneously. It makes her ugly.

Once upon a time, there was a young girl with hair as golden as the sunset and eyes as warm as honey. She led people to believe she was ordinary, but she was nothing of the sort.

Aura says she was a siren. Aura says she was vile.

My heart rate levels and the warmth returns to my hands. Slowly, minute by minute, but I'm holding onto my lifeline.

Mal must be wrong about the girl and her innocence. In my mind, she's real, and she's not someone I should want to seek out.

So why can't I fight the desire to see her again?

My head stops throbbing violently as I catch my breath, closing my eyes to let out a thin breath through pursed lips. When I allow myself to open my eyes again, I'm back inside the mirror. Despite the tears and blotchy, red cheeks, it's me. The anger has vanished from my eyes, only thumping against my ribcage now. Back where it belongs, suppressed, deep within myself.

My cracked phone still reacts when I delete Mal's half-typed in number. I'll get through this day, with or without her.

Though the headache eventually leaves me, the strange flashbacks remain vivid in my mind for hours. I try to keep my hands from fidgeting with the hems of my shirt throughout the rest of the day, forcing my anxiety down. There's no point to it. I'm simply overthinking. Nothing bad is happening to me, and this will stop soon. It has to.

But when Mal hands me a cup of tea later that day, the memory is still the only thing I can think about. It buzzes in my brain like a dozen wasps, impossible to get rid of.

"What happened to your phone?" she asks, pointing at the device lying screen-up on the kitchen counter.

I glance at it briefly. The cracks pull through the glass across the screen, collecting in one corner. "Dropped it," I mumble. "It still works, so it's fine."

"Hm." Mal blows on her tea to cool it down. She's leaning against the counter, throwing a worried look at me. "Everything alright at work?"

I don't have the energy to think about work. The strange flash in my mind is all I keep circling back to, there's no room for Kenny or Aiden or anyone else. "Have you ever remembered something you didn't know ever happened?" I ask absentmindedly instead, slowly stirring the tea in my mug.

Mal makes a thoughtful humming noise and cocks her head. "I've remembered things I thought I had forgotten about."

I shake my head. "I mean things you didn't know ever happened to you. Things you may have repressed, and for some reason they're suddenly popping up again."

"Trauma flashbacks?" She knits her eyebrows together.

"I don't think they're flashbacks." My eyes are glazed as I stare through Mal, not present enough to focus on the worried look she gives me. "Maybe they're hallucinations." It comes out quieter than I intend.

"What happens in those memories?" she asks.

My hands tighten around the mug. "I don't know. There's always this knife. I reach out and I hold it, then I raise it. That's where it cuts off. I don't remember ever seeing this knife before." I try to visualize it in my mind. "There are small flowers carved into the handle. It's pretty."

"What kind of flowers?"

I shrug lightly. "I'm not a florist." My vision snaps back into focus.

Mal is gripping her mug tightly with one hand, the other raised to lightly touch her throat before she lowers it again, fixing her eyes on an unidentifiable distance. "Does anything else happen in that memory?" she asks, attempting to level her halting voice.

"So far, nothing has." I touch her arm lightly, returning her focus to me. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," she says, steadier now. "Of course. These memories, they're not harming you? They're not of Dad, or of Aiden?"

"If they were, I'd tell you right away," I reassure her. "It's just...weird. I'm scared something is wrong with my head." My vision blurs as I swallow around the lump growing in my throat, trying to shake away the unease of experiencing a memory that isn't mine.

"Nothing's wrong with your head." Mal takes a step closer, placing her mug on the counter and pulls me into a hug, her hand cradling the back of my head. "You have a lot going on," she says quietly. "It's a manifestation of your stress. Remember what your therapist told you?"

"That was years ago." I pull away from her. Reminding myself of what I was told in therapy as a child only makes the worry in my chest grow. Fantasy stories to shield your mind from reality. They never believed me. Not about the Dreamscapes, not about Dad. The bruises were enough proof that he was hitting me, but I never showed them. I didn't want to get him into trouble.

I told them once about the beatings. Are you sure he didn't just yank your arm a little too hard? I was only a child, after all. My memory must've exaggerated. If they didn't believe me about the violence, they wouldn't have believed me about the rapes.

After all, he did tell me that other people wouldn't understand what I meant if I ever wanted to tell anyone. They would think that I am crazy, that I need help for my head, and it's better to just keep quiet about it. Otherwise, I'd hurt him. And I didn't want to do that.

I don't realize the tear rolling down my cheek until Mal hands me a tissue. "Your life is a mess right now. Aiden is the worst part of it." Her voice is gentle, embracing me like a warm blanket in a winter night. "This is the past all over again. Catching up. You're beginning to shield yourself again." She presses her lips together in a desperate frown. "Please don't hide again. Remember what it did to us. I can't watch you go down that road, not again."

"But...these memories. Hallucinations. They feel real. I can't control it, they just happen."

"You need to take back your control," she says with a kind urgency. "You need to end things with Aiden, find a different job, and get out of this house. Eliminate the stress." She places her hands on my arms gently, but firm enough for me to notice the tension in her body. "These hallucinations will stop when your stress stops. I swear."

"I can't promise anything." Speaking feels like choking, hoarse and pained.

"Start with Aiden," she suggests. "I'll help you. I'll be by your side the entire time, okay? He's not a good person. You should break up with him in a public place so he can't hurt you. And I'll step in if necessary. I'm really good at yelling, especially at men."

Deep down, I know she's right. Not about the memories, but about Aiden. He needs to go, he has for a long time. My brain knows that.

But I don't think my heart has accepted it yet.

He has been one of the very few constants in my life, always there, whether I needed him to be or not. For over half a decade, he's been there. How do I shake the last bit of me that still clings onto him?

I lower my head and close my eyes, trying to focus on the one belief that stands firmly between all the other confusing, tangled thoughts making a mess of my mind.

He's a bad person. I deserve more.

"I can try," I say slowly. The words sound uncertain, still needing of convincing, but they're there. "I just need some time."

"Okay," she whispers and wraps her arms around me, holding me tight with her hands on my back. "We'll figure it out. Together, you and I."

I’ve never been to the office earlier than I have to be, and certainly never in my dreams. It’s not a place I’d dream of if I can help it, but this time, it’s my turn to give something back to them.

Aura let me do it all alone, encouraged me, even, to do whatever I need to do for some peace and quiet in my life. And after messing with Aiden’s head, I decided my job is next on the hitlist.

It’s eerily quiet without anyone around. Nobody to vent about customer support, nobody to tell me to make coffee, nobody who stares at me all day long. Just me, a bunch of computers, monitors, and technology.

My lips perk into an involuntary smile when it flashes through my mind: what to do with the place that gives me feelings of frustration beyond my own comprehension, where the misogyny in my life only increases.

What would they do if nobody could come to work anymore? If it was impossible to return to work, even for just a little while? I hardly care about the money I’d be losing, and I care even less about the money anyone else in here would lose.

The energy inside me tingles through my fingertips. For better focus, I close my mind to be alone with my senses, but it’s hardly necessary anymore. I search my mind for the right image I want to conjure up. Though the lines between my realm and the Dreamscapes are blurry, with no clear distinction of where I stop influencing my dream and begin affecting everything else, I’m filled with a triumphant satisfaction when the water touches my ankles, rising slowly. It should be enough. When I open my eyes, the whole floor is underwater, seeping into the computers. Just to be safe, I climb onto one of the desks to let it keep rising. With crossed legs and my focus retained even with opened eyes, I watch as it rises. Soon, sparks fly from the power sockets in the walls.

The grip I have on the liquid with my mind is strong enough to not let it flow through the gap between the entrance and the carpeted floor. Once someone opens the door in the morning, it will gash out, ruined equipment with it, making it impossible for anyone to return here until the damage is fixed.

And nobody will be any wiser. Water damage. An unexpected flooding. They’ll check the pipes, wonder how this could’ve happened despite the dry weather in recent days, leaving them with uncertainty. It’ll render us unable to work for at least a week or two, I’m guessing.

Enough time for me to finally breathe.

An Introduction to Reality Bleeding

CHAPTER TWO.

THE BASIC STEPS.

The following steps will provide you with a basic understanding of Reality Bleeding. They are intended as a base structure to enhance your skills.

Important:

Do not attempt to follow these steps without memorizing the more detailed guide following in the next chapter. Without an understanding of the entire concept, you will fail.

Step One:

Choose whose dream you want to affect. You need to have a clear picture of the chosen person in mind before proceeding with the next step.

Step Two:

Visualize your energy. You must let it course through your body and allow it to take over for you. It is a part of you; how much of it you control is in your hands. This is easiest done by closing your eyes and ridding yourself of any distractions.

Step Three:

Search for the chosen person in your mind. If you have successfully achieved Step One, you will have an easier time finding them. Remember that you are the master over your mind. Your chosen person will appear as a bundle of light. Every person’s bundle may appear differently. You will know if it is the correct one when you face it.

Step Four:

Once you have completed Step Three, you may begin linking your energy with your chosen person’s bundle. This step may take a while to master. Once you complete this, you will experience your chosen person’s emotions like your own. This state may last anywhere from seconds to minutes.

Step Five:

You have now successfully entered your chosen person’s dream. Non-shifter’s dreams are controlled by their subconscious. For the duration of the dream you entered, you are their subconscious. You affect them. During that time, you can use your abilities to affect their dream. You can shift with them, you can change their surroundings. While acting as their subconscious, you must remain cautious about the energy you use. Uncontrolled energy can result in unwanted changes in your realm. Keep in mind that your goal is to affect their mind only.

The call about the office closing down comes early the next morning. Extensive water damage has rendered the technology unusable, and needs to be taken care of before we can return to work. They estimate at least two weeks of unpaid time off; time that I can use to feel my heartbeat slow, to breathe, and be on my own.

I don’t care about not being paid for two weeks. I care about the sensation the call gave me; the knowledge that I’m the cause for this. My mind has enabled me to take control, and I never wish for it to stop.

It’s my turn to take over.

It’s cold on the graveyard. Few moonbeams poke through a heavily clouded sky and quiet winds make me shudder. All the tombstones look so familiar; many decayed with age, others built recently of marble or smooth granite, fresh flowers as well as wilted ones, an abandoned broken bottle, someone’s umbrella forgotten in the grass. It’s exactly as I remember it from years ago. The only proof that I’m not really here is the pulsating energy in my veins; nonexistent when I’m awake, but powerful in here.

Today, though, I don’t have a use for it. No, what I’m here to do doesn’t require my mind-power, not beyond shifting and giving me the appropriate tool for my task at hand.

I grip the sledgehammer tightly; its heavy weight pulls at my arms, but I shrug it off.

The pathways between the graves are dull gravel, crunching under my steps. My head throbs with every step I take, and despite the strain in my limbs, I keep going until I’m faced with the person who made my life a living hell.

Gone but not forgotten, his headstone reads.

Gone but not forgiven.

Dear Dad, I hope you can see me from hell. I hope your spirit suffers in the same way you made me suffer.

He’s still your father. It’s what my mother used to say any time I expressed my pain. He’s still family.

Dear Dad, you may be my father, but you have not raised me. You have not loved me, you have not held me. Not in the way you were meant to.

I grip the hammer closer to the head.

I wish you had died sooner.

I raise it, holding it up over myself.

In a perfect world, you would never have existed. You would have never met my mother, and you would have died before you could have done the same harm to anyone as you’ve done to me.

The graveyard is silent, nothing moves here.

Dear Dad, I should’ve done this a long time ago.

The sledgehammer smashes into the headstone with a loud crash. The edges shatter, flying off into the gravel and grass before I bring the hammer down again.

Gone but not—I swing it again, harder, until it all crumbles.

Gone but—

Just as he deserves, just as I should have done ages ago.

Without realizing that I’m doing it, I slam the hammer into his gravestone one last time with a scream that vibrates in my chest, then I toss my weapon on the ground.

Gone

Gone from the world, gone from me.

For his own sake, I hope he stays burning in hell.

It's easier than I expected to return to Aiden's dream.

I can feel it, the sensation of my tingling energy, asking—no, begging—me to use it, to use up every last bit of it until there's no more left, until I need to recharge.

Aura told me to practice, and I promised her I would. I intend to keep that promise, not only for her, but for my own sake.

Aiden is the one person in my life I can easily get rid of. He's the easiest one to never see again, out of all of them. It'll be good for me, to finally rid myself of the weight of my relationship.

He's the worst. But he's also perfect. A perfect target for practicing my skills, because nothing that happens to him matters to me anymore.

Though the idea of letting him go pains me in a distant, long-forgotten part of my soul, my brain keeps screaming at me to leave. He used me, he never cared about my fragility and the burden on my mind. The pain I feel about him feels too close to anger; like the desire to keep him close a little longer so I can do to him what he did to me.

It's an utterly confusing feeling, but it consumes me.

When the billowed hatred falls over me, I keep my eyes closed, waiting for it to pass, to arrive in his dream.

Last time, it was a clear image of a beach. This time, not so much.

I'm not anywhere. There's no up or down, no left or right. It's as though I've been transported to his deepest subconscious. Visualizing his dream is harder than getting there in the first place. There are a lot of colors, though I'm not entirely sure if I'm only imagining them. He's there, too, but not as present as at the beach.

Briefly, I wonder if this is what most dreams look like. A mere combination of concepts and emotions, wandering through the subconscious.

I walk toward him, my steps feel cold and hollow, and as I pass a red cloud of foggy color, I breathe in what smells like anger.

I'd never known before that feelings can have a smell, but they do, and this one is engulfing me. It's foul, like rotting eggs and old fumes.

When it passes, he's barely out of reach, existing through a wave of faint, arctic blue that smells like ocean salt and chlorine, like the river we shared our first kiss by. I'm not sure what it means, but it's pushed away by my body when it collides with me, not at all as translucent as the red.

Something tells me I should be in awe, amazed by what my mind can do, but I push that voice down and focus on my energy, directing it to collect in my fingertips. The colors and feelings around him seem to mix in a tornado, leaving only us in the eye of it. He doesn't look at me.

When he does, the energy coursing through my body halts, and the whole mush of colors around us turns into the same arctic blue I saw before, and then the whole dream is blue.

It's like being lost in space, or in a deep sea, with the fear of suffocating vaguely present in my mind.

The arctic blue is overwhelming now, quickly taking over my soul as memories flash across my mind.

Our first kiss by the river.

Our first anniversary.

The one time he bought flowers for me.

Blue is somber, it's nostalgic.

I sense that he is overtaken by the same feeling, and the tingling energy slows down, settling deep within me. I hold the feeling over him, wishing and hoping that he'll feel the same way when he wakes up. That his nostalgia will be interrupted by the regret of having driven me away.

Maybe he'll apologize to me then.

Two days pass, then four, then a week.

It all moves past me in a blur, like an unimportant piece of information.

Work doesn't matter. What I eat doesn't matter.

Making Aiden regret what he did, that's what matters. His dreams are blurrier, almost like they're fading away. They become less distinct every time I show up. They're bluer, too.

Any time I wake up, Mal is right there, either sleeping in my bed or sitting on the floor next to it. Most of the time, she brushes it off. Claiming she was bored without me.

"I can't leave you alone," Mal says, placing the cup of coffee in front of me. "Drink."

"I'm old enough to sleep alone, Mal." I wrap my hands around the mug. It's still hot, and it burns a little, but I let it. "Don't get me wrong, I love having you here, but you've been here a while. Isn't Ewan missing you? Doesn't he need you with the farm?" I eyeball her from the side. She pushes her hair back, tying it together in a loose knot, and sits down with me. "Is everything okay between you and him?"

"Everything is great with Ewan." She holds her eyes on my hands and the mug, absentmindedly tapping her finger on the table. "But it's not with you, and I don't want to leave you alone. I'm not leaving until you break things off with Aiden." She moves her head and looks directly into my eyes.

"That's unfair." I grip the mug tighter. "And not a reason to sit next to me while I sleep."

"I worry, you know?" She glances at my arms, quickly. "You're not doing well. Last time you were dealing with all this crap on your own, I couldn't leave you alone."

Instinctively, I let go of the mug to pull down the sleeves of my sweater. "You don't need to worry. I never asked you to."

"Can you promise me that? Can you promise I will never have to drive you to the hospital again?" She presses her lips together, her voice becoming duller as she tries to keep it together.

"I can. I'm fine."

"You will be, once you dump Aiden." She pushes the mug toward me again. "Drink your coffee and call him. End things."

"I want to," I say. "I really do. But I can't, not yet. I want him to apologize to me, I want him to regret what he did. I haven't spoken to him in over a week, all I want is for him to come forward and take responsibility."

"Bullshit." Mal leans back in the chair and crosses her arms. "He won't do that, and you know it just as well as I do."

I think back to the increasing, overwhelming feeling of nostalgia and regret in his dreams. It was stronger than anything I've ever felt, and if I felt it, then he must've, too. It must be killing him by now. It better be.

"He'll come around. Trust me on this, I know he will. And then, I'll break up with him."

Mal looks away. I know she's unhappy about it, but my days of trying to please everyone are over.

There's nobody to fend for me, if not myself.

When my phone buzzes, it confirms my expectations about Aiden. Seeing his name on the screen doesn't only mean that, for the first time in our relationship, he's the one to come back to me—it means I hold power over him. I'm in charge now.

I let it buzz. Three, four times.

Mal looks at me from the other side of the couch, scanning me. "Don't you wanna pick up?" she asks.

"Hold on." I lift my index finger, signaling her to wait. It buzzes another three times before I pick up.

"Baby," his voice sounds at the other end. "I haven't seen you in ages. Can we talk?"

I used to love it when he called me all those cliché pet names. Babe, love, sweetheart, baby. Now, it makes me want to vomit my brains out.

"Okay," I say. "Meet me in an hour, by the river."

I hang up without letting him reply.

Mal raises her eyebrows at me. "Aiden?"

"Told you he'd call."

"And you're going to meet him?" The skepticism in her voice doesn't go unnoticed.

"I'm going to break up with him. If he apologizes."

The second time The Raven showed me to the library, I was equally as impressed as the first time. All those magnificent stars in the ceiling, the endless rows of bookshelves. It was stunning, and I couldn't get enough of it. She showed me all those books about learning and controlling my abilities. To unleash my full potential and become the person I was meant to be all along, the one I so desperately craved to be.

Each one of them was uniquely interesting and educational. While I struggled to learn in school, I found joy in reading those books, in dreaming of being as strong as they promised me. Shifting, dreamhopping, manipulating someone else's dream. I did have someone in mind to do that to.

But even more interesting than the documentation of the Dreamscapes was her. A girl, she must have been my age. She was beautiful and unlike anyone I had ever seen before. Maybe she had a different companion, or maybe The Raven could be in two places at the same time. I wouldn't put it past her.

When I wrote that the dreamfolk was careful never to let two shifters meet—that was true. But they must've missed her.

She introduced herself as Nell. Nell was a curious and confident girl, chatty and imaginative. She liked to sneak off and roam around the library; researching and snooping around.

Nell told me all about her life. About the death of someone dear to her, about the unlikely friends she had made, and about how long she had been visiting the Dreamscapes for.

She liked to look at the books documenting the history of the Dreamscapes and the dreamfolk, rather than learning anything about her abilities. The desire to know everything seemed natural to her. While I was more of a quiet person, she always knew how to fill the silence, telling me all about the things she was learning.

The Raven didn't seem to mind Nell's presence, though she kept an eye on her the whole time. It was like she knew that something was wrong.

People say that a mother always knows what's best for her child, and that was the role of The Raven for me. I saw her as a mother figure, or maybe as an older sister. It always seemed like she knew what was best for me at all times. She wanted me to take risks to improve my skills, unlike my mother who sheltered me and worried about me all the time up until the day she left.

There was no doubting The Raven. I didn't dare to.

Nell did.

The spot by the river is one of the calmer areas in the city. People come here to cool off, to dip their toes into the water on scorching summer days. The water itself is surrounded by thin, manually planted trees and short-clipped grass. When I first found this place, I thought it'd be perfect for a picnic. I haven't had one since then.

Aiden and I came here five years ago for our first date. Our first kiss. The sound of the river makes me think of it now; makes me remember the feeling of his lips on mine, how uncertain I was about how to move and how to act.

Five years isn't a long time, but here, it feels like a lifetime. We were both just teenagers.

Sometimes, I wonder if my life would've turned out different if I hadn't kissed Aiden back then. If I hadn't agreed to be his girlfriend.

"Ellie." His voice takes me back to reality. I didn't hear him coming, but now he's standing next to me, closer than I want him to. "Hey," he says, like it's any other regular day.

"I'm glad you called." It's only partial lie.

"It's weird," Aiden says, "I've been missing you like crazy. It's like you're with me every day, even though I haven't seen you." He takes my hands, a restrained frown on his face. "Why haven't I seen you?"

"You don't know?" There's no way he's that stupid, is there?

"I'm sorry I called you that word." He doesn't look genuine. "But I don't understand why you've been ignoring me. I love you, Ellie, I want us to work."

I turn my head, watching the river flow by with a distant sting of pain in my chest. He doesn't say anything else, until I face him again. "I don't love you anymore."

I said it. It's out. And he looks like that was the last thing he expected me to say. His grip on my hands loosens. "What do you mean?"

"I don't love you," I repeat. "I haven't in a long time. You've hurt me more times than I can count."

"But we were fine last week."

"Last week was the last straw." I pull my hands away from his. "You hurt me more than you ever could imagine. It's over, finally. You don't have to pretend to like me anymore."

It's freeing to say the words that have been weighing me down for the longest time. I've been carrying a boulder on my back, and finally, I can let it go. But even though I want to feel good about it, even though it should only be good; it aches. I hate that it does, and that my best efforts to force this feeling down are met with resistance from my heart. It’s like my heart and my brain are operating separately, each one pulling me into different directions with my heart on the wrong side.

"I never pretended." His green eyes meet mine, they seem desperate. "Please, Ellie. I can't lose you. Don't leave me."

"I'm done." I have to stay strong, I have to get rid of him. Mal's right; it's the right thing to do. I've had my fun with him, apparently my nightly visits to his dreams worked, and now it's over.

"Come on," he says, suddenly sounding more broken than before. "You're my whole life. If you don't wanna be with me anymore, okay, I can't change your mind about that. But don't abandon me. At least try to still be in my life."

"How could I ever be your friend?" I cross my arms over my chest. As defense or safety net, I'm not sure. "You're not a good person. You hurt me too much."

"I'll do better, I swear." He raises his left hand slightly and places his right over his heart. "I won't make any moves on you, and I won't hurt you anymore. I know that I have. But you're too important for me to let you go. Please."

My body aches. My mind does, too. I swallow around the lump growing in my throat and look away again. I did what I had to do. Our relationship was the main stress factor in my life, not him as a person. Back when we first met in school, I liked being around him. He was a good friend. Maybe, what changed him, wasn't a general tendency to hurt people. Maybe, I changed him.

"Friends is okay." It’s not. My chest feels tighter than before. "But nothing more than that. Ever. No touching, no moves, no romance." I meet his eyes again, and he nods. If you touch me again, I will end you.

"I promise. I won't give you a reason to go."

My knees pulled to my chest, I sit on his couch as he hands me a bowl of chips.

"So, which movie?" he asks and sits down on the other end of the couch. "You like the musical one, right? The one that takes place in Greece?"

"You remember that?"

"Of course I do." He looks at the remote in his hand like it's the most interesting thing in the world. "Are you really okay being here?"

"I am." I put the bowl on the coffee table and attempt a smile. "I wasn't lying when I said I don't want to be with you anymore, but it's good that we can be friends. That I can be comfortable in here."

Not even two weeks ago, he raped me on this couch. Take revenge. He deserves it.

I push the thought of it down.

"Do you ever feel like someone is always with you, even if they're not?" he asks, his eyes absent in thought. "That's how I felt this past week. Every morning, I'd wake up and miss you more. I didn't even dream of you, or anything, but it felt like you were with me the whole night. Have you ever had that?"

Good. Feel that. I'm in control. "Can't say that I have."

"It was weird," he says. "But I guess I'm glad that I felt like that. If we're better off as friends, and that's where this got us, then I'm okay with it."

"I didn't expect you to be okay with it at all," I say. Aiden has a history of freaking out about the smallest things. His calm reaction to the breakup surprises me. I expected him to shout at me, to beg me to stay, to try to gaslight me, but here we are.

"Consider me a changed man. So, movie?"

My phone buzzes. "Hold on." It's Mal. With an apologetic glance at Aiden, I turn away slightly and pick up.

"Are you okay?" she says immediately. "What happened? Why aren't you home?"

"I'm at his place," I respond, expecting her reaction already.

"Why on Earth would you—"

"Mal, relax. It's fine. I did break up with him, we agreed to stay friends." I glance at Aiden, who looks at me with questioning eyes.

There's a short pause on the other end of the line. "No," she says finally. "Screw that, you're not friends with him."

"I'm old enough to make my own decisions."

"You're old enough to realize that it's a terrible decision." She pauses again, there's a jingling noise of keys being picked up. "I'm coming over. Don't leave." Then, the call ends.

"She's not a fan of this, I take it?" he asks with a low chuckle.

"She's not a fan of you." I drop my phone on the cushions and exhale. "She's coming over. Expect yelling."

"I'll yell right back."

"No, you won't. If I mean anything to you, you won't yell at my sister."

He sits up straighter and scratches the back of his head. "Fine," he says. "I won't."

Not even twenty minutes later, the movie is interrupted by violent knocking on the door. With a sigh, Aiden gets up and throws me another glance.

"Open it," I tell him. "She'll knock it down if you don't."

The moment his hand pushes the handle down, Mal takes the lead.

"You are not my sister's friend! You are not anyone's friend, you're an abusive asshole that has been in our lives for too long!" She pushes the door open further and brushes past him, grabbing me by the arm and yanking me up.

I've rarely seen her angry. A thin vein throbs above her eyebrow, her face is red, and she glares at Aiden with an unmatched hatred.

"Calm down—" he says, but she doesn't let him talk. She steps close to Aiden, her pointing finger mere inches away from his face.

"I will not calm down," she spits. "I will not do anything you say, and neither will my sister. You are staying away from her, you hear me? You do not get to be close to her anymore, not in any way. I hate you, and she would, too, if her brain wasn't so fogged from still caring about you for some reason!" She yanks on my arm, pulling me out the door.

"Mal, it's fine—"

"No." She spins around, glaring at me. "It's not fine. You think you made this choice of being his friend, but you didn't. He manipulated you, he always does, and you're too naïve to see it. I'm taking the lead now, it's about time I did. You and Aiden," she switches her glares between us, "are not going to be in touch anymore. Take control of your own life for once, for God's sake!"

The way she speaks to me irks me. My pulse speeds up when I rip my arm out of her tight grip. "I'm not a child anymore, Mallory." This time, I get close into her space, swallowing my need to yell. "I can take care of myself. Thank you for visiting me, but it's about time you go back to your perfect life. This is none of your business, and it was my choice to give him a chance to be a friend." I gesture toward Aiden, who helplessly watches from afar. "If you gave him a chance, maybe you'd see that he can be a decent person when he tries. You'd see that I'm not that scared, nine-year-old child in your arms anymore. You took care of me, you raised me, and I thank you for that, but it's over. I don't need you to be that person anymore."

Mallory's jaw clenches, the anger never leaves her eyes. "You're insane," she says. "Actually insane." She raises her hands as if in retaliation and takes a step backwards. "You're right, though. I need to get back to Ewan. To my future, to my perfect life, while you rot here in yours. I tried. I wanted to be here for you, but you won't let me, so have fun with your so-called friend." She turns away and walks a few restrained steps before stopping and looking at me another time. She wipes over her eyes with the back of her hand. "I truly hope you come to your senses. He's a rapist, Ellie. He abused you. I hope he fucking dies."

Aiden has stepped out of the door, too, holding onto the frame with one hand. He suddenly feels a lot taller than me. "Kill yourself, Mallory," he says calmly.

He doesn't look at me when I turn to him. He glares down the hall where she's disappearing around the corner with a raised middle finger. The corner of his mouth twitches slightly.

My insides suddenly feel too quiet. The bubbling anger left too soon.

"I hate you," I say. "I really, really hate you."

I don't grant him another look when I leave.

"Mal! Christ, slow down." I catch up with her stride with quickened breaths. "Mal, please."

"You don't need me anymore," she says without stopping. "I get it. You're all grown up. You know everything."

"I'm twenty-three, Mal, I am an adult." I reach out for her arm, getting her to stop and turn to me. Her cheeks are wet with tears, but her eyes burn on me. "I'm sorry I said that. Obviously, I still need you. I always will. But you gotta let me make my own choices. You have to let me be my own person."

She looks away and crosses her arms, her hand wiping her cheek. "I can't let you do that if Aiden is one of those choices."

"He's not," I say. This time I mean it. "Nobody talks to you like that. You're right, he's the worst."

She swallows. Part of her looks more fragile than she's ever been. "I just worry," she says. "You've given me a hundred reasons to worry."

"Now, there's only ninety-nine." I sling my arm around her shoulder and lean my head against hers for a moment. "Nothing's more important than you."

She exhales a thin, shaky breath. "I'm sorry, too," she says ruefully. "Not for what I said to him, I stand by that." She chuckles weakly. "I can't fight with you, Ellie."

"We're okay," I decide. "We always are."

"You've been so distracted lately," Mal says as she takes a deep breath, blinking her tears away. "So determined to make him feel bad. You'd have never done that a few months ago, you would've just broken up with him, suffered for a while and called it a day. Why all this bouncing back and forth?" She takes my hands, linking her fingers with mine. "Is there anything else going on that you haven't told me about?"

Aura's dark eyes flash through my mind. The intense feeling of control. The little voice in the back of my mind telling me I can do anything.

"There is one thing," I say carefully. "It might sound crazy." It definitely sounds crazy. But if anyone would believe me, it's Mal. She's the only one who has ever looked out for me. It's a shot in the dark to tell her about it, but who else could I tell?

"Try me."

"Remember those fantasy stories I wrote as a kid?"

"You mean the ones you vividly believed in and caused Mom to put you in therapy?"

"Those."

"Christ," Mal says and rubs her temples. "Okay, go on."

"They're not fantasy stories," I say. "They're real. I control my dreams, and I controlled his. I forced him to feel nostalgic about me, to feel regret. That's why he called me in the first place." I cross my arms when it seems too helpless to let them dangle. "I know it sounds insane, you don't have to tell me that, I'm not completely delusional. But I swear to you, it's real. It was back then and it is now."

"Ellie." She sighs, and it sounds defeated. "Do I need to add another worry to the pile?"

"Not at all." I attempt to sound reassuring, but a small voice in the back of my head tells me I'm failing. "I went into Aiden's dream after he assaulted me. I poured sand all over him, and when I woke up, it was really there. I can't just affect dreams, I can affect reality. I can intertwine the realms."

Mal looks at me with concerned eyes. "I thought you stopped believing in that. I thought you realized that it wasn't real."

"I thought I did." The confidence in her belief in me is slowly fading away with every word she says. "But I was wrong. It's real, all of it."

"It's not real," Mal says. She furrows her brows in a frown, mirroring my crossed arms. Being taller than me, her stance throws me back in time. Back to when I was a little girl who told her about my weird dreams. Back to the first time she didn't believe me.

"Are you saying I'm lying?"

"I would never say that," she replies. "But I am saying that these childhood beliefs of yours are coming back up because you're being traumatized all over again. Because of Aiden and the way he treated you. You're creating those worlds again in your mind, desperately wanting them to be real because you don't have any other place to escape to."

"But—"

"It's not real," she says sternly. "I understand why you want it to be. But you need to change things for real instead of escaping into your coping mechanisms again. Removing Aiden from your life was the first step." Her hands grip my arms as she leans down a little to look right into my eyes. "You need to get out of Dad's house now and find a job that makes you happy. You have so much potential. Don't waste it with this blindness to reality. Please. I can't watch that happen again."

Burning tears gather behind my eyes, choking my voice. I thought she'd believe me. She'd trust me. "But it feels real." My voice sounds small.

"I know it does," she says and hugs me, cradling the back of my head in her hand. "I just want you to be safe."

"I'm safe in there." I break away from the hug. "Nothing bad can happen to me. But here, when I'm awake, everyone keeps hurting me."

"You'll lose touch with reality, you already have. You don't need a made-up world to be okay, you need therapy and support." A short, feeble smile shows on her lips as she wipes over the tear rolling down my cheek. "Don't escape into your dreams again. I need you here with me."

I press my lips together, lowering my head. "Okay," I whisper. "I'll try."

It's a lie. If it's not real like Mallory insists, then there's no harm in continuing it. And if it is, I'll prove it to her. I'll enter her dream this time. I'll do something that will merge with our realm, and then she'll know I'm not crazy.

When I visited Aiden's dreams, it happened almost in an instant. A few seconds of overwhelming emotion pushing me down, and then there he was.

The darkness around me seems to consume me now. It's not weighing me down or leading me in any specific direction. All around me is violent, infinite silence, not a speck of light in the black void. Mal's energy is supposed to appear as a bundle of light, that's what the book said. That's how it worked with Aiden. Why is hers not coming to me?

Maybe I didn't do it right.

I go over the steps again and again. Mal is clear in my mind, I visualize my energy and I feel it course through me, and controlling it is not a challenge anymore. But no matter how many times I repeat the steps, I can't find her.

My eyes close again and my heart rate slows. She must be around here somewhere. I know how to do this. I can find her, I can do this.

Focus.

The air around me suddenly moves, merging with my energy, but when I open my eyes again, there's no glowing ball of light. There are no overwhelming emotions that aren't mine.

There's only the willow. Did I shift here on accident? I take a step closer, a strange sense of alienation overcoming me. It's colder than usual, and Aura isn't here to greet me. The distant, always-present buzzing of bumblebees is absent. The only sound I hear is a faint creaking of branches in the wind. Something is very wrong with this place.

My eyes get caught on the bark of the willow. My name is still there, carved in like it has since I first stood here. I move closer, leaves crunching under my foot, but gets stuck on something hard.

An outgrowing root, maybe, or a rock. But it’s not, it’s—my heart skips a beat.

Between the leaves and the moss, a piece of silver metal reflects the sunlight.

Then, confusion rattles through my brain. My fingers trace the intricately carved flowers in the wooden handle of the knife that lies before me, making me question everything.

Carefully, as if it could hurt me, I pick up the blade, turning it over, angling it to reflect the light. For a brief moment, everything feels numb.

Then, sharp pain shoots through my head, and I stumble backwards with blurred vision, gritting my teeth to not scream out in pain. Bright light blinds me, and the knife is raised in front of me. I can't see who the hand belongs to. It seems to be mine, but I know that it isn't. It can't be mine, and yet, I raise the knife, slowly, eyes only fixed on the blade. Everything around me blurs together in a mush of green and yellow. Hesitation overcomes me. I don't feel it, but in a way, it's a part of me. I want to control it, I want to lower the knife, want to exit this painful memory.

Someone grabs my wrist, gently pushing my hand down. Am I in control again?

My eyes flicker up, locking with the warm brown of Light's eyes. The strange hesitation and my own confusion mix in an impossible knot of feelings. Light is younger, the familiar dreamy, absent expression not yet marking her face. Her lips twitch upward in a sorrowful smile as her hand closes around my wrist. "Don't," she says warmly. Her voice is nothing but a hollow whisper, distant and faded.

It ends then, my hand clutches the fabric of my nightgown where my heart beats rapidly under my ribs. My palm is sweaty where I clutch the handle tightly, something throbs in my throat. Light—why is she in this memory?

I lift the blade, holding it in my open hand. It shouldn't be here, it shouldn't even be real, and yet, it's touching my skin. It taunts me, tugging me back and forth between the road that'll surely lead me to insanity, the consistently weakening belief that the visions are nothing more than forgotten memories. I'm somewhere on the line between the two paths, and I need to figure out how to keep my balance.

The back of my free hand wipes over my forehead. I hold the knife tighter, forcing my mind to shove the confusing questions to the back for now. Though I seem to be in the garden I've visited countless times, I'm not, and being here feels unsafe. The crushing absence of noise and familiarity makes my chest feel hollow, digging a deeper hole with every minute I'm staying.

I turn my back to the willow and tuck the knife into the pocket of my nightgown before shifting out of this odd place. Somehow, this thing is connected to Light, and somehow, it's not just a fragment of my imagination. A distant sense of wariness in the back of my head where the headache still throbs tells me to investigate this on my own.

Aura finds me quickly in the deep green undergrowth, relishing the refreshing air like it's the first time I can breathe again.

"I tried entering my sister's dream today," I say before she gets to greet me. Aura stands behind me, looming over me like a shadow. "But I couldn't."

"Why couldn't you?" Her voice is velvet.

"I couldn't find her energy. It was like she didn't exist."

Aura's hand lays down on my shoulder, the tips of her fingers grazing my collarbone. I look up to her, and the smile on her face is limited to her lips, like it's an automatic reaction she puts on without letting it reach her eyes. "Some people have energies so minuscule you won't be able to find it. It's better not to waste your time on those. Focus on people with stronger energies."

"But everyone has it, right? Shifters and non-shifters."

"They do." She bows her head lightly. "It can be difficult to locate the ones of normal people."

"Normal," I repeat. "Am I not normal?"

"You're not boring," she says.

"My sister isn't boring."

"Non-shifters almost always are." Her hand lightly squeezes my shoulder. I shudder at the sensation. "What's more interesting? Controlling dreams and expanding your imagination to do whatever you want to do, or live a regular life? You are far more interesting than anyone else."

"I probably couldn't do it because I haven't practiced enough," I lie. It was so easy with Aiden, I had expected it to go the same with Mal. But I know that that's not the only reason I couldn't do it, why I ended up in front of the willow again. There’s something else, something so distant I can’t grasp it; but it’s out there, and it’s asking me to find it.

"Maybe," Aura says. "But you'll be capable enough to do it one day. You're strong enough."

I narrow my eyes slightly at her. "Do you really think that I am that strong? I can barely exist in my realm without breaking down every five minutes."

"True strength comes from overcoming your limits," Aura says wisely. "It's easier for you to exist in here because there are no expectations to meet. No pain to avoid. You've done greatly for yourself, and you will only grow from here."

Although the knife isn't heavy, I'm strangely aware of the weight in my pocket. "I guess I'll keep practicing.”

"Good," Aura approves. "You'll find your full potential soon. This isn't a setback."

The headache is still there when I wake up. It's more distant now, but its sting reminds me of the hallucination. Of Light's warm eyes.

Slowly, I prop myself up in my elbows, blinking the sleep away, when I feel something on my side. Instinctively, my hand reaches into the pocket, feeling the wooden handle and the blade that shouldn't be here.

They're only supposed to be in my mind. A hallucination, a dream, but not reality. If the books from the Eternal Library can't follow me outside of the Dreamscapes, then why can this knife?

My eyes trail to Mal on the mattress next to my bed, fast asleep with a soft snore, chestnut hair sprawled out under her head.

She made up the fairytale about Light. Even if Light is only a manifestation of the safe haven Mal created for me as a child, even if it's all still just a fragment of my mind going insane, Mal must know more about her. She's the source of it all, whether she knows it or not.

The knife feels heavy in my hands, weighing with its implication still unveiled to me. Keeping it hidden will be best. Between journals, scattered papers and pencils, nobody would think to look for a knife my subconscious created in the drawer of my nightstand.

It's not a suspicious object by any means. I could put it in the kitchen and nobody would bat an eye, but I need to stay vigilant, I need to understand what it means.

During breakfast, my mind circles only around last night. The cereal in the bowl is getting soggy, but I can't rip my mind's eye away from Light.

"Ellie." Mal snaps her fingers before my face. "Ellie, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I mumble, stirring listlessly in the bowl.

"You're not. What's wrong?" She crosses her arms on the table, leaning forward to look at my lowered face.

"I had a weird dream, that's all."

"Wanna tell me about it?"

I look up, clenching my jaw when her expression tells me she already knows what I want to say. "I don't think you want to hear it."

She leans back again and sighs. "We've talked about this," she says. "They're just dreams. It's not real."

"I believed so firmly when I was younger." I drop the spoon in the bowl, leaning back. "I only stopped because you told me to stop, because I wanted everything you said to be true. And I pushed it all down, but I didn't want to, I wanted to keep going."

"Because you needed an escape, because Dad traumatized you." She reaches over the table, opening her hands for me, but I don't take them.

"I believe in it again," I say instead. "I go there every single night."

"Ellie—"

"Listen to me. I know you think I'm being ridiculous, but it's real. I can make things happen, I can control my dreams, and I controlled Aiden's. And there's this huge library full of books about shifting and—"

"You're delusional."

"I'm not! I'm—"

"Elaine."

It cuts me off immediately. Mal crosses her arms and stares at me for a few seconds. "Stop it already."

"I made sand appear in Aiden's bed, how do you explain that? I flooded the office, I—I’ve done things. I’m not incapable. Explain it to me, because those things really did happen, and that’s not possible in any other way." Blood rushes to my head as I bite on the inside of my cheek.

She shrugs. "I don't know, maybe you were still dreaming or you're so desperately running from your emotions that you think you're seeing things that aren't there."

"But—"

"Do you remember what it did to us? What it did to me?" Her hands clutch her arms tightly. "You were so obsessed with it. You talked about nothing else anymore, and Mom put you in therapy because you weren't there anymore. Your mind was constantly absent, we could barely talk to you." A few tears gather in her eyes as she continues speaking. "It was like we lost you. That therapy was the best thing Mom could've done for you because it got you out of it. Please, Ellie. Don't make me lose you again."

I turn my head away. I can't watch her cry, especially not about me.

"When you were younger, you always said that you could choose to go there. You said if you wanted to go, you would, but if you didn't, you could sleep normally." She pauses briefly, steadying her voice. "Can you just...do that again? Just don't go. Stay away from it."

"I don't get why you want me to forget about it." Frustration bubbles up in me, nearly impossible to shove down. "It's the one place in the world I feel safe in. If you think it's not real, then why do you care so much?"

"Because I don't want to lose my sister again. Because you mean everything to me."

A thin veil of anger wraps around the frustration, but the pleading look in her eyes makes me keep it in. She doesn't deserve to be yelled at.

"What about the fairytale?" I ask instead, pinching the skin on my wrist under the table where she can't see. "Is it really completely made up?"

"Yes, of course. I've told you that." Her eyes never leave mine, searching, observing with a worried frown. "I made it up for you."

"I saw her again," I say. "Light."

"In your dream?"

"In my hallucinations."

She presses her lips together. "They haven't stopped?"

"I'm not sure they’re hallucinations anymore." My skin turns red where I pinch too hard. "I think they're memories. Memories I've forgotten about, or that don't belong to me."

"I bet you're seeing her because your trauma is resurfacing," she says decidedly. "She was your safe haven once, your mind is clinging onto her. It only makes sense, everyone processes trauma differently. This is your way. You're reliving what made you feel safe once, even if it's just an imagination."

"You said it'd stop when I get rid of Aiden. I did. It didn't stop."

She bites down on her lip before narrowing her eyes ever so slightly. "It'll stop," she says. Her voice is steady and determined, but her face tells a different story. "The fairytale isn't real and neither is this dream place. It'll stop. Give it some time."

Mallory pushes her chair back and collects the uneaten food on the table, turning her back to bring it to the kitchen.

An inexplicable shiver runs down my spine, and for a moment, I imagine Light standing here instead of my sister.

I'll find out if the fairytale is real when I ask Light about it. Tonight.

The desire to improve my skills grew bigger and bigger by the day. It held me captive. Every waking hour I would think about how to improve, how to make The Raven proud of me. I was intimidated by her, scared to disappoint her, as much as I did love her.

She made me practice a lot. It's not like I didn't want to, I yearned for it more than anything. But nothing seemed to work for me. I couldn't do it, my shifting was mediocre at best and no matter how hard I tried, I never improved.

Each day I was hoping to get closer to being that version of myself that I wanted to be. But I never did get better.

The Raven was patient. She was kind and supportive in my practices as she kept instructing me on how to use my skills. But even back then, I could tell that it wasn't what she wanted. She wanted me to be more skilled, so she kept pushing me. I thought it was simply because she was disappointed in me. Now I know the truth.

Nell met me in the library again. I don't remember if it was the same day or way later, it all seems to blend together nowadays. She made sure that The Raven wasn't with us when she led me down a complicated, winded path through the rows of shelves, turning corner after corner until the whole library became darker than before. I remember hoping that she knew how to find her way back again. The look on her face scared me; striving for knowledge she wasn't supposed to have, but that was who Nell was. Curious. Daring.

I kept following her, despite the nagging feeling that I should turn back. Maybe it was a hidden wish to learn more, or maybe it was my feelings for her that were clouding my judgment.

Nell took me to a hidden bookshelf that was darker than the others and stacked only a handful of books. The Banished the plaque read. I didn't know what it meant, and I don't think she did, either, but she told me with an excited sparkle in her eyes that this must be something important if it's hidden away like this. Nell leaned in and told me that she wanted to find out about those secret books, about the entirety of the Dreamscapes. She whispered about the secrets The Raven is hoarding.

I shrugged it off, not wanting to believe that The Raven could keep a secret from me. After all, she was so kind to me, she had so much faith in me.

Though I didn't believe that The Raven could keep any secrets from me, this hidden section in the library was proof that someone was hiding something. A part of the Dreamscapes' history they didn't want anyone to know about. Nell figured it must be something bad if it’s hidden.

Luckily, we returned to the light side of the library without being noticed.

We met nearly every night from then on, and whenever she had the chance, Nell would sneak off to find more secrets, and I'd cover for her.

We met so often that we became good friends. I loved her, and I think she may have loved me, too. It became impossible to keep us apart to the point that I refused to practice my shifting to anywhere but the library in order to see Nell.

Eventually, The Raven gave up on trying to keep me away from her. We made a compromise, one that I’m sure had never been done before.

I'd practice my shifting harder, I'd come back more often, and in return, she would link mine and Nell's Dreamscapes. We would be able to shift together, to learn together, to be together. Her realm would be my realm. No more lonely nights, I’d be able to go anywhere with Nell, be anyone I wanted to be with her by my side.

It seemed like a great idea at the time. I had no issue baring my soul to this cursed place in order to be around Nell. And Nell was talented—maybe I'd learn from her.

The library looms endlessly. Between the rows of shelves, my eyes wander, searching for a lonely spot to be alone for a while.

I had to see Aura again. She would’ve wondered where I was if I hadn't. But with her unwavering presence, it's difficult to find an excuse to see Light. I feel smaller than before next to Aura. A distant, uncomfortable feeling in my stomach urges me to get out of here and see Light, to find out more about her and the reason I'm drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

The roots of this fairytale are buried somewhere below Light, and I just need to dig through the dirt to get to them.

Aura carries a pile of books in one arm, tracing the spines of others on the shelves, humming a melody I've never heard. One of the books she carries is bound with dark leather; intricate, gold stitching adorning the spine.

It's the same one she carried the first day we spent here. Accessing memories. Her index finger taps it thoughtfully a few times before her eyes dart to me.

"Have you decided what you'd like to learn today?" she asks, her right hand resting on the spines of dusty books on the wooden shelves.

I rip my eyes away from the dark book in her arm. "Not yet," I say, a quick impulse flashing through my mind. "I'm going to browse a little, if that's okay. I'd like to get an impression on my own."

Her gaze softens as an encouraging smile plays on her lips. "Of course," she says. "You'll find me here when you're finished."

The field of lilies is as beautiful as I remember it. Calm rays of sunlight bathe the flowers in a golden light. An eternal sunset distracts from the darkness I feel inside me.

Light swerves across the field not far from me. Her fingertips graze the lilies' heads like she's comforting them to sleep with a mumbled lullaby. When her honey eyes stop on me, the distant humming does, too, and she invites me to come closer with a sweet smile. It's a hollow one.

"You're back," she says. There's an eerie emptiness in her eyes up close where they radiate warmth from afar.

Suddenly, I wonder if there's a point to asking her anything. If she really is only a fragment of my mind, she'll say whatever I expect her to say. But when her soft hands reach out for mine and our fingertips touch, she lifts my worries away from me.

Is there anything about her that isn't utterly perfect?

Maybe that's what Aura warned me about. It's easy to get lulled in by beauty, to get blinded by the light.

"You're real," I say, feeling her hands on my palms. How can someone not be real when I can touch them, breathe their air? "Aren't you?"

The corners of her lips twitch upward, but her eyes stay empty. I half-expect her to say Yes or For you, I am. "Fourteen," she says instead.

A gentle breeze moves her hair as she keeps her gaze steady on me. "Fourteen," she repeats with the urgency one would use for important information.

"Fourteen what?"

She tilts her head slightly and reaches out for my jaw, turning my face, looking at me from every angle. "So alike," she says. "So different."

Her words confuse me more. I nudge her hand away from my face, holding onto it instead. "Listen to me," I say. Her eyes focus again, and she keeps her lips closed, waiting for me to speak. "I saw you in a memory when you were younger. I was holding a knife, one with a wooden handle and engravings on it. Do you remember that?"

Light squints, staring with slightly parted lips. Then, she nods. "Fourteen," she says again. Then, "Don't," her voice the same tone as was in the memory.

"Focus, Light." I grab her face and direct it toward me. "Who does the knife belong to? Is it my memory?"

Light smiles a little, a pained expression flashes across her face. Then, she turns away and begins humming again.

"You're not very useful, you know that?" I follow her movements through the field of flowers, her eyes completely absent now. "Are you even real? Did I make you up?"

She turns her head toward the sky and stops moving. Warm sunbeams brighten her face, but the smile on it freezes. Her lip trembles lightly and she reaches for her heart as the sky darkens with thick clouds. She looks at me again, deeper this time, and the emptiness inside her eyes has vanished, instead filled with remorse and despair.

"I should have stopped it," she cries. The clouds move quickly across the sky, turning the soft breeze into strong gusts of wind that bites my eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't stop it, I should have stopped it."

"Are you talking about the one the knife belongs to?" I have to shout it through the sound of wind. "What happened? Where's the rest of the memory?"

The wind stops as abruptly as it started and the smile reappears on Light's face. She bends down to pick a lily and presses it to her heart. Her eyes burn holes into my skull as she repeats the word. "Fourteen," she says and nods. The gentle, dazed smile doesn't match her eyes' pained darkness.

The longer I watch her graceful movements, the more forced they appear, as if she's a puppet on strings, following a pattern deeply ingrained in her mind. The longer her eyes stare, the louder they yell. Desperate, anguished screams that remain hidden under her perfectly balanced, quiet facade.

"Light," I attempt again with a careful step toward her, afraid the sky might darken again. "What happens in that memory? What do you know?"

It takes her a few silent moments to answer. The lily pressed to her chest falls to the ground without a sound as she turns away from me. "Leave," she says. "You have to go."

"Leave? I don't understand, you have to tell me more, I'm begging you—"

"Leave." Sharper than a blade, the word cuts right through my chest. "Please," she adds, exhaustion in her voice. "Leave."

She fades away further as wind whistles through my ears. The field of lilies disappears around me, leaving only darkness.

As I make my way back through the endless rows of bookshelves, my heart thumps uncomfortably against my ribcage. My head hurts through a wall of cotton that only dissipates when Aura's voice returns to me.

"Did she say anything useful?" Her eyes are narrowed knowingly, her hands tapping the dark book on the table in front of her.

"Um, I didn't find anything that I wanted to read for now." I clear my throat, tugging at the fabric of my nightgown to hold onto something.

"You don't have to lie, Ellie," she says, and the tone in her voice tells me what she really means is, You can't lie to me. "I understand why you'd want to see Light. She's enchanting. That's why I warned you about her."

I sit down across the table, leaning forward on my arms. "She really doesn't seem that dangerous, if you gave her a chance. I mean, she barely even talks."

"Remember what I told you about her?" Aura mirrors my body language, her hands reaching over the table to graze mine. "She's like a siren. She doesn't need to talk to you to endanger you."

"If she's that bad, why didn't you follow me? Why not protect me, if I needed it?"

Aura lets go off my hands and leans back, lifting her chin slightly. "I wanted to see if you'd learn on your own that there's no use in seeing her other than putting yourself at risk."

"Something's off with her." I recall the daze written all over Light's face. "She knows something that I want to know."

"And what's that?"

I shrug. "I'm not sure yet. She hasn't told me."

"I need you to trust me on this," Aura urges me. "Whatever it is that makes you seek her out, you need to repress it. You will put yourself at risk by speaking to her. There's nothing that would be worth this."

"What exactly would happen?" I ask. "I mean, if I kept talking to her. If I kept trying to find out about her. What would she do to me?" I narrow my eyes to match hers, staring through a wall of growing mistrust.

"If she got to you, you would fall for her charm more and more," Aura replies earnestly. "She would get you to stay with her every time you come here. Soon, you'd never want to leave her side again, and you would lose yourself. Eventually, you wouldn't be able to rip yourself away anymore, and you would stay here forever. Never returning to your realm." She leans forward again, igniting a fire in my chest. "Is that what you want? You would lose not only yourself and your life, but your abilities. Everything that makes you, you."

I swallow, the headache throbbing. "Is that really true?" I ask quietly, searching for a hint of a lie in her face.

"Every last word of it," Aura says. "Trust me. I have seen it happen. This is your world, but it is my realm. I know every last corner of it. Every possibility of it. This is one of them, one that I want you to avoid."

All I detect in her voice is worry and urgency. It's the same tone that Mal takes on when she worries about me. "Okay," I mutter. "I trust you." But I don’t. I don’t.

The small voice in the back of my mind whispers in disbelief, but it's too quiet for me to grasp. Maybe Aura is telling the truth. Maybe, seeking out Light is a mistake that'll cost me everything.

And yet, I'm itching to learn more; to find out whether Aura's words are true or if there's more she hides behind those eyes.

Mal's face is the first thing I see when I open my eyes. Her hand is on my shoulder, gently nudging me awake.

"Sorry," she says, "I didn't want to wake you, but I'm leaving soon and I didn't want to go without saying bye."

Slowly, I push myself up, stretching my back with a yawn. My mind is still caught up with the visit I paid to Light, trying to adjust to reality again. "You're leaving already?" I blink a few times to get the sleep out of my eyes.

"Yeah." Mal gives me an apologetic smile. "Ewan needs me back on the farm. I came here to help you get rid of Aiden, and you have. My mission is done." She grins slightly and tilts her head. "You should come visit me next time."

"Okay," I mumble. The lines between the other realm and this one seem to blur in my tired mind. I wipe over my eyes and pull her into a hug.

She pats my back two times and squeezes me. "I'll text you once I'm back at home."

"I wish this was still your home," I mutter into our hug.

She pulls away, pity drawn across her face. "The offer still stands, you know? You can come live with us."

For a brief moment, I consider it. Leaving this godforsaken place, away from everything, just her and me on her farm. And Ewan. I'd get a job in the nearest town somewhere, start fresh, leave the memories behind. I picture it; living with those closest to me, those I have always lived with. It’d be so easy to do the same thing I have always done, to fall back into my comfortable routines and habits. I could stay the same person I’ve been all my life, live in the same patterns forever.

“I have to learn to be alone. But I’ll come visit you soon," I reply instead. "Drive safe."

"Okay. I will." She stands up, her hand lingering on my shoulder for a moment before turning away with a somber smile and leaving my room. Once the door is shut behind me, I sink back into my pillow.

The clock on the wall shows seven in the morning. It’s too early for comfort, but my stomach grumbles. I force myself to sit back up, rubbing my eyes another time for good measure.

I push the blanket back & put on my slippers as I swing my legs out of bed. When I get up, my eyes get caught on my bedside table.

The drawer is opened slightly. Did I leave it like that after last night? I vaguely remember shutting it after placing the knife inside, but everything's a blur at the moment. My heart skips a beat when I pull the drawer open.

Through the ajar window, I hear Mallory's car engine starting. She's leaving, and the knife is gone.

I hurry through the hallway to the living room. Did Mal have the knife with her when she left? Did I miss it?

Groaning, I open every drawer, look in every cabinet, but the knife isn't there. Between the sparse cutlery set, plates, and colorful mugs, it'd be hard to miss something that stands out like this.

The intricately designed knife is nowhere to be seen, uselessly cluttered cutlery taking up the space.

With trembling hands and pacing legs, I dial Mal's number and wait for her to pick up. It rings a couple of times before I hear her voice.

"What's up?"

"Did you take the knife in my nightstand?" My foot taps the floor repeatedly.

"Hello to you, too," she says. "I'm driving, Ellie, can this wait?"

"No." I distractedly bite my fingernails, pulling open another drawer. "Did you take it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. Why do you keep a knife in your bedroom in the first place? Do I need to be worried about you?"

"What? No! I put it there, and now it's gone." My hand runs through my hair as I slam the drawer shut with my hip.

"Maybe it fell on the floor. I don't know why you'd accuse me of stealing anything," Mal says reproachfully. "I came all the way there to help you. And I did. And now you call me a thief?"

"No, Mal, it's just—it's not here anymore. I can't find it." My head burns, and I storm back to my room, my head burning.

"Why do you care so much about some knife? Don't tell me Aiden has anything to do with it."

"He doesn't." I pull the door shut and lift the mattress she slept on, the phone pressed between my shoulder and ear. "But I think you do."

There's silence on the other end. The only sound comes from the engine of her car. I pull the nightstand forward, checking behind. Nothing.

"Mal."

"I have no idea what you're on about, but to be honest, it's pissing me off. Your whole," she pauses, presumably to gesture wildly to no one in particular, "attitude at the moment. I didn't do anything wrong."

"Well, the knife isn't here anymore, and it's got to be somewhere, doesn't it?"

"I suppose so, but that somewhere is not with me."

I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes in exasperation. "Fine. Okay. Sorry."

"Yeah." She stays silent for a moment. "I've gotta focus on driving."

"Bye." I hang up and take a deep breath. Then, I call her again.

"What?"

"I'm sorry. I love you. Drive safe. Bye." I hang up again. I toss my phone on the bed and kneel down in front of it to check whether the knife is hiding there. It isn't.

Was it even real? Maybe I imagined it this whole time. I push my hair back and press my palms to my eyes for a moment.

No. I'm not insane. I know what's real and what isn't, I didn't make this up.

Mallory must've taken it. There's no other explanation. She must've taken it, and she's lying about it. Somehow, it ended up in the garden after I tried accessing her dreams; somehow, this knife I keep hallucinating about is connected to Mal and the absence of an entryway to her dreams.

One night, I managed to shift properly for the first time. I had chosen to shift to a beach, to create the salty waves, the sand between my toes, and the sound of seagulls, which I adored. They didn't even look like disproportionate chickens. It felt incredible, I was riding a high.

The Raven told me she was proud of me, and I felt as though I was floating. We spent the day at the beach, and I built a sandcastle with Nell because I was tired of having to exist.

That night gave me the courage to keep pushing my abilities.

I kept going, kept working, kept pressuring myself every night.

When Nell and I eventually returned to the library again, she led me back to the hidden shelves. The soft light of a petroleum lamp illuminated the mischief on her face. She took my hand and ran with me, and I felt that spark of joy bubble up deep in my stomach. Our failed attempt at subtle laughter echoed through the library as Nell pulled me into a small room near the Banished section, a room that was so dim that I could barely see my own hands. Nell, however, held up her lamp and shone it on a single, leather bound book displayed on a small desk, engraved with golden flourishes. Nell pulled the door shut behind us and looked at me with intense eyes.

"This," she said, "is the truth about this place."

"Is it bad?" I asked, not sure whether I wanted to hear what she had to say.

She nodded, and shivers ran down my spine.

Why would they just leave a book like this lying around there? Why so hidden if shifters don't usually come here, anyway? I asked Nell those things, and the sparkle in her eyes grew.

She took a step toward me and stared at me with an intensity that gave me goosebumps.

"They do take shifters here," she said and held up the book, the glow of the lamp making it seem like the most important object in the whole world. "They just tell you that they don't, because then you'd feel less special." She placed the book into my hands, but I didn't dare to open it.

"The Raven told us we're special for being here." She didn't actually call her The Raven, but I still can't bring myself to use her name. "She said she's bending a rule for us. I think she lied. I think they take shifters here to make us feel welcome, to make us want to return."

"Of course," I said, the heavy book still looming in my hands. "They want us to be strong, to practice."

"No," she said. Nell took the book away from me again, opening it to flip through the pages. "It's all in here. These books write themselves, even if they tried to rip out the pages, burn it, or throw it away, it'd come back. The only way to keep their secret safe is to hide it in here." She looked at me with serious eyes. "You should really read this." She held out the book again, but I was scared. I couldn't do it.

I told her so. I'd rather leave this eerie room and practice my shifting and forget that anything bad could ever go on in here. It was my safe space, after all.

"Suit yourself," Nell said and kept turning the pages, reading every word on them. "I'll stay here to investigate."

I left her to it. In hindsight, perhaps I shouldn't have. Perhaps I should've told her not to stick her nose in other people's business. It could've saved her soul. I made a lot of mistakes back then.

That was the first.

For an early morning, the sun is already strong, burning on my scalp. My legs carry me to the one person who has ever been there for me, however rarely.

We're supposed to be friends now, after all. All the way in the back of my mind, a tiny voice tells me he won't be helpful. He never has been, and he never will be, but there's nowhere else for me to go.

The shrill doorbell doesn't startle me this time. He opens the door with a casual stance, raising his eyebrows lightly upon seeing me.

"Ellie," he says. "Didn't you say you hated me?"

"I did." I squeeze past him and drop down on the couch. "I do. But I hate everyone else more."

"Even Mallory?"

I shake my head. "She left. And I'm mad at her."

He takes the place next to me, leaning against the backrest of the couch and props his head up on one hand. "It's good she left," he says decidedly. "You're so much more fun when she's not around."

"Bullshit. She brings out the best in me."

"I thought you were mad at her."

"I am!" I let my head fall back until it hits the backrest, covering my face with my hands. "I think she's lying to me," I mumble through my palms. "But she'd never lie to me, right? I'm only being dramatic." I lower my hands, turning my head to face him. "Tell me I'm overreacting."

Aiden shrugs with a neutral expression. "Maybe," he says. "Or, maybe she's showing her true colors. I never really liked her."

"Why not? She's my favorite person in the world."

"That's why." He grimaces and pulls one leg onto the couch. "She's always been your number one. Nobody mattered more than Mallory; if she had a problem, you'd ditch everyone else around you to be by her side. If she told you to jump, you'd ask how high."

"She's my sister, of course I would."

"Have you ever stopped to think that other people exist around you?" He says it so calmly, like the weight of his words couldn't crush me. "Mallory is the reason you're alone. She's the reason you never made any other friends, she's the reason we're broken up now. I've been in your life for over five years, and I've witnessed how you'd push people away because Mallory didn't like them. How you ditched possible friends because she asked you to."

"Mal has never asked me to—"

"Maybe not directly. But you've always gone out of your way to be around her, and never done the same for anyone else. Don't you think that might be why you're here now? Why you've come to me of all people for comfort, when you hate me so much? I'm the only one who still stuck around. She's not as angelic as you make her out to be." He shifts in his position, watches as my face remains unchanged through his words. "You're so terrified of being alone. And yet, you keep glorifying the reason that you are just that."

I lean forward the slightest bit, my jaw clenching. "You're insane," I say slowly. "Mal is the only reason I ever had anyone in the first place. She's the only person who ever protected me, the only one who ever cared about me in the slightest. Without Mal, I'd be truly alone."

He matches my expression, leaning in, too. "Without Mallory, you have a chance to exist on your own instead of building your whole life around her." His hand grazes mine as his expression softens. "We can be happy together without her around. Her presence was the reason you felt the need to ditch me, too."

"Her presence was the reason I had the courage to ditch you." I pull my hand away. "She's not the reason we fell apart, that was entirely your doing."

He leans away again and smacks his lips. "I respect your choice," he says. "But you'll come around again, you'll realize that it's true. That she's not the air under your wings, she's the oil in your feathers." He stands up and opens the door for me. "Without her, you'll be able to fly again."

I throw him a frustrated glance, the words I want to shout at him pounding inside my skull, but I don't say any of them. He closes the door behind me the moment I'm outside, without as much as a word. I turn to the door, anger bubbling in my chest. I'd kick the door in if I could, just to shed myself of the fire gnawing on me.

"I hate you!" I shout instead, hoping he heard me through the walls. My heart thumps unpleasantly fast against my ribcage, slowly building up the anger brick by brick.

What he said can’t be true. Mallory would never do anything to cause me harm. He's only saying those things to get me back, to put an image of my sister in my mind that'll get me to overthink.

That's what I tell myself, anyway.

He does have a point. Mallory is the only one I'd do anything for, the only one who can't do anything wrong.

I lean against the faded, yellowish painted wall outside his apartment and press my palm to my chest.

He's wrong. It's not her fault. Even if she lied to me this morning, even if she is the reason that I'm alone, she'd never do it on purpose. I'm her whole world. She protected me. She raised me.

Mal is good. Aiden isn't.

My breathing hitches and I press my palm tighter against my chest. My other hand rubs over my forehead, as if it could calm me; when it doesn't, it tugs on my hair instead as I lean my head back against the wall.

My fingers curl into a fist, hitting my chest repeatedly; one, two, three times, feeling the soothing pattern on it match my heartbeat.

As if on reflex, I reach for my phone and hold it to my ear while the continuous beeping drags on.

She doesn't answer. Why doesn't she answer when I need her? I've always answered to her!

Crap. I screw my eyes shut, clenching the fabric of my shirt with my fist and lower myself to the ground.

This isn't so bad, it'll be easy to get through. Just recite it.

Hair as golden as the sunset and eyes as warm as honey—ordinary—lilies, hyssop, and hyacinths—unsettling visions. She'll stop them. She'll be okay. Just like I will.

As soon as my breathing evens, I leave Aiden's apartment behind. Every step I take toward my home distances me from the thoughts he put in my head.

I'm tired. I'm really, really tired.

When I collapse into bed, I don't bother pulling the blanket over myself. Sleep catches up to me quickly, and without another thought, I'm in the stunning garden, staring at my name carved into the bark. I don't turn around when Aura appears next to me.

"Aura, did I put my name in that tree?" I ask absentmindedly, my hand reaching out to trace the cuts.

"It has always been there," Aura says. "For as long as you've come here."

"But did I do it? Did I carve the wood?"

Aura's breathing is calm next to me. She puts one hand on my shoulder and looks at the name with me. "No," she says. "It's a part of your world. It's how you know that it's truly yours."

I bite the inside of my cheek as I pull my hand away from the tree. Her hand squeezes my shoulder.

"Something wrong, dear?"

"I found a knife." I'm unsure whether I should be telling her about it. "In here. Maybe it wasn't here, but a different version of here. Colder, lonelier. And I took it out with me."

Aura's hand leaves my shoulder slowly. "Out where?"

"Out of my dream. I didn't know I could do that, you never told me."

"I didn't think it mattered," she says. "You can take objects in and out of your dreams just like the clothes you're wearing. The only restriction are the books in the library." She links her arm with mine, turning us away from the willow.

"The books," I repeat slowly. Accessing memories. "You need to teach me how to access my sister's memories," I say determinedly, not minding the surprised look on her face. "I need to see if she lied to me."

"Didn't you want to talk to me about a knife?" Aura begins walking away from the tree, my arm still linked with hers as I follow her while the undergrowth builds around us.

"Yes. No, it doesn't matter if I can just look at her memories. It is possible, right? You know how to do it."

"I do." She bows her head briefly. "But it's not easy. I'm not sure you're ready."

"I am." I stop her stride and hold onto her arm, causing her to turn toward me. "I swear I am, this is like riding a bike to me."

"Can you fully control your energy without any errors?" She looks down at me like she considers it, only waiting for the right moment to accept my desire.

I keep my eyes trained on her while I let the undergrowth around us topple, replacing it with a wide, overgrowing wheat field surrounding a wooden cottage. The wind changes, and so does the field, leaving a volcanic, black beach with rough, foamy waves hitting the shore. "I'm ready," I say again. "I can do all this in the blink of an eye. I can do more." I tug on her hands, lifting my chin. "Let me discover my full potential."

Aura glances around with a minuscule smile in the corner of her mouth. "How did you get here tonight?" she asks.

"Like I always do. I fall asleep, and here I am. I don't really think about it anymore."

Aura nods slowly and lets her gaze wander over the waves. "Okay," she says finally. "I'll teach you. You're skilled enough."

"Now?"

Her eyes snap back to me. "Sure," she says. "Why not? You want to find out if your sister lied to you? Let's find out."

"Find her."

Deprived of my visual senses, everything else is easier to take in. Oxygen flows through my lungs evenly; my heartbeat is calm, controlled.

"If there is even the smallest amount of energy in her, you'll be able to capture it."

Aura's fingertips grazing mine gives me goosebumps. Her voice is dull, as if my ears are enclosed by cotton; distant and clouded. It's as though I am swimming through an ocean of electricity, wave after wave, and I let myself be guided by it. I'm not certain what exactly I am looking for, but I know I'm on the right path. I just know.

Mallory is clear as day in my mind. Everything that connects us, everything that we share leads me right toward her.

Then, I see something. The tiniest orb of light, flickering like a broken light bulb, far off in the most hidden corner of my mind. It's no bigger than a firefly. I carefully reach out to it, afraid to break it even more. A small but sudden electric shock upon touching the light makes me flinch.

This is not where I stop. All of my power lies before me, a little bit of pain isn't going to draw the line for me.

The energy flowing through my body has to listen to me. My mind has to listen to me, I'm in control. It takes some focus, but not a lot of time to guide my energy toward the broken light.

"You're doing it." I can hear Aura's voice distantly. "Keep going."

The pride in it gives me strength, and quickly the flickering light is caught in my energy, flowing inside it. When I touch it again, it hurts less. It's growing, too–though it looks like it's not entirely sure if it wants to grow.

It fills the darkness around me for a second, replacing what looks like night with blinding brightness, and for a moment, I think I'm back in my familiar void, maybe it didn't work. But then, they surround me.

All those memories, manifesting themselves in different shapes, sizes, colors; flooding me with an overwhelming input of information and emotion.

"I can see it," I whisper, unsure whether Aura can hear me.

Each one of the memories crashes over my head like a waterfall when I step too close. Her engagement to Ewan on their Paris vacation—the joy on her face reflects widely inside my chest.

There's us in London, running through the sudden rainfall with our jackets pulled over our heads, laughter echoing in the vast infinity of this place. For a moment, I feel the raindrops on my face again, the unfiltered happiness threatening to burst through my heart, and the sobering realization that we'd have to go back home again.

I look further, curiosity having wrapped its fingers around my throat. I spent most of my life around Mallory, I know all of these moments from having been there or having been the first one to hear about them. Her plan to move out of home, her first kiss, the time she took in an injured bird from the street and nurtured it back to health. They all shine brightly from within, pulling me in, wanting to be relived.

But I have to keep looking. I have to find something about this morning.

One memory stands out between all the carefully preserved happy feelings, buzzing with a darkness that pulls me underwater. It's the memory Mallory didn't want me to have. Back when she found our Dad on the floor after his suicide attempt, reaching for her phone with trembling hands and shouting at me to go to my room. Looking at it from the outside feels as though it never really happened, despite the sudden somberness overcoming me. It's like a scene in a movie, happening to someone else, far away. Why did it have to happen to us? Why did we have to endure his abuse just for him to run from the consequences of his actions and unload more trauma upon us? The weight of the memory settles over my head, looming and painful.

I have to remember why I'm here. A few steps into the direction of her memory of calling an ambulance takes me to darker places.

Bullies at school. The time I told her about what Dad had been doing to me. The drive to the hospital after one of my mental breakdowns.

Then, today. I recognize my bedroom and myself, asleep. Carefully, I reach out to it to get closer. The touch sends a sting through my arm, like holding my skin too close to the stove, but I press on.

She's on the mattress next to my bed, watching me sleep. Her eyes wander through my room as she quietly stands up, opening the doors to my closet with an occasional peek over her shoulder. She searches through my clothes, gives up when she doesn't find anything, and rubs her temples. With a frown, she looks at me and slowly turns my arm toward her, running her fingers over the sensitive skin. Is she looking for recent scars?

Then, she reaches out to wake me up—and for a moment, guilt sneaks up on me, realizing that Mal did not take the knife, that she looked for it out of worry for me, and she left the room without doing anything I accused her of—but then she hesitates. Her hand hovers over me for a moment as her eyes move to the side. She kneels down, pulls the drawer of my nightstand open, and exhales in relief when she picks up the knife. With another quick glance toward me, she inspects it closely, feeling the wooden handle of it, and slides the blade into her bag before she wakes me up.

I knew it. I knew she took it, I knew she was lying. I'm not insane after all.

Ripping myself out of the memory shakes off the painful sting in my chest. I'm ready to leave, to just wake up, and call her, and yell at her for lying, but something catches my eye. There's a memory, nestled between everything else; tiny and hidden, carefully tucked away like she doesn't want to remember it. A faint, crimson glow surrounds it, so minimal that I can hardly see it.

Touching it sends sparks flying through my veins, until the sparks turn into what feels like fire on my skin. I grit my teeth, pushing further through the burning pain until it scorches my skin, and suddenly, I'm inside the memory. It looks awfully familiar.

The hand holding the knife is guided away by a younger Light. Her soft, warm eyes hold a fearful sadness. "Don't," she says, and then, "it's not worth it, Mallory."

I jolt out of sleep, gasping for air, sweat pearling on my forehead. My brain is tied into knots and my head aches with an intensity I haven't felt before, but none of that matters when I feel the scorching pain on my wrist. Shit, shit, shit.

The blanket lands carelessly crumpled up on the carpet as I hurry to the bathroom. The cold water rinsing over the burnt patch of skin stings at first, but fills me with relief after a while. My jaw unclenches while my heart still pounds vigorously against my ribs. When I spot myself in the mirror, I have to do a double-take to recognize myself.

Haven't I been sleeping non-stop? The soft skin under my eyes is darker than it has ever been. "Christ," I mumble to the thinner, exhausted version of myself in the mirror.

I shake my head, refusing to let that image of myself intrude my mind, and turn my focus back to my wrist. It trembles, but the pain lets off through the water. Still, I keep the tap running, breathing through the moment.

Pain is good. It means that the nerve isn't damaged. As long as I can still feel it, I'm going to be okay. Pain is focus. I'm here. I'm present. I have something to focus on.

The droplets seem to hit the ceramic of the sink in slow motion. My vision blurs for a moment and my heart slows down.

Mal has always been the one person I could trust. The one person who'd rather stab herself than lie to me, who never kept a secret. We've always been Mallory and Elaine. Never just Mallory. Never just Elaine. Both of us, always.

I breathe out through my teeth.

No.

There's an explanation for it. It's my mind, playing a trick on me. It's the one place I'm able to control betraying me; not Mallory.

She made up the fairy tale about Light, it manifested inside my mind, I dreamed of her, and now my two worlds are mixing, making me think that Mallory and Light have met. That's all there is to it, because she'd simply never lie to me, she couldn't lie to me.

I turn off the faucet, rubbing my temples and staring holes into my reflection.

Mallory doesn't know Light, because Light isn't real. My mind isn't real. I'm going insane, that's it. And she's been telling me from the start, she's been here for me since the beginning.

How do you explain what happened with Aiden? The tiny voice inside my head makes its way to the forefront of my mind. How do you explain the scorching pain on your wrist?

Lies, lies, lies. Everywhere.

I should call Mallory. Confront her. Should I?

The line between my dreams and reality is thinning every day. One step to the wrong side and I'll forget which is which.

The possibility of Mallory lying to me isn't one I can consider, but if she did, then Light knows more about it. And if Light does, Aura does, too. It'd be a lot easier to get something out of her instead of the loopy nonsense from Light.

Luckily, we have non-stick bandages in our medical cabinet, and I wrap them around my wrist, wincing when it touches the wound. It can't hurt to chuck in a painkiller, either.

I rip the windows open, desperately longing for fresh air to relieve my headache. The whole room—no, the whole house—suffocates me with stuffy air and pent-up feelings I can never catch up to.

I was supposed to be normal. Boring, even. And suddenly, I'm part of a jigsaw puzzle I can't piece together.

The headache doesn't let off and staying inside won't help. In the hopes to untangle my brain through exercise, I decide to take a walk through the park and get a clear image of what the hell is going on.

Relax. Rewind. Recollect.

What do I know?

I know that Mallory insisted that the fairy tale is made up and that the Dreamscapes aren't real. I know that she'd never lie to me, and that I can control my dreams. I know that I've been experiencing hallucinations from the mental stress I'm going through.

That's what I thought I knew, at least.

And now?

Mallory didn't make up all of the fairytale. She made up the story around it, but she based it on Light. She knew Light. The hallucinations are her memory. Which leaves me to wonder two things: why am I the one seeing them, and what was she planning to do with that knife?

That's what I might know.

If it's true, it doesn't only mean that Mallory lied to me, that she purposely made me believe that I'm losing my mind. It means that she's a shifter, just like me.

God, Mallory, what happened?

I was only a teenager back then.

Sometimes, I forget about that. I've been an adult for a while now. My childhood seems to be a relic of the past, and I keep holding my past self to this standard I would hold myself to today.

I was naive, gullible, an idiot; a teenager.

I didn't realize back then that knowing about the reason for the Dreamscapes' existence could be dangerous. That it might be hidden away in the dark because they desperately didn't want shifters to find out about it. I didn't realize that knowing about it could hurt both Nell and me.

I thought if Nell wanted to read those books, that is her business. If she wanted to know the inner workings and the secrets of this place, I could let her. I didn't think to run.

For a while, it went well. Nell and I would meet almost every night, we would practice together—me more than her—and she'd sneak off to investigate this place. For the most part, I ignored her need to know about everything that was going on at any given moment. I loved her enough to appreciate the time we spent together, grasping for every short minute I got to spend by her side.

But then, she told me what she found. She sat me down in a quiet corner of the library and looked around like she was nervous to say it.

"I know why they keep us here," Nell said. "It's our pain. They strive for it, they want us to hurt more and more, it's how they live. Your pain about your family, my pain about Tosh."

She hadn't told me much about Tosh, all I knew was that she was someone Nell had once loved very dearly and that they gave each other those nicknames. Tosh and Nell.

"That's our trauma, that's their...their food." She gripped my hand. "I know you still think that The Raven is good, but she is not. Don’t trust The Raven. You have to stop coming here. You're still choosing to wake up here, right?" Her face was deeply worried.

I nodded. Every night before bed, I'd hope to return, and every night, I did.

"Then you still have time to leave. Leave, please."

I made my second mistake right after hearing about this.

I was worried for Nell. Maybe there really was this dark secret that she wanted to protect me from, and I did believe that the Dreamscapes might not be as wonderful as they pretended to be. But in my stupid teenager brain, I couldn't grasp the fact that The Raven was a part of it.

So, I told her. I told her what Nell had told me, because I wanted to do a good deed. I wanted to protect Nell. I had the right intentions, but the wrong ideas.

The Raven told me that I did well in telling her as she stroked my hair like a proud mother would, and I remember feeling relieved. It was the first time I did something I considered to be genuinely selfless and out of the pure of my heart.

How wrong I was. Oh, how wrong.

The park is empty for the most part. A few people walking their dogs here and there, but nobody who would pay attention to me.

I sit down on a bench, staring into the distance, chewing on my bottom lip like it'd help me think.

An empty feeling grows in my chest, makes me want to forget about everything. Just...let go. For a while, at least.

After flooding the office, after smashing Dad’s headstone, I could finally breathe—at least it felt that way—and now I’m here again. Consumed by that anxiety I can’t get rid of.

Someone sits down next to me. Oh, God no.

"Out alone," Kenny says. "Not good for a woman, you could get hurt.”

I grimace. "I’m fine."

Kenny stays seated, and I shift uncomfortably in my position. He inches closer to me. "You should be careful," he says. "There are a lot of dangerous people out."

"I can take care of myself. I do Krav Maga," I lie.

"Do you now?" He chuckles. His voice is low. "I can keep you safe, you know."

"I highly doubt that." I cross my legs, wanting nothing more but to get up and leave, but I know that he'd just follow me. "Would you mind? I want to be by myself right now."

"I don't think so," Kenny replies. Suddenly, his arm is on the backrest of the bench and around my shoulders. "Why don't we chat a little? We never chat."

I scoot forward to avoid his touch. "I don't like you, Kenny," I hiss. "Back off."

"Don't get catty," he says in a tone that makes me want to rip his eyes out. His hand moves to my shoulder and down my back. I stand up quickly, turning to face him.

"Do not touch me!" I didn't plan to get loud, but he leaves me no other choice. "Do not fucking touch me, or I swear to God, I will—"

He gets up, standing dangerously close to me, and I suddenly realize he is a lot taller than me. "You will what?" he says. "I don't think you will do anything."

"Back. Off. I mean it," I spit between gritted teeth. "I'll report you. You'll lose your job."

Kenny laughs. "You can't report me at work for something I didn't do at work. And besides," he steps closer, his arm reaching out for my face, "you and I both know that I can't lose my job."

I hate that he's right. I hate that no matter what I do here, I'm the powerless one in this situation. I have no control. His hand touches my cheek, and I follow the first impulse that shoots through my brain.

My fist lands in his face faster than I realize I'm doing it. Kenny stumbles backwards from the impact, holding his cheek. I rub my knuckles, ignoring the pulsating pain that shoots through my wrist under the bandages.

"You're gonna regret that," Kenny threatens with dark eyes. I want him to leave that empty threat hanging in the air, but he's not like that. He comes closer to me and grabs my arm before I can get away. I wince, trying to shake off his grip. Panic settles over me as I scratch the back of his hand, wishing for my fingernails to be longer than they are.

You are strong, Ellie. Hurt him. Take back your control.

Aura’s voice is clear as day in my head. It’s the lit match to the gasoline inside my chest, having waited a long time to be incinerated.

The threat in his eyes suddenly is nothing more than a challenge. A challenge I can easily take on.

My head lunges forward to his grip on my arm, sinking my teeth into his skin as hard as I can, ripping at it with force. In the same second he howls out in pain, I put as much force as I can possibly gather behind my free arm and punch his face, then his stomach right after. The pain it sends through my hand and burnt wrist almost makes me cry out, but it’s worth it to see him bending over in pain.

“Get lost.” Against my better judgment, I come closer to him, watching him back away from me for the first time since I’ve met him. “Never touch me again.”

He doesn’t respond, only stares at me; stunned that the little, weak girl from the office can bite back.

Good. You’re in control.

The park passes by me in a blur as I stride away, nothing on my mind but the relentlessly satisfying feeling of having hurt him. My heart pounds in my chest, my veins seem to pulsate with energy.

Kenny, Dad, Aiden; everyone who hurt me deserves to be hurt back. I deserve to hurt them back.

I deserve more, and most of all, I deserve to know the truth about Mallory.

I don’t stop walking as I press my phone against my ear, no clear destination in mind. I just need to walk, to burn the energy.

Mallory doesn’t pick up. Ewan does.

“El,” he says. “Are you okay?”

“Where’s my sister?”

“Sleeping. It’s late.” I hear a door close in the background of the call. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine. I need to speak to her.” The endless pounding of my heart fuels my voice, giving it an angry ring I have never experienced before.

“I won’t wake her up before you tell me what’s going on. I’m serious, El, talk to me.”

“What’s going on is that Mallory lied to me. What’s going on is that I need her to tell me the truth, and I need to take back my control.”

“You need to breathe. What did she lie to you about?” For a brief moment, I imagine him watching over her while she sleeps, listening to me and contemplating whether he should deal with my crap.

“That’s between her and me. But if I were you, I’d take a good look at her and reconsider your choice to trust her above all, because if she can lie to me, she can lie to anyone.” I stop walking abruptly when I recognize the building in front of me. I didn’t realize that I had left the park already, the sound of engines closer now.

“El, you’re not yourself. Breathe, okay? You love Mal. She loves you. Whatever she did to you, just…take a step back and breathe. Remember all she did for you.”

“I don’t know what she did for me anymore.” My head throbs as I stare up at Aiden’s apartment. The window is illuminated.

“She helped you through so many of your hurdles in life,” Ewan reminds me, his voice soft. “She’s always been there for you, remember? You’re the most important person in her life. You are who you are because she helped you get there.”

“Well,” I say, grinding my teeth, “because of her, I’m not my own person. I’m reliant. But that’s over now. I don’t need her support anymore if she thinks she can lie to me. I’m in charge now.”

The connection cuts, and I don’t pick up when he calls me back.

It’s my turn to take what’s mine. Starting with Aiden.

"There's a simple solution to your pain." Aura's voice is bitter poison as her hand gently brushes over my hair.

The garden is motionless. Dark, cold, and alone with only a handful of stars in the sky. I tried to change it. But no matter what I try, the loneliness of this place remains.

I only move my eyes to where she's standing close to me, letting her touch on my head keep me in reality.

I told her everything. About the hallucinations. About my slowly growing insanity and the mess inside my head. About Aiden. Throughout it all, I can't name the feeling. I'm numbing from the inside, and it's taking over.

"There's no way for you to feel safe in here," Aura continues gently, "as long as you let the negativity from your world affect your mind. You're so powerful. Don't let them take it away from you."

"What's the solution?" A slight breeze catches on my body. It's the only thing I feel besides Aura's hand.

She leans closer to my ear, pushes a strand of hair behind it. "Get rid of him," she croons. "Him and all the negativity in your life. Without it, you'll truly make this your safe space. No influences. No pain. Only your power."

"He raped me," I whisper. "He's been hurting me for a long time."

"It's time you hurt him back." She takes her hand away from my head. It makes me shiver. "You're in control now."

"I am in control."

"Everything you do to him here," she says, matching the volume of my voice, "will happen to him in your realm. Make it count."

I hold onto my elbows with my hands, swallowing around the lump in my throat. "I need to. I really do."

"You don't need my advice anymore. You’re strong enough on your own." She takes a step back, letting her hand linger on my arm for a second. "You already know how to do it."

I do. I know. Whatever I want to do to him, I can.

"Good luck," she whispers, and in the blink of an eye, I'm alone.

You already know how to do it.

He's easy to find. The suffocating anger that seems to rule inside his mind works like a map, leading me closer and closer to him. I have no use for staying inside his emotion-packed nightmare of a mind, he's got places to be. With me.

I take him to his apartment. To him, it must feel like any other, slightly strange dream that he'll only question when he wakes up.

The energy coursing through me adds fuel to the numbing fire inside my chest. I let it run through my body, gather it in the tips of my fingers, controlling the flow of it before letting it burst out.

The linen of his bedsheets catch fire first. It spreads to his pillows, then the carpet, and the curtains. Smoke fills the air, and the pungent smell hits me like a blade cutting through the cotton I've been wandering through in a haze.

Oh, fuck.

Sheer panic replaces the bursting rage inside me when thick smoke blocks my vision. It's as though I'm really trapped in a blazing room, not wandering around in my ex-boyfriend's depressing mind. I cover my mouth with the sleeves of my nightgown, coughing hoarsely and fighting the piercing tears in my eyes. My back hits the door when I stumble backward. A firm grip on my arm pulls me away, and I fall into soft grass and cough my lungs out.

My breath is whistling through my attempts to fight through the sensation of coming close to death.

Aura helps me sit up and wipes away the wetness on my cheeks. "You're alright," she says soothingly. "You did well."

My blurry eyes find hers. I press my hand to my mouth to cover a sob as she puts her hand on my curved spine.

"I made a mistake," I whimper. Pathetic. "I hurt him."

"So badly." Aura nods. "He deserved it, and you could've done far worse for him." Her eyes sparkle with dark mischief. "Can't you feel it? Your power?"

It's tingling in my veins, it's threatening to burst out of me and consume me whole. I deserve this. It’s my turn.

"You're taking back your control, Ellie. You're building the life you deserve without all that pain you keep fighting through."

I look down at my hands where the energy flows the strongest, and my mind suddenly feels like it's swimming. "I can do anything.” I clench my hands into fists.

"Anything you want, dear," she encourages me. "There are no limits. No consequences. Grow your power." In that moment, she looks...different. Her typical smile is a lot darker, hungry for power, and for a moment, it scares me.

I rip my eyes away from her, down to my hands. They're shaking, and I can't stop it. My whole body doesn't seem to be connected to my brain anymore.

The garden shifts. As though it's glitching, the lush green changes to an endless desert, a deep jungle, an aquamarine ocean, quicker, quicker, quicker until it's impossible to see what's happening around me.

You hurt him. The voice sounds different; more like someone I once used to be and less like me. You're a monster, why did you do that?

My hands are freezing and a headache pounds on my temples as the tingling feeling of an overwhelming numbness courses through my body. Despite all the physical symptoms of my panic attacks, I feel numb.

Nothing.

Eerily empty.

It's your fault. All of it.

I press my eyes shut and cover my ears, feeling myself shrinking into a curled position on the ground as the Dreamscapes keep spinning faster and faster, out of my control.

Focus.

I breathe out through pursed lips and lower my hands from my ears.

Focus on her.

It's the same thing as always. Mal got me through every single panic attack I've ever had.

Hair as golden as the sunset, eyes as warm as honey.

I build the lily field in my mind, Light's soft swerving through the flowers. My eyes remain shut, forcing the soothing atmosphere of her prison into my mind, praying for it to ground me.

"You've done so well." Aura's voice is distant and faded, and I refuse to open my eyes to acknowledge her. Powerful, capable, in control.

Lilies, hyssop, hyacinths, keep breathing, in and out, fight through the pain.

Her voice disappears from my mind and my heart rate slows steadily. Soft hands touch my jaw, accompanied by the gentle scent of flowers.

The world is calm again when I look into Light's honey-colored eyes. She kneels on the ground with me, holding onto my face like it's treasure. "Safe," Light whispers.

"Okay." My voice matches hers and I reach up to hold onto her wrists. "I'm safe with you."

She smiles at me and brushes her thumbs over my cheekbones before helping me to stand. "You hurt him," she says without any inhibition.

"I did." My heart rate stays even. "I did, and I should feel guilty, but I don't."

"Numb," Light says and nods understandingly. "I know. I feel it, too."

"I think…I should feel guilty."

Monster, monster, monster. The voice inside me knows how I should feel. If only I could feel what it tells me to.

Light lets out a slow breath and thoughtfully runs one hand through my hair. "You're like her," she mutters.

"Mallory," I say. "You know my sister."

"Fourteen." She nods. "Long ago."

Fourteen.

Fourteen years ago, I visited the Dreamscapes for the first time.

“Is that how long you’ve been here?”

Light doesn’t respond. She stares right through me with unfocused, blurry eyes.

"Do you remember a knife she had?" The blade reflecting sunlight is clear as day in my mind. "I saw her memory. She had that knife, and you told her not to do...something. Do you remember that?"

"Mallory used to talk to me," Light says with dreamy eyes instead of answering my question. "I met her here."

"Here in this clearing?"

Her eyes wander away from me again, gazing into the sky as if trying to recall something. After a moment of silence, she shakes her head slowly. "No," she says. "In the library."

"Light." I grab her shoulders, forcing her attention back to me. "Is Mallory a shifter like me?"

She looks at me with big, empty eyes. Then, she says, "Like you."

"Tell me everything you know, Light, please."

Light shakes her head and chuckles. It sounds like a melody. "Light," she says. "They call me that." Her eyes harden for a moment and her smile falls. "I stopped."

"Stopped what?"

"Being." She turns her face toward the sky, closing her eyes. "It was taken from me," she whispers. "I shouldn't have stayed." When she lowers her head again, the dreamy look is completely wiped from her face. "You can't stay." She suddenly grabs my injured wrist and puts her other hand on the crook of my shoulder. Her eyes are wider now, darker, and she stares at me with a strange intensity. "Don't trust her," she whispers. "You can't trust her. You have to leave."

A flock of ravens appears out of nowhere, circling above us with haunting sounds.

"Leave. Now. Don't come back." She brutally twists my burnt wrist and the field vanishes immediately into a bright light as I jolt out of sleep, greeted by the darkness of my room, pain pulsating through my wrist.

The pain throbs in my veins. The guilt that should've been chewing me up all along finally reaches me, seeping into my stomach.

Fuck.

What on Earth made me do that? What did I do?

Suddenly, everything around me stops. My brain can’t process anything anymore, the air seems to stand still, and my hair sticks to my skin. Even blinking happens in slow-motion as I am conscious of every single breath I take, and they all nearly get stuck in my throat.

I reach for my phone to call Aiden. Once, twice, four times. He doesn't answer. He's fine, right? I didn't actually do anything. It happened inside my dream, not in reality. I'm just going insane, having super realistic nightmares that are slowly driving me up the wall. I’ve been going crazy for a while. People can’t influence reality through dreams, that’s crazy. I’m crazy.

Everything is fine, completely fine. I keep telling myself that when he doesn't answer my seventh call. He's just sleeping really well. Or maybe he's outside. Fuck. I bury my head in my arms and take a deep, shaky breath.

I have to leave. I have to leave this place right now. I can't be here anymore.

It won't be hard to leave this behind. This hollow home. The last thing I do before closing the door behind me is change the bandage around my wrist.

The backpack isn't heavy, but it weighs me down regardless. It's not just the clothes inside the bag, it's everything hanging over me. All that anger; all that terrible, terrible guilt pushing down anything else, filling my whole body.

There's nobody to trust anymore.

The only one who I can trust even less than everyone around me is myself. Me, who keeps spiraling, who keeps going crazier and crazier by the day, whose mind is an incomprehensible enigma.

My head aches.

There's a night bus that drives in the direction of Mallory's home. From its last stop, it shouldn't be far to walk.

I press my fingernails into my skin any time the seat on the bus becomes too comfortable to sink into and fall asleep. My mind keeps slipping away from me, back to Light.

She's a shifter. She's a shifter.

Briefly before the bus leaves the city, a couple of firetrucks and an ambulance pass the bus with deafening sirens and flashing lights. I sink deeper into my seat. They aren't here because of Aiden. There was some unrelated accident. No matter how many times I tell myself that, the uncomfortable knot in my stomach keeps growing bigger and bigger, and it doesn't leave me by the time I arrive at the last bus stop. The sun is just starting to rise, basking the road and adjacent fields into a golden light.

Mallory hasn't responded to my text from yesterday yet. The phone rings a few times before she picks up, sounding tired and confused.

"Mal.” I grip the straps of my backpack tighter as I begin walking. "I'm coming over."

"Are you okay?" she asks, yawning through her words.

"Um." I rake my hand through my hair and force my memories away from Aiden. "No. Not at all. I'll be there in maybe half an hour."

"Okay." Mal pauses briefly. "Okay, I'll get you some coffee ready and we can talk."

"See you soon." I don't wait for her response, instead I hang up on her.

Walking will keep me busy. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I keep wishing for my legs to hurt more, allowing me to focus on something other than my thoughts creeping back to me every time I think I can get rid of them.

When I arrive at her front door, she's already there, wrapping her arms around me. I can't hold it back anymore, the overwhelming emotions from the past couple of days push their way through the fog of anger clouding me. She strokes the back of my head and presses a small kiss to my forehead as sobs shake my body.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly. "What happened?"

I pull away from our hug, forgetting that I'm supposed to be mad at her for a moment. She shows me a soft smile and wipes my tears away. "Let's sit down," she suggests and leads me inside. "Then you can tell me what made you leave in the middle of the night."

I sum up most of the story, leaving out the part about possibly setting Aiden on fire and suspecting Mallory of...something.

She listens with patience, insulting Kenny with me and promising me a room to stay in for as long as I need.

"Morning." Ewan enters the living room with a coffee mug in his hand, his dark hair ruffled like he woke up five minutes ago. He leans down to kiss Mallory, then sits down next to her on the couch as he puts his arm around her. "Surprise visit? Are you okay?"

"Sorta." I press my lips together and shrug. "Sorry."

"She'll stay here for a while," Mallory says directed to Ewan. "Things are rough."

"I can imagine," he says, looking at me with pity. Has he told Mallory about our phone call? "I just saw it on the news."

I lift one eyebrow, and Mallory tilts her head. "About what?"

Ewan's eyes wander from Mallory to me and back. "About Aiden," he says slowly. "I mean, I know you guys are broken up, but—”

"What about him?" My heart suddenly picks up a faster pace, and I have to place my mug on the coffee table to not spill the coffee with my trembling hands. I know what he's about to say, and I don't want to hear it.

"It's in the news," he says. Mallory wraps one arm around me, waiting for Ewan to continue. "His apartment burned down. Only his, everything else in the whole building seems completely fine." His face shows a mix of pity and seriousness. "One person died, no others injured."

I feel acid coming up my throat.

"I mean, no name is leaked or anything, but—” He stops when Mallory gives him a stern look.

If my headache was bad before, it's unbearable now. Something is trying to burst through my skull, I'm sure of it.

I free myself from Mallory's protective arm around me. Next thing I know, I'm bent over a trash bin, vomiting out the contents of my stomach.

Mallory is there, kneeling down next to me and holding back my hair while gently stroking my back. Just when I think there's nothing left inside me to get out, I have to vomit again. Burning tears gather in my eyes. I hate this, I hate everything, especially myself.

Ewan hands me a wet cloth to wipe over my mouth, and I lean back on the wall, trembling all over. I pull my legs close to me, biting my fingernails as I try to process the new load of guilt in my brain. And that's when the sleeve of my sweater slips down, revealing the bandage around my wrist. Mallory reaches out for it and I pull away. "What happened?" she asks, the concern clear on her face. "Did you hurt yourself?"

I shake my head, letting off from my nails and crossing my arms over my stomach. "I burnt myself on accident," I mumble, and when I see Ewan's shocked face, I add, "in a completely unrelated incident."

Tears are still running over my face, but I don't have the energy to audibly cry. "It's okay," Mallory says, gesturing Ewan to take out the trash I vomited into. "Let's get you into bed, some blankets, a bucket, and tea. You look absolutely terrible." I don't actively realize that she's helping me get up and to the guest room. Only when she returns to the room with a mug of warm tea in her hand and blankets already over my body, I seem to be somewhat aware of myself again. The room is dark, the only light coming from the hallway. Mallory sits down on the edge of the bed, stroking my hair like she did back when Dad was in the hospital and I was an anxious mess. "Do you want to talk about it?" she says gently.

I stay quiet.

"Must be a conflicting feeling," Mal says soothingly.

For a moment, it's like I'm nine-years-old again, and she's raising me, taking care of me at her own expense, loving me unconditionally. It's like nothing has ever happened between us.

"You can stay for as long as you need to. I love you, okay?"

My mind drifts off. I did this. It's my fault. I murdered Aiden.

Mallory reaches for the bucket she brought when the acid in my throat makes me gag again. She holds my hair and speaks soothing words to me, but I don't listen, everything seems to be far away.

"Would you like me to stay with you?" she asks when I'm done getting rid of my insides. I shake my head. I can't be near anyone. I'm a murderer, a psychopath, I wanted this.

"Okay," she says softly. "I'll be around, okay? Call for me when you need anything. Or send me a text. I'll come check on you from time to time. Just...try to get some sleep." She kisses my forehead and it takes everything in me not to burst into tears again. "I love you," she says again when she closes the door behind her, leaving me behind in the darkness.

She's talking to Ewan outside my room, I listen to their muffled voices with no idea what they're saying. I close my eyes, desperately trying to get rid of my headache, but it stays with me. It’s as though I’m stuck in an endless ocean, water pressing against my body from every side, hindering me from moving forward.

Releasing that burning energy felt so...so good. So empowering. I wanted to do more. I could've done more, to Kenny and anyone else who ever wronged me, and all I could feel was the power trickling through my veins. And the way Aura looked at me, so impressed with me, so proud. I wanted to make her proud, to make myself feel strong, but now...I'm not sure anymore.

The thought of it terrifies me. I shouldn't want this. I'm horrible.

Suddenly, I can't stand being in this room anymore. It's too dark, too comfortable, I can't risk falling asleep.

My phone lights up, and for a split second, I'm hopeful that it's Aiden, complaining about the several missed calls. For the first time in a long while, I actually want him to text and berate me.

It's not Aiden. It's some other, irrelevant notification. I turn my phone off and pull the blanket over my head, digging my fingernails into my injured wrist to keep myself awake through pain.

The birds outside the window sing a happy melody. They shouldn't.

An instant impulse tells me to throw something heavy through the glass, make it shatter, and shut those birds up.

My hands curl into fists, grabbing the bedsheets tightly as I try to release a controlled breath instead of the uncertain shaking that seems to have taken over my lungs.

I slowly sit up in bed, waiting for my trembling body to calm down. It takes some convincing, but eventually, I manage to push the blanket back entirely and leave the room.

The hallway's rough paint and stacked boxes show the unfinished renovation process this farm has been going through. A few pictures of Ewan and Mal stand on a wooden chest, framed in various colors. One of the pictures depicts her and me in London.

Mal is reading a book on the couch in the living room. She looks up when I enter and puts her book to the side.

"Back so soon?" She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

"Don't want to sleep." I slump down on the couch next to her. "I don't think I can. Ever."

"It only feels like that right now," Mallory says comfortingly. "You'll be able to sleep again soon."

My eyes are watering again, and I hate that they are. Can't I go five minutes without wanting to cry?

Mallory puts her hand on mine and looks at me like she knows more than she's letting on. "There's nothing to worry about anymore. You're safe now."

I bite down on my lip. Part of me wants to tell her the full story, but it'd only lead to a frustrating conversation full of lies, so I nod instead. "Yeah," I mutter. "I'm just...in shock, I guess."

"Understandably so."

"I saw the firetrucks," I say absentmindedly. "When I was on the bus. I figured they were there for something else, but..." I trail off.

"Of course," Mal says. "Why would you have assumed that they were going to Aiden's place? There's no way you could've known that, right?" She narrows her eyes ever so slightly.

"Yeah." I swallow around the lump in my throat. "I just...I mean, when you see firetrucks or an ambulance, you always hope that they're not there for someone you know. That's all."

Mallory nods slowly. "Do you want to sit with me and read?" she suggests after a moment. "Or, I could introduce you to the chickens. Ewan named them all."

It coaxes a short laugh out of me. "Yeah, I'd love to meet them." I wipe over my eyes with my sleeve, drying off the last tears.

Meeting the chickens takes my mind off things for a few minutes. I'm not really an animal person, but the names that Ewan apparently picked out with great joy make me laugh through the pain in my soul.

There's Hennifer, Beakachu and Hen Solo. Mallory says her favorite one is a black chicken called Chickira. My personal highlight is Cluck Norris, a brown hen that's a bit bigger than the others.

The old barn they're renovating to live in isn't the only building on the premise. There's another, slightly smaller one with big, square windows and a half-broken fence, framing what I assume to be a former garden. Mal explains that once they're done renovating, they want to convert it into a café and sell home-made baked goods.

Ewan and Mallory are what I always dreamed to have, what I once hoped to have with Aiden. They're absolutely perfect for each other, sharing the same dreams and aspirations.

She has the life I'll never have.

"This where our crops will go," Mal says as she opens a small iron gate for me. We're standing on an open field adjacent to a thin forest, casting shadows over the ground. She puts her hands on her hips and sighs wishfully. "This is the dream."

"Dirt and chickens, the dream," I agree teasingly, and she scoffs with a smile.

"You could work in our café," she suggests, nudging my arm with her elbow. "Just stay here with me forever."

"You'd get sick of me so quickly," I say. "And at the latest, when you and Ewan want to start a family, I'd run away so quickly."

She turns her head to me, smiling feebly. "I know," she says. "But it's nice for the time being. And hey, maybe it'd get your mind off things to help us with the renovation. If you want to," she adds.

"It's the least I could do."

Mal pulls the gate closed behind us when we leave. Its quiet creak makes her scrunch her nose, but she never once loses her smile, as if she’s trying to project it onto my face.

"It's really good, you know? Living here. I'm a step closer to fulfilling my dreams. Nothing can take that away from me anymore."

I sling my arm around her shoulders as we walk back. The deep sorrow consuming me fades into the background for a moment through the bright sunlight and the sound of clucking chickens. As long as I'm not alone in a dark room, the overwhelming anxiety and anger is easier to manage. Still, it’s clawing at me from deep within like a monster in black woods, and there is no way to defeat it.

"So, where do you need my helping hand?" I ask, ignoring how little I enjoy physical activity. Productive work might help me fight through the darkness creeping over my mind. I'll take a maybe.

"I could use some help with weeding," she suggests. "I like to spend the cloudy days outside working on the garden and the exterior, and the sunny ones inside to paint the walls and whatnot." She glances at the sky. "Looks like it's an outside-day."

Weeding is not fun. Ants crawl into my clothes and I get stung on a nettle despite the protective garden gloves. The sun burns down on my back and I need twice as many breaks as Mallory. But it keeps me sane. My mind only wanders to the terrible thing I've done once or twice, and when Mal hands me a lemonade to drink on the porch with her, I feel oddly at peace.

"We've made progress," she states, sipping her lemonade and letting her eyes wander over the garden. Most of the weeds are ripped out and collected in a black, plastic bucket. The soil is almost ready for planting new crops, almost ready for her to really begin this dream of a life.

"What, you mean it's not done yet?" I joke. "We should continue this together. It's...calming."

She glances over to me. I can feel her worry all around me. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay," I lie. My hands grip the glass of lemonade tighter and I squint through the sunlight escaping through the thin clouds. "I wasn't talking to him, anyways."

"Can't imagine it's easy for you, nonetheless."

"I really don't want to talk about it." I clench my jaw, pushing down the loud frustration that's making its way up my stomach and to my head, because I know it'd be dumb to yell. I know I shouldn't be angry at her, not about this, anyway. "Let's get back to weeding." I put my lemonade down and get up, only to be held back by her hand on my wrist.

"We just started our break," she says, but I rip my wrist away from her and return to the garden. Her eyes stay on my back as I continue ripping out weeds with more vigor than before.

My head keeps thudding forward. I catch myself before falling asleep every time, but it's getting harder and harder to keep my eyes open in the old but comfortable bed.

I slip out of the blankets, careful not to wake Mallory and Ewan in the adjacent room, and put on a coat. I need to keep moving, keep myself busy to stay awake. Coffee alone isn't going to cut it for me.

The forest is quiet at night. I don't dare to go into the woods themselves, but I hear the crickets chirping, and in the distance, an owl hoots. I'm not familiar with the area, so I stay within the premises Mal showed me and wander back and forth, spend some time with the chickens and count to one hundred in my head several times to keep my brain occupied. Fireflies speckle the midnight sky, making me watch the little dots of light move around.

I could stay here. Sleep as little as I can, help Mal and Ewan on the farm, make a life for myself. Far away from everyone else. It'd be the perfect solution to everything. It would've been, anyways. Before Mal became a liar.

Throughout the night, my mind keeps wandering back to Light and Mallory. What was their relationship to each other? Does Mallory still see her now? Is she still shifting? I kick a pebble to the side and shove my hands into the pockets of the thin, zip-up sweater I borrowed from Ewan.

The rational part of my brain is telling me to let it go, to preserve the last bit of sanity I still possess. Maybe the curiosity tugging at me will leave me alone eventually.

"What are you doing up already?" I hear Mallory's voice next to me, green dressing gown over her pajamas and morning coffee in hand.

"What time is it?" I ask absentmindedly.

She checks her watch. "Nearly half past six." She scans me from head to toe. "Did you sleep at all? You look like a panda." Taking a sip from her coffee, she sits down on the porch and I follow her.

"Not really," I admit. My hands are folded in my lap, linking my fingers to have something to hold onto. "Not at all, actually. I couldn't. Not with everything that's going on, I can't sleep, I don't want to sleep." I bury my head in my hands. "You were right."

"About what?" She puts her coffee down and leans back on her hands.

"About everything," I mumble through my hands. "About having to stop believing in this dreamworld. It's doing me no good."

"Is that why you don't want to sleep?"

"I have to stay away," I whisper, my arms crossing over my stomach. "I just feel so angry all the time now. And when I'm in there, I feel nothing. Like I never even existed."

There's a small flicker of hope deep inside of me, wishing for her to use this opportunity to come clean about having taken the knife, to apologize for lying about everything. She doesn't. Instead, she puts her arm around me. "I'm glad you see what I mean," she says gently, "but that doesn't mean you should stop sleeping. I know this whole dream thing seems real to you, and it's hard to stay away from it, but you can do it."

"I can't, though," I whisper. "I just...I just wake up there. I don't choose to go there."

Mallory thinks for a moment. "When you were little, you once told me that you would dream of it whenever you wanted to be there. What if you try that? Try convincing yourself not to end up there before going to sleep?" she suggests. "Maybe you can make yourself believe that you can sleep without having weird dreams. It's all about controlling your mind, right?" She shrugs, throwing me an uncertain glance. "I don't know," she says, "it's worth a shot, isn't it? And if you want me to, I'll stay with you while you sleep, if that'd make you feel any better."

I rub a hand over my eyes, stretching my neck to force the weariness to run from me for a moment, but it returns in the blink of an eye. Sleep is all I crave, all my body is screaming for.

But I can't. I won't.

"I'm not sure I can do that," I mutter, pulling my legs to my chest and wrapping my arms around them.

Mal hands me the coffee mug. "Then just...stay awake until you fall asleep on your own," she suggests. "I'm not on board with it, it's unhealthy as hell, but I'll help you through it. And I'll keep you busy with handiwork, so you fall asleep sooner," she adds with a small smile playing in the corner of her lips.

I lean against her shoulder with a sigh. "Thanks." I take a large sip from the coffee and force my eyes open, blinking through the tiredness. "I'll live off coffee from now on."

"Terrible idea," Mal says with a grin. "Been there. You'll get all jittery."

"I'll mix it up with energy drinks then, from time to time."

She laughs. It feels like the laughter we shared years ago, hidden under our blankets and making up stories. "Just don't overdo it, alright? I'm responsible for you now."

"Nobody is responsible for me, I'm an adult."

"Maybe someone should be." She snickers. "I'm going to get dressed, and you should, too. It's a brand-new day." She stands up, letting her hand linger on my shoulder for a moment. Then, she glances down at me and gives me a warm smile. "Want to break stuff later?"

"Break stuff?" I tilt my head.

"No questions." She lifts her index finger and points at me with raised eyebrows and her smile. "Yes or no?"

"Um." I laugh a little. "Sure. Why not?"

Once the chickens are fed and I've had my fourth coffee of the day, Mallory leads me to the car and opens the passenger door for me.

"Ready to smash stuff?"

"I wish you'd tell me what that's about, but yeah, I am." I buckle in my seatbelt while Mallory starts the engine.

"It'll help you get some of those frustrations off your chest." She looks over her shoulder to back out of the driveway, and hits the gas. "It's not far from here, and I brought supplies."

"Supplies?"

As she turns around a corner, I hear clinking noises coming from the back. There's a closed crate sitting on the floor between the back seats and the front seats. "What's in there?"

"Damn, Ellie, be patient," Mal jokes and grins lightly. "You'll have fun. Trust me."

"Alright." I raise my hands, signaling I'm not fighting her on this, and lean back into my seat.

It takes about fifteen minutes and a few turns down a narrow, tree-lined road that looks like it was made for walking rather than driving. Finally, Mal parks the car next to a tall chain-link fence with a rusty gate. I get out of the car, shutting the door behind me while Mal pulls the box out of the vehicle.

"What is this place?" I ask, inspecting the fence closer. There's a gate secured with a padlock and a thin line of barbed wire on top of it. I run my hand over the fence, letting the contact between my palm and the fence produce a repetitive clinking sound, and it coaxes a small smile from me. I remember doing the same thing years ago whenever I walked home from school.

"Give me a hand over here," Mal says, and I let go of the fence to grab the other side of the crate. Lifting it takes some effort and both my hands. With united strength, we carry it along the fence.

Around the corner of the fence is a large hole in the wire, allowing us to step through. Mal goes first, and upon seeing my questioning face, she gestures me with her head to follow along. "Come on," she says, "I'm not leading you to your grave. It's just a junkyard."

"I can see that," I reply while stepping through the hole, the box in our hands getting heavier, causing us to put it down for a moment. I'm surrounded by old, broken-down cars and motorcycles, all in clear states of disrepair. Countless pieces of scrap metal, broken furniture, old electronics, and machinery pile up on the gravel ground, as well as worn-out tires.

"Careful with the glass," Mal says and points at a shattered bottle on the ground. She stretches her arms for a moment, then picks up the crate again. I follow her lead. "Just around the corner there," she says, pointing with her head toward an area filled with cars that have lost their tires somewhere.

She puts the box down with a pant and stems her hands in her hips. "Welcome to your therapy."

Mal opens the crate with a creaking wooden sound, revealing a ton of old and chipped plates, as well as two pairs of swimming goggles.

"Whoa." I take one plate into my hands. It has a faded, delicate pattern and is chipped in several spots. "Why do you have so many old plates?"

"I like to go to vintage sales, buy old plates, and smash them here," she says like it's the most normal hobby in the world. "You've never smashed a plate before to get rid of frustration?"

"Obviously not."

"Well, it's not hard." She grabs a plate as well. "Don't hurt yourself," she says, followed by the sound of shattering porcelain. She grins at me. "It's great. Try it."

I give the plate another glance before lifting it above my head and throwing it on the ground with all the strength I can gather. The noise it makes is loud, but it’s like a melody in my ears.

"Yeah!" Mal cheers me on. "Keep going, smash 'em all! These plates are your frustrations, your fears, your anger." She hands me another one and clenches her fists close to her chest. "Now kill it."

I can feel it, the enthusiasm starting in my chest like a fire. It mixes with the frustration and anger from the past couple days. The memory of the smoke inside Aiden's room, the overpowering energy, the first flame eating away at his bedsheets. "This one's for Aiden, that asshole!" I smash it, the porcelain scattering.

Mal keeps handing me plates with enthusiasm written all over her face.

The memory of Aiden raping me. Putting blame on me for being assaulted. Being unable to control his unreasonable anger. Lying to me.

"This one's for all the shit he did before that." Smash.

"For Kenny and his disgusting tuna sandwiches he eats in the office!" Smash.

"For Dad and what he did to me!" Smash.

Mal cheers me on, throwing a few plates herself every now and then, and encourages me to keep going.

I take the next plate, but before throwing it, I glance over to the cars.

"What are you doing?" Mal asks with a wide smile as she watches me climb on top of the broken-down car.

"This one," I say, "is for myself. For doubting myself. For thinking I'm powerless."

It shatters on the hood of the car, the pieces flying in different directions, and the tiredness vanishes from my body like a blanket suddenly being pulled off.

"Hey, wanna take it to the next level?" Mal suggests, excited like a little child on the day before Christmas. She doesn't wait for me to respond and disappears around a corner before returning with a baseball bat. "Here." She hands it to me. It's unexpectedly heavy in my hands. "That car over there," she says, pointing toward a red AMC Matador with only two remaining doors, "is the embodiment of your anger." She hands the swimming goggles to me. "Put these on, and smash the windows in like there's no tomorrow."

I jump down from the car, strapping the goggles around my head. "I look ridiculous," I note, laughing, and she joins me.

"You do. Absolutely terrible. But," she says, putting on the other pair of goggles, "we both do. Now smash that bitch."

"How am I even supposed to hold that thing?" The bat feels awkward in my hands, I've never held one before.

Mal shrugs. "Who cares? Just hit the dumb car."

"It is really ugly." I clutch the bat with both hands and lift it over my shoulder, angling my body like I've seen baseball players do on TV.

"Swing it, swing it, swing it!" Mal shouts and cheers.

"Fuck everyone!" I scream, and with a heavy swing, the window of the Matador shatters into a thousand pieces. Mallory kicks against the car for good measure.

"Yeah, fuck everyone!"

I cheer with her, feeling the weight of the past few days fall off my shoulders. Even if only temporary, it relieves me in the moment, like taking off a heavy backpack after a day of hiking.

"Come on," she says, gesturing me to follow her, "we have more plates to smash and more windows to shatter. Today, we're getting it all out."

The sun sets over the pile of broken cars, eventually dipping the sky in a warm, orange light. Mal and I are sitting on the hood of the Matador, and she hands me an energy drink that she brought in her car. It opens with a fizzing sound.

She sighs, brings her can to her lips and takes a sip. "How great is this?"

"Pretty great." I take a swig, as well. "You do this a lot?"

"Yeah, well, whenever I need to get something off my chest. It's a pretty great coping mechanism." Her eyes narrowed to avoid the direct sunlight, she stares straight ahead.

"Do you need to get something off your chest now?"

She blinks at me, a brief smile flickering across her face. "No," she says. "I'm pretty happy. My life is awesome." She chuckles. "I got Ewan, I got chickens and a farm. And, if I might add, a pretty cool sister." She nudges me with her elbow, and I reciprocate her smile.

"I've got the better one," I say confidently.

"No argument there." She laughs when I punch her shoulder jokingly. "Nah, but actually. You're great, Ellie. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

My smile fades a little. "Thanks. You're pretty great yourself."

"Hey, if you stay for longer, we can do this more often." She clinks her can against mine and takes another sip.

"I'd love that."

There are a few seconds of silence between us. Mal is just looking at the sky, occasionally taking a sip from her drink. "You know," she says, glimpsing at her hands holding the can, "back when you told me about those dreamworlds of yours, when you were nine, I was secretly freaking out a little."

The way her voice hitches catches my attention. Let her tell you the truth on her own.

"I mean, I was scared," she continues. "You never wanted to wake up anymore and your stories were so...vivid. I was just a kid, too, you know? You think you're all grown up at that age, but I really wasn't." She smiles quickly before it falls from her face again. "I thought that maybe, if I just protected you enough from everything, you'd stop wanting to get lost inside your head. I thought I could take it all away from you, burden myself instead. If I would only done a well enough job at keeping you safe, maybe I wouldn't lose you entirely. I was scared, scared that you might stay inside your imaginary world for too long, and you'd lose all sense of what's real and what isn't." She looks at me, a small wrinkle between her brows. "Does that make sense?"

"I guess it does." I exhale a slow, liberating breath. "It's not made up, though."

"Whatever it is," Mal replies, "I wanted to keep you safe. I always did. You know that, right?"

"Of course." Despite the knowledge that the memory I keep experiencing is hers, and the consistently overwhelming desire to get her to confess to having taken the knife from me, I know that she loves me. I hate that she's lying to me, but underneath it all, she's still my sister. I still love her.

Mal stays silent, a shadow crossing her face.

"Are you okay?" I ask her, and she smiles a little. A weak, hopeless smile.

"Yeah," she says. "I'm just dealing with my own shit. Life's hard sometimes."

"Tell me about it." I drink the last bit of the sugary liquid. "You can tell me when something's bothering you."

"I know I can." She leans back on one hand. "But don't you worry about me. Some things aren't meant to be said. Some things are better to keep inside." She leans her head back and closes her eyes. "Whatever happens, you have to remember that you're the most important person in my life."

"More important than Ewan?"

"Oh, bet." She grins and opens her eyes again. "Don't tell him, though."

I grin back at her and lean against her shoulder. "I should've come to this place a lot sooner."

"Yeah," she mumbles happily. "I'm glad you're here now."

"And I'll stay for a while."

"You better."

The sky is dark blue when we head back to the farm, and I'm more convinced than ever that I need to stay away from the Dreamscapes for a while. What I have here is good. Even with a sister who occasionally lies to me.

An insane amount of coffee keeps me awake at night, powering through with exercise and music blasting into my ears through headphones.

During breakfast, I almost spill my coffee when attempting to lift the mug, and Mallory takes it from me before I ruin her tablecloth. My focus is anywhere but here, circling back to Aiden and Light, and I can't stop myself from yawning every other minute.

Mallory looks at me expectantly. Did she say something?

"Hm?" I hum, needing every bit of strength in my body to keep my eyes open.

"I said, this is over, you need to go to sleep," she repeats. "You're killing yourself."

"You're the one who doesn't want me to go to my 'dreamworld'," I mutter with air quotes, hoping that my words are comprehensible. "And I don't, either."

"That doesn't mean I want you to kill yourself." She gets up and takes my hand, making me get up as well. "Come on. Bedtime."

I pull my arm away, too exhausted to put in any actual effort. "I don't want to."

"Tough luck," she says. "You're gonna."

I manage to free myself of her grip and lean on the table with one hand. Standing on my own seems too difficult. "No," I exhale, "I won't."

"Ellie, I love you, and that's why I'm doing this." She gestures Ewan to get up. "A little help?"

Ewan is on his feet quickly, lifting me up bridal-style with no effort.

"Let me go," I hiss. "I'm not tired."

"You're going to bed," Mallory says, following Ewan to my bedroom. "And if you refuse to, I'll stand next to you until you fall asleep. You're not leaving this room until you've gotten at least a few hours of sleep."

"Screw you," I mumble, wanting to shout at her, but I don't have it in me.

"I love you, too. Now, go and have some normal dreams," Mallory says, and Ewan puts me down on the bed, covering me with the blankets and closing the blinds. "Good night," he says. "Mal, stay with her."

"Oh, I will." Mal leans on the door frame and crosses her arms. "I'm not leaving until you're asleep," she says to me. I grunt into the pillow.

"At least wake me every hour." Fighting it is so hard.

It's so soft. And the blankets are so warm. And the darkness lulls me in. And I'm so, so exhausted. No, don't sleep. I shouldn't. I can't. I'll do something bad again.

I don't want to go there. Don't go there. Don't. Don't...

I wake up in complete darkness. For a moment, I manage to convince myself that I slept through and I'm in the comforting darkness under the blankets in Mallory's guest room. But there are no blankets. No pillows, no warmth.

Fine. Then I'll just sit here, not shifting anywhere, wait it out.

I don't have to go anywhere, I don't have to do anything I don't choose to. This is still my dream. I sit down on the cold ground, crossing my legs and resting my head on my hands. I'm going to wait it out.

Just when I think I can sit here in boredom, the darkness around me begins to topple over, dissolving into light and lush meadows. Then, Aura is there, pulling me into a hug, and I hate to admit that I love it when she touches me.

"Where have you been?" she asks, stroking the back of my head and holding me close. "I missed you."

"Doesn't matter, I'm here now, aren't I?" I look around once I pull away from the embrace. "Why am I here at all? I wanted to stay in my void, I didn't try to shift anywhere."

"That's on me," she says. "I felt your presence and I wanted to be close to you again. I'm sorry." She takes my hands. They're like velvet on my skin. "Would you like to go back there?"

I look into her dark eyes, radiating comfort. I missed them. I missed her. The intelligent part of my brain tells me to leave. I vaguely remember not wanting to come here, but it's all hazy.

"I don't know anymore," I whisper.

"What is it?"

"I can't begin to explain it," I say, crossing my arms over my stomach. My hand nervously fumbles with the fabric of my clothes.

"Try," she encourages me.

I drop my head, staring down at the grass. "What I did to Aiden," I whisper, the strength lost to talk louder, "it's killing me. I should've never done it."

"But you wanted him to suffer, didn't you?" She lifts my head and looks right into my eyes.

"Yes, but—but not like that. I never wanted to kill him." The words barely slip past my lips.

"What's done is done," Aura says, her voice gentle on my ears. "One mistake doesn't make you a bad person."

"This one does." I stare off into the distance. "I don't think I'll ever move on from it. I shouldn't. This will haunt me every waking moment of my life."

"Then spend more time here," Aura suggests. I turn my head toward her. "You can escape all those harrowing feelings here. You don't have to feel bad in here."

"I still kind of do," I disagree. "I mean, I should. There's this voice in my head–" I pause, unsure of how to explain it. "It keeps telling me that I should feel bad. That I'm guilty, and I know it's right, I know I've done a horrible thing. That voice isn't there when I'm awake, I just feel bad when I'm awake. There's nobody to tell me to feel guilty. But here, it's like...I need that voice to remind me that this is how I should feel. Because I don't. I don't feel guilty. And that makes it worse, because not feeling remorse means I'm a worse person than someone who feels guilt for the thing they've done. Somehow, I don't feel any of those things in here." I look into Aura's dark eyes. "It doesn't make any sense, does it?"

She reciprocates my gaze with a soft smile. "It does," she says. "It makes perfect sense. There's no room for your guilt here. It's your escape. What would be the point of a safe haven if you don't feel safe there?"

I shrug uncertainly. "Maybe I shouldn't be here at all, then. I don't think I deserve to feel safe after what I've done. I know that I don’t, but it’s like…" Fumbling for the right words, I try to organize my thoughts. “Knowing that I’m not deserving of this is…natural. But I can’t grasp it. I can’t process it. Does that make sense?”

"It does. But believe me," Aura says, “you need this for yourself. I promise you, it will become easier. I will make it easier for you. Don't run away from the Dreamscapes," she pleads. "Don't run away from me."

I stay quiet. Distant buzzing harmonizes in my ears. Where is it coming from? I’m not sure.

"What does your realm have to offer that this one doesn't? You don't have to lose the one safe place in your life. You can have both, you can let me make things easier for you."

Something in her words reaches a place in my mind. Maybe it's the way she's looking at me; trusting, loving.

"Just take it for what it is," Aura says gently. "A place free of guilt. You can be in here. No need for rules and pain."

"What if it comes back? The guilt."

"It can't in here."

I take a slow, deep breath to prepare myself for what I want to say to her. My hands clutch the fabric tighter. "I don't want to come here anymore. I—I don't think I do."

She takes my hands into hers, holding them closer to her. "Is that how you feel right now?"

As if on reflex, I shake my head. "I feel like that when I'm awake. Now, I'm just...here."

"Nothing else matters," she says as if she can read my mind. "Your ability is a gift. It comes with the beautiful chance of never feeling unhappy again. In your dreams, you are safe. You are protected."

Her fingers intertwine with mine, and for a moment, she rests her head against mine. "I'm glad to have you back," she says softly, her hand letting go of mine to caress my cheek instead. My eyes meet hers.

Every doubt I had about her, every worry, is forgotten in that moment. I want to stay here forever. This is my home, my only safe space. There's a tiny whisper in the back of my mind to remember the reason I tried not coming back, but I push it down, letting all the wondrous feelings of the Dreamscapes take over. In here, it's hard to remember my pain. It's easy to be happy.

For the first time in days, I don't want to scream, and cry, and throw myself in front of a moving train. My mind is at ease, soft and comfortable. Aura's finger lifts my chin, and she whispers to me, "Promise me you'll come back again after tonight?"

Unable to find any words in my mind, I nod, drawn in by her presence and her velvety voice. She smiles, and it feels like flying.

Aura bends down and picks a flower, holding it out to me. "As a 'Welcome back' gift," she says charmingly. She tucks the flower—a begonia blossom—into my hair and smiles at me. "Suits you," she says.

I want to return the favor, and it's easy to let some more flowers grow with my mind. The purple of the lavender contrasts her dark hair nicely. "Thank you," she says and takes my hands again. "Now, is there anywhere you would like to go tonight?"

The library, the tiny voice in the back of my mind whispers. Find the truth about Light. About Mallory. It's too quiet to hear.

"Anywhere," I say. "Anywhere I don't feel pain."

"You were right," I say as I sit down at the table. "I needed to rest."

Mallory pushes a plate with food toward me. "I know," she says. "I'm always right. Do you feel better?"

I think about it for a moment. "Not really," I decide. "I still feel awful. But at least I'm not that tired anymore."

"So," Mal says as she folds her hands on the table, watching me eat. "Did you dream of it again?" She bites the inside of her cheek and furrows her brows.

Her face tells me what she wants to hear. I wonder what she's feeling. Worry? Affection? Guilt?

"No," I lie. "It worked, what you said. I guess I can convince myself."

The grip on her own hands loosens and her frown turns into a relieved nonchalance.

"Ewan and I are going to the market today," she says. "Wanna join? It's really nice to actually go outside and buy fresh produce instead of the packaged stuff at the store."

"No thanks," I say between bites. "Next time. I think I just need some time to myself."

Mallory glances at me, then shrugs. "Alright," she says. "Suit yourself. But call me if you need me to come back."

"I will." I give her a short smile. "Thanks."

She nods toward my injured wrist. "How's the burn?"

"Still healing."

"Wanna tell me how you got it?"

"Nope."

She scans me with narrowed eyes. "Did you get it while doing something stupid?"

I hesitate. "It wasn't something stupid. But I wouldn't call it smart, either."

"Are you ever going to tell me?"

"Maybe." I shrug. She wouldn't believe me, anyway. Or maybe she would, but she'd pretend like I'm crazy.

"Alright." She sighs. "I worry about you."

"I know." I finish my plate and lean back in my chair. "Thanks for cooking."

"You're welcome." She stares at me with a blank face. "Don't you want someone to take a look at it? Your injury, I mean. Like a doctor?"

"It's really not all that bad."

"What if it gets infected?"

"Mallory." I lean forward, my arms crossed on the table. "I don't need looking after. I'm not a child anymore. I can take care of myself."

"Maybe, but I still feel that obligation for you," she argues. "You're still my little sister. I'll always worry about you."

"That was necessary when I was little. We're both adults now. I'm not crazy, like you clearly think, and I know how to handle myself."

She clenches her jaw, opens her mouth as if to say something, but decides against it. She stands up, grabbing the empty plate from me. "Ewan and I will leave soon. If you change your mind about coming with us, just join us."

"Okay." I watch as she puts the dishes into the sink. She turns the water on, stares at it for a moment, then turns it off again and looks at me.

"What's wrong between us?"

Her question takes me aback, twisting my stomach in funny ways. "Nothing," I claim.

"We had such a good time at the junkyard the other day. And now you're all," Mallory gestures wildly with her hands, "fussy, or something." She crosses her arms and leans against the kitchen counter. "Something's off."

Suddenly, I feel terrible for not trusting her fully. For assuming she's lying to me. Maybe it is all in my head, maybe I am delusional—No. I saw it with my own eyes. She's hiding something, and I know that it doesn't mean that she doesn't love me, but why does she feel the need to hide anything from me in the first place?

"I guess it's just the stress," I say. "There's been a lot going on, I'm...distracted."

"You're not yourself."

"What?"

"You haven't been yourself for a while," she says with reproachful eyes. "I don't blame you. You've been through shit. But somewhere along the way, you lost yourself."

"That's ridiculous. I'm perfectly fine."

"Oh, please," Mallory scoffs. "You're not fine. Stop pretending like you are. You used to be honest with me, you used to come to me when something was off, and nowadays, I'm the one trying to figure out when you're dealing with something."

"Maybe you should lead by example."

"What are you even talking about?"

I press my lips together. "Nothing."

"This is exactly what I mean," she says. "Just tell me. Stop it with the secrecy."

"If anyone is being secretive, it's you!" I didn't mean to yell. It just came out like that.

"What would I be secretive about?" she asks, matching the volume of my voice.

"The fact that you lied about taking that knife, for example."

She lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. "That again? Seriously?" She leans forward with crossed arms. "I don't have your stupid knife."

"I know you do, stop lying to me!"

"I am not lying!" She raises both her hands in retaliation. "No, you know what? I'm done with this conversation and your accusations. Think what you want, I'm over this."

Just when I want to shout something back at her, Ewan enters the kitchen. "What's going on?" he asks, concern on his face. "Since when do you guys yell at each other?"

"Forget it," Mallory grumbles. "Let's go. We'll be back in an hour or so." She takes Ewan's hand and leaves the room with him. He throws me another concerned look before leaving.

Frustrated, I fall back into the chair. I'll find that damn knife, and I'll make her be honest with me. I'll find out everything.

The second I hear the car leave the premises, I hurry into their bedroom. She must keep her backpack here somewhere, and that's where she put the knife when she took it from my bedside table. Maybe it's still in there. But I can't find the backpack in the wardrobe, under the bed, or anywhere else. She must've taken the knife out and hidden it somewhere else.

My eyes fall on her bedside table. The drawers are stuck, but they open with a little jolt. Papers, a phone charger, tissues, a book and a small, hand-size journal I've never seen before. No knife.

I sit down on the floor next to the bed and lean against it, grabbing the journal. It's brown and unassuming, and for a moment, I reconsider even holding it. This might be something private. Do I really want to snoop on my sister?

Then again, I did already enter her mind. There's nothing that could be in here that would be more private than that. I open the first page. The words are written in messy handwriting, completely out of character to her usual, neat cursive.

I didn't think I'd ever write this. My memories. Perhaps it's like a memoir, a biography of some sort. Telling it to anyone certainly isn't an option, so here I am, equipped with my favorite pen and a journal I bought solely for this reason. If you are not future-me: stop reading.

Yeah, right.

If she wants me to stop having secrets, she shouldn't keep secret journals and steal from me. The hypocrisy of it tastes bitter in my throat.

I am not writing this for anyone to see. I don't intend to ever show it to anybody. This is merely for myself, for the sake of my own sanity and to remind me that these things happened. They are real. I did not make them up, and if my future self is reading this: YOU ARE NOT CRAZY. YOU NEVER WERE. THE DREAMSCAPES ARE REAL AND THEY ARE DANGEROUS.

It’s true. My eyes freeze on the page, rereading the last line over and over again. I was right. Damn it, I was right! And here she is, pretending like I’m going insane, acting like I’m some lunatic? The audacity, I swear—

I flip the page, but most of the paper is ripped out and the remaining pages are blank.

The front door falls shut. Is she already back? Quickly, I shove the notebook into my back pocket and leave the room, closing the door behind me quietly. My heart jumps when Mallory appears behind the corner.

"Back so soon?" I ask, hoping she didn't notice me slipping out of her room.

"I forgot my wallet," she says with narrow eyes. "What were you doing in my bedroom?"

Shit. "I was, um, looking for a charger. I forgot mine at home."

Mallory scans my face, and I try to look as inconspicuous as possible. "You can borrow mine." She enters the room and opens the drawer I was rummaging around in, and for a moment, my heart stops. She reaches inside the drawer, takes the charger out, and hands it to me. Though trying to be neutral, her face doesn't hide the suspicion she must feel toward me.

She doesn't say anything about a missing journal.

"Here you go," she says. "Next time, just ask me."

"Thanks," I mumble.

Mallory's eyes don't leave me until she leaves the room again, wallet in her hand and the distrust between us growing like weeds through asphalt.

Through the haze falling over me like a cloak in my dreams, I vaguely recount why I'm here.

Mallory is a shifter. She's a liar, first and foremost. She can't be trusted.

I asked Aura not to join me tonight. Told her I'd be visiting some people, and she gleefully agreed to let me do my thing. I'm glad she's still on my side, however twisted that side may be. She's the only one whose intentions have been on my side from the start, even if they're harsh and intense. She always only wanted me to improve myself.

The entrance of the library towers above me; threatening, yet impossibly intriguing. It takes me a moment to prepare myself to go inside. I haven't been here without Aura. But I know that I have to find Light's book. There must be something in there that tells me about Mallory if she was in the memory that's been haunting me.

When I enter, the air feels colder than usual, but the stars in the ceiling shine down on me all the same. It gives me a sense of comfort, and I manage to steady my heartbeat.

Time to find out the truth, to understand everything Mallory has done, to confront her with facts.

The navy-blue hood from my hoodie covers my face. I suppose there is no need to be this secretive about being here, the others from Aura's folk must have seen me here before, but what I'm doing feels forbidden. I make my way toward the shelf stocking the books on the shifters. With every step I get closer to it, my fingertips tingle more, and the brutal curiosity inside me grows.

Brimming with knowledge and history, the selection of these books makes my heart hammer against my chest with excitement. I follow them with my hands, tracing the spines until I find the letter M.

No Mallory Hunt.

I check again, and a third time, but her book stays missing.

Knots form in my brain. Was I completely off about her? But her journal–and the memory with Light—it must mean something. The tiny voice in my head appears, speaking in a hushed voice, creeping, blaming. You ruin everything, it says. You blamed your sister for no reason. She hates you. You did this. And Light confirmed it, Light told me she's a shifter—unless Aura was right. Unless Light is not the one to trust. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

No matter how harsh the voice whispers to me, it doesn't reach me. Not quite. I hear it clear as day, and deep down, I know that it's right. But I'm unaffected. The only desire I have now is not to apologize to Mal, to doubt myself, or to reconsider my actions.

No. I need to find Light's book in the section about the Weavers. There must be something about Mallory in it if they know each other. My determination rises. I know that something is wrong. I can't start doubting myself now. Curiosity pulls at me like I'm a puppet on strings.

The further I venture into the library, the more eerie the atmosphere feels. I have no idea where to look, all these corridors look identical to me. The farther I walk through the seemingly endless rows upon rows of bookshelves, the darker my surroundings become. The glow from the stars is dimmer here, my footsteps echoing louder. I keep looking out for something that would hint me toward my desired destination, but eventually, I just feel lost.

A petroleum lamp forms in my hand with little effort from my imagination, producing a gloomy glow. Perhaps a flashlight would be more effective, but I chose this lamp for two reasons. One, it makes me less noticeable. Two, it looks cool.

Most of the bookshelves' labels are too high up for me to see, too small or too faded. The lamp casts soft shadows on the floor until the light finally finds a silver plaque on a thin shelf. It doesn't seem to fit in here; I've been walking for ages and all the shelves look exactly the same, presenting a perfectly symmetrical library. This one is shorter, the wood is painted black, and it only stocks a few books.

It doesn't look like the one I'm looking for. But it intrigues me, pulls me in closer. A small, silver plaque reads Banished.

Banished. Like Light was banished from the dreamfolk?

A thin layer of dust coats my fingers when I touch the shelves, running them across the spines of the few books, until I stop on a thick book with only an L on the spine.

The book itself looks old, yet the letter is strangely recent. It still shimmers slightly with gold, unfitting for a book of this age.

This must be hers. I pull it out, my heart beating faster with every passing moment. When I finally hold it in my hands, it's less heavy than I expected it to be. The leather cover is damaged, not only from the passage of time, but gashed with a knife in irregular strokes, telling the tale of a secret forced to be forever left uncovered. It looks like someone attempted to scratch the letters off with a sharp blade at random. Above the ruined leather are big, golden letters adorned with flourishes, each one drawn with great precision, spelling out her name. Light.

This is everything. This is the truth.

I realize then why the book is lighter than it looks. A large number of the pages are ripped out. Many of the remaining ones are drenched in dried ink, covering their contents. The few pages that are still legible send a shiver down my spine and the feeling of a blade into my heart. Reading them makes me realize three things. I shut the book when the realization creeps up on me, hitting me with blunt force.

One: there's more to this place than I realized.

Two: Light was like me. Like Mallory.

And three: no matter what, I can't trust Aura anymore.

The next few times I went to the Dreamscapes, The Raven helped me practice my abilities more, and I would like to say that I improved, and it all turned out well, and Nell and I are friends to this day. Unfortunately, that's not what happened.

I hadn't seen Nell in a while. Whenever I asked, The Raven told me not to worry about her. Instead, she asked me to focus more on my abilities rather than the library and other people.

I could tell she was getting frustrated with my lack of improvement. Clearly, I wasn't as powerful as she had hoped for me to be. That realization struck me, too. I was disappointed in myself. I had thought I could become more than I was, but here I was, still ordinary. Still powerless.

Any time I visited the Dreamscapes from that point forward, The Raven was less interested in me. She only seemed to be vaguely determined to enhance my skills, having realized there was hardly anything to enhance at all.

What Nell had said to me didn't leave my mind. Maybe I wasn't traumatized enough for my skills to improve. If the dreamfolk really feeds on trauma and pain, they must be looking for only those with the biggest scars and deepest wounds.

In my life, I only had two events that haunted me, and one drive to fight through it.

The time my father killed himself, and I found him.

The time my sister told me he had been raping her.

And the need to protect my sister.

From then on, the atmosphere of the garden felt strangely off. I felt increasingly uncomfortable, strangely hazy any time I was there. The practice of my unimpressive abilities drained me to the point of feeling more exhausted after waking up than before going to bed.

One night, The Raven wasn't near me when I arrived. But I heard her voice, whispering, coming from behind the large willow in the center of the garden. I followed the voice.

I hadn't expected to ever see Nell again. And yet, here she was, listening to whatever it was The Raven told her. Then her eyes met mine and she smiled at me.

The Raven noticed, and she turned toward me. Suddenly, the sky became dark and ravens fluttered out of the canopies with raspy, screeching voices.

Before she could say anything, I attempted a wide stance that made me feel powerful, and I said, "I don't want to be a part of this world anymore."

The Raven's expression flickered briefly. She came toward me with a gentle smile. "Of course, dear," she said. "There is one way for you to lose your abilities and live like everyone else." Her eyes flashed with mischief.

Looking back, I wouldn't call it mischief anymore. It was pure evil.

And that was when my third, and biggest mistake happened.

"Light." Her name leaves my lips the second I appear next to her on the clearing. The sunlight is a nice change of pace from the dust of the library. Light turns to me, a faint smile on her lips.

I waste no time pulling out the book with her name on it from under my hoodie. "You were a shifter," I say, holding out the book to her. "And they don't want anyone to know."

Light blankly looks at the book, reaching out to it slightly, running her fingers across the ruined leather. "I was," she whispers.

"Someone kept tearing out the pages and covering it in ink to hide your story." I flip the pages. The book is completely ruined on the inside, not unlike its outside. "But the books write themselves. Aura told me so. It keeps repeating your story, over and over again, but it hasn't caught up yet."

Light's eyes flicker across the pages, touching the ink. "I remember this," she whispers. "I do."

"Light," I say again, causing her to look at me instead of the pages. "What did Aura do to you?"

Light inhales slowly, making me more and more nervous about the possibility of Aura showing up here any second. I think she has some sort of strange mind-power that lets her know where I am at any given moment, and if she decides to check in on me and discovers my lie about wanting to dreamhop to take revenge, I'm in trouble.

"I was a shifter," she says slowly.

"Yes, yes, you were, I already know that." I tap on the pages with my index finger. "Focus."

Her eyes widen in thought and she turns away from me. "I miss them so much," she says, starting to walk away. Slowly, so slowly.

"Who do you miss?"

"Everyone," she whispers. "I haven't felt anything in...in a long time." She smiles distantly. "No bad feelings. Never. Only content."

"And you think that's a bad thing?" If I could forever be rid of the guilt I feel about Aiden, I'd take that chance in a heartbeat.

"Only void," she says quietly.

We're off track. "Focus," I repeat. "What did Aura do to you?"

Light stops walking, her eyes focused on something far away in the distance. "She locked me away here. I can't leave."

"But why?" The pages that are meant to write about the reason behind her imprisonment are torn out. They must've been recently destroyed.

"Because I knew what they do," she says, and her voice sounds so different again, so faded. She chuckles. "They didn't like that."

"What do they do?"

"I don't remember," she says softly, and for the first time since I've met her, she seems sorrowful. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I wish I knew."

"It's okay," I attempt to reassure her. "It's hard to remember sometimes."

She lifts her hand slowly, pointing to her head and tapping it. "Voice," she says. "It talks." Then, she points the same finger toward my head. "Voice," she says again.

I gently nudge her hand downward, trying to see sense in her big eyes. "Do you have it, too?" I ask. "That little voice in the back of your head, telling you how to feel in here?"

She presses her lips together and nods. "All the time," she whispers fearfully.

"What does it say to you?" I tuck the book under my arm and place my hands on her shoulders, careful, afraid I might break something of her fragile frame.

"Run," she says, nodding like she's reciting studied answers. "Run, and hide, and leave."

And the raven-haired woman locked the young girl away, never to use her abilities again. And she smiled as she did so, and the rose bushes grew around her.

It's the only full sentence I can decipher from her story. Written like a fairytale, one where the girl doesn't end up with a happy ever after, written like fiction, but Light's scared face in front of me is proof that it's real.

"Do you feel afraid? Do you feel what the voice tells you to?" I ask her.

She shakes her head. "I know it's there," she murmurs, averting her eyes from mine. Her hair moves with a soft breeze as she moves her hand over her heart, clutching her chest. "I don't feel it."

Her words mirror what I've been experiencing. The vague knowledge that I should feel something, but it's ripped away from me. Maybe it's a good thing. I don't want to feel guilty anymore. "Me either," I say, hoping it would make her feel less alone in the world.

Light blinks at me, narrowing her eyes as if in thought. "Where's Mallory?" she asks suddenly.

"At home," I tell her. "Maybe next time she shifts, you can see her. She's a liar, you know?" Liar, liar.

Light shakes her head, reaching out for the book under my arm and cradling it like a mother would her child. "You have to ask her," she says. "She knows."

"She doesn't even have a book about herself in the library. She's a liar, and maybe she doesn't know anything."

Light's eyes move through tired lids from the book in her arms to my face. "Maybe you looked in the wrong place," she offers quietly. "Find the truth."

My focus is forced upwards when the sky above us darkens. Light grabs my wrist—my good one this time—as a strange urgency suddenly radiates from her.

"Find the truth," she says again, but her strange sing-sang voice has disappeared. In that moment, she looks less like a hippie on drugs and more like a disturbed, traumatized young woman. "I can't help. I'm too far gone."

Panic. Now is the time to panic and leave. Go.

"You still have time," she whispers, her words evaporating like thin smoke. "Go, Ellie," she urges me. "Save yourself."

Ravens emerge from the sky then, circling us like we're carcasses, and the second I feel a hand on my shoulder, I know it must be Aura from the way Light's eyes widen. My instincts take over. The garden collapses around me, replaced by my pitch-black void. My heart is beating a mile a minute, and through dizziness I feel myself falling.

Before I hit the ground, I wake up in Mallory's guest room, fear flooding me without the need for an imaginary voice telling me to be scared.

"Yes, Ewan, she took it." Mallory's voice, though hushed, carries over the hallway. "I'm sure of it."

I quietly tip-toe toward their bedroom, her journal clutched in my hand.

"There's no harm in it, though, right?" he asks, matching the volume of her voice. "I mean, they're only silly stories you wrote as a kid."

Brief silence. "Yes. But still. She can't just take whatever she wants from me, she's acting like a teenager." Another short moment of silence. "I ripped out the pages. It should be fine."

"Then don't worry so much about it," Ewan says with a gentle voice, and I imagine him putting his arm around her in a comforting manner. "I know you're scared for her."

"I am," Mallory whispers. Her voice carries burdening pain. Hypocrite.

"No matter what I say, we'll end up fighting. It didn't used to be like that. I miss the way we were."

I hear some sniffling and for a split second, I feel guilty for treating her the way I have, but the moment passes quickly. If she truly cared about me, she would've never lied to me.

"What kind of stories were in that journal, anyway?" Ewan asks.

"Made up, silly things." She sighs. "Silly things that could bring me a lot of harm now."

"Do you want to tell me about them?" he asks. Through the slightly ajar door, I can see her. She shakes her head.

"It's...complicated."

"Okay," he says, and his voice is soft and warm.

"I hope we can go back to being normal again soon," she says, leaning on him with a frown on her face.

I want to leave, quietly, but I accidentally brush against the door and it opens with a low creak.

"Ellie?" Mallory is at the door faster than I can leave, and stares at me with narrow eyes. "Were you eavesdropping?"

"Your door was open. I heard you, anyways." I cross my arms, forgetting for a moment that her journal is still in my hand. She rips it from my grasp when she sees it.

"I knew it!" She holds up the journal to Ewan, almost triumphantly. "I knew you took it."

"Guess we're both thieves, aren't we?" I spit back. "You missed a page."

"What?"

"You missed a page when you ripped them all out."

Her face falls. She opens the book, stares at the first page, and closes it again. Almost too calm for my liking, she pushes a strand of hair out of her face and purses her lips before sighing deeply. She turns to Ewan. "Would you give us a moment?"

He nods and scans me when leaving the room. Mallory closes the door behind us.

"Alright," she says, "I think it's time that you and I have a little talk."

"About how you stole from me?"

Instead of responding, she reaches to the top of her closet and takes down a small box, hidden where I couldn't find it. Puzzled, I look at her before opening the box.

I take out the blade. It's familiar in my hands, like I've known it my whole life.

"Wasn't that hard, was it?" I mutter.

"I took it from you because it scared me that you knew about it. I didn't want you to connect me to...all of this. I'm sorry I lied to you," she says, her expression as neutral as can possibly be. She shouldn't be this calm. She should be asking for forgiveness. Beg me for it. Recognize my power. "I was worried."

"Worried about what, exactly? That I'd find out your secret?"

She lifts one eyebrow. "Did you?"

I pause. I didn't expect her to admit it. "I—I think so."

"Well, what is it?" She squints in suspicion and mirrors my body language—crossed arms, defensive stance; the surprising development of this conversation catches me off-guard.

"You're a shifter," I say, less certain in my words than I was before accusing her. "Like me."

"That's where you're wrong," she says.

I can't believe she's still trying to lie to me. She admitted to the other things, and now is when she decides to lie?

"I'm not wrong," I argue. "I read that page of your journal. And Light knows you, that fairytale of yours was never made up, was it? And I saw into your memory. The one you keep tucked away so carefully, so terrified that anyone could ever find it."

Mallory sighs again, like I'm some toddler who needs everything explained to her five times. "You're wrong," she says. "If you'll let me, I'll tell you why."

"Oh, let me guess, you're going to try to gaslight me into thinking I'm insane again?" My hands clutch my crossed arms, painfully squeezing my skin. I think my ribs are going to break from the force my heart is hammering against them with.

"No," she says and gestures me to sit down on the bed. "I'm going to tell you the truth. The whole truth."

The journal hits the bottom of the trashcan with a dull thud. Mallory takes the knife from me and places it on her nightstand before sitting down next to me on the bed. She looks at me for a moment before turning her head away again. "I never thought I'd ever tell anyone about it," she says.

"You have to." I keep my eyes trained on the knife.

"I will," she says, but it takes her a moment to talk. A moment which allows me to analyze every tiny part of her expression. But apart from a small wrinkle between her brows and down-turned eyelids, she doesn't reveal much. "You're right," she continues finally. "Partially. I'm not a shifter. But I was. I was able to do whatever I damn pleased in my dreamworld and it was great. All those lovely places, all those memories I could relive and treasure forever." She stares at the wall like nothing can distract the time travel happening in her mind. "I didn't do it for long, but it was wonderful. You'd know, you've been there. It's...everything. For a while, at least."

She zones back into the present, returning her attention to me. "I wasn't very good at it," she says. "The whole shifting stuff. I kept messing up, and I kept wanting to practice, so desperately yearning to improve myself, to really become something great. It was my biggest wish to not be that ordinary anymore." She places her hand on mine, absentmindedly patting it. "I thought if I could just develop that power, if I could just be something, I'd be able to keep you safe."

"Why did you stop?" If it really was that wonderful, there's no imaginable reason for her to return to being ordinary. Because it wasn't good. Wake up, Ellie.

"Usually, when I just spent time in there, I woke up feeling rested. Happy, even," she says. "But it drained me. Every single night, practicing until I'd wake up and never getting any better at it, I was exhausted. I woke up feeling more tired than I did before falling asleep. And then...there was Nell."

I raise an eyebrow. "Nell?"

A smile grows on her face, one that reminisces in old memories and griefs the joy of what once was. "Nell," she repeated. "With hair as golden as the sunset and eyes as warm as honey." She chuckles lightly. "I based the fairytale on her."

"Light," I whisper. "They call her Light."

"Her real name is Nell," Mallory says. "God, I loved Nell, I loved her before I loved anyone else."

"So, it's true?" I ask. "The fairytale. It's about her?"

Mallory nods. "It's what I knew about her. Nell was..." She pauses for a moment and thinks. "She was curious. She liked to talk to drown out her thoughts, and she had her own mind. I met her in the library. It's the one knot in the entirety of the Dreamscapes where you could run into other shifters. You probably won't, though, because they're very careful about when to bring people in. With Nell, they must’ve made a mistake. Or maybe she slipped through their fingers, I wouldn’t put it past her." She leans back on her hands and drops her head back, staring at the ceiling as she continues talking. "Nell and I met up almost every night. We studied together, although I was more interested in my powers, she wanted to know all about the world we were in. She snooped. Curiosity killed the cat, and in this case, her."

"Pause," I stop her. "You're saying she's dead?"

Mallory sits up straighter again and shrugs. "I don't think so. I don’t know. She's trapped. I don't know what happened to her after I left, and I don't know what happens to you when you're trapped inside your own mind." She takes my hands again and looks deeply into my eyes. "All I mean is that she went too far. I ended it before I got too involved in that hellhole, when I could still choose not to wake up there. She didn't. She went too far, and if you go too far, you'll end up like her."

Imagining it sends a shiver down my spine. To be forever trapped inside my dreams. I swallow and avert my eyes. "I can still choose," I lie.

I did notice that I haven't been choosing to go there anymore. I didn't want to stay away. Maybe you can still stop.

"Don't let it go too far," Mal warns me. "I can't lose you. Please."

"What about the knife?" I nod toward the nightstand where the blade sits idly. "I tried going into your dreams. But I couldn't. And the knife was just sitting there like it was waiting to be found."

Mallory takes it into her hands, turning the blade over and clutching the handle. "I wanted to attack them. Their world hurt me, and they were going to hurt Nell, so I wanted to kill them. I didn't know if I could, they're not human, but I had hope." She places the knife back down and turns to me, watching my face with every word she speaks. "Nell stopped me. And that was the last I saw of her. I left. Listen," she says, tugging at the hems of her shirt. "I don't know the ins and outs of this place. It's messy, and confusing, and dark. I can't tell you why you keep seeing these flashbacks of my memory. But you have to know that it's designed to lull you in. It feeds on trauma, and it gives you more trauma to keep you inside, pulling you in deeper and deeper. Don't you see how it has changed you? You've become so angry, all the time." I want to protest, but she doesn't let me. "You can still stop that. You can find back to yourself, you've done it before. You're not lost yet, Ellie. The more time you spend in there, the harder it will be for you to get out."

"I won't get lost," I say, but deep down in my heart, fear roots; settling like ash after a fire. "I can still stop."

"Please stop." I hadn't noticed her worried tears until now. "That whole folk is rotten to the core."

"She made me feel so good," I mutter. "Aura said I was strong."

"You are strong," Mallory agrees. "But not like that. You don't need Aura, you don't need powers, you're one of the strongest people I know without supernatural abilities. Aura lies. That's her whole thing, she lies, and deceives, and misleads. I mean, think about it. Has she ever encouraged you to live your actual life? To find happiness in the people who are right here with you?"

She hasn't. She has tried to convince me to stay longer every single time. But it was great, because she gave me that feeling, the feeling of butterflies in my stomach and happiness in my heart. A feeling I hadn't experienced in a long time. Maybe ever.

"Believe me." Mal puts her hands on my arms, gently squeezing them. "I only want what's best for you. I always have." She tilts her head, looking at me with the same love she's always looked at me with, but something is off. It's all in your head. Trust her. "Can you forgive me?"

I blink at her. "Nell," I say instead of responding. "Your fairytale. You made up the ending because she didn't get to have it. That part is a lie."

"Yes." Mallory drops her head briefly before looking back up. "I could hardly tell a nine-year-old child that the hero of her fairytale got trapped inside her own mind. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry for keeping it from you, I'm sorry for hurting you. I love you so much, you know that." She lifts her hand lightly, holding out her pinky and shows a feeble smile. "Forgive me?"

I lift my pinky, too, but I hesitate for a moment. "Promise that was the whole truth?"

"I promise. I'd never do anything that'd cause you any harm."

"Okay." I lock my pinky with hers. The dissonance in her eyes vanishes. You only imagined it. It was never there. I shake my head to get rid of the voice. "You wouldn't lie to me again."

She smiles and squeezes my pinky with hers. "Never."

Liar.

Don't go into the Dreamscapes. Don't go into the Dreamscapes. Don't go into the Dreamscapes.

I repeat it in my head over and over again. I have to believe in it. Maybe then I can stay away, maybe I can turn around.

Between the beautiful numbness in my dreams and the horrifying anger bubbling inside my stomach, stronger than anything I've ever felt before in my whole life, I have to make a choice, and my choice is Mal.

Maybe she's still lying.

She is.

Maybe she isn't. Maybe I'm imagining it.

Lies.

The truth doesn't matter when blissful unawareness hurts less than the lie.

I've left the Dreamscapes before, all those years ago. If only I could remember how I did it.

As sleep slowly overtakes me, I repeat it all over again. I need to remember it; remember why I want to stay away, because the second Aura is near me, I seem to forget everything. My spinning thoughts eventually fade from me, and the last thing I realize before drifting off is my hand clutching the bedsheets tightly.

I don't wake up in my void or in the beautiful garden. Sky-scraping firs with needles in a deep pine-green surround me, leaving little room to see the sky shrouded in dark clouds. It's the same forest Aura took me to, awfully familiar, and entirely rid of the comforting, dappled sunlight on mossy ground. Crimson, choking roses grow around the tree trunks.

Be scared. Right now. Run.

I'm paralyzed. I can't shift, can't run, can't take control. All I get to do is watch as a flock of ravens rustle the branches when they flurry out of the canopies.

"Back already."

Aura's sharper than usual voice appears behind me, phrasing not a question, but an observation. I stumble back as I turn around to face her. She seems taller than last time. "I didn't think I'd see you again." A smile tugs at her lips.

"I didn't choose to be here," I reply, steadying my voice.

Yes. Remember.

Her smile grows. "I know," she croons. She reaches out to take my hand, but I pull away.

"Don't touch me."

Aura tilts her head slightly, the smile on her lips fades just a little. "I didn't do anything to you," she says. "I have made you strong. I have been good to you."

"You have." I cross my arms, trying to build a boundary between us. "But you haven't been to Light. Or Mallory. You're evil."

She laughs. It's a low, amused laugh. "Evil? No, silly. Why would you think that?"

How could I ever see something charming in the darkness of her eyes? How could I ever think for even a moment that she is to be trusted?

"You locked Light away. You lied about her, and you lied about my sister."

She takes a step toward me. Where she touches the ground, the flowers around her wilt in an instant. "I did lie," she says. "To protect you."

I scoff. "Please. None of that protected me."

She's uncomfortably close to me, but I don't dare to step back. I'll face her. I'm no coward. "It did. Talking to Light only would've made you want to leave. She'll twist your words into making you believe what you want to believe, whether it's true or not. You would've never learned all those abilities. You would've never known true power." She steps even closer. "You learned all that because of me. I showed you what you can do. Without me, without the Dreamscapes, you would've run back to your realm. To your miserable life. You are nothing without me."

"Mallory told me—"

"Mallory lies!"

The sparkle in her eyes is replaced by fury, darker than they've ever been. "You've seen her memories; don't you know what really happened that day?" She grabs my arm, squeezing it uncomfortably tight and pulling me toward her. "You chose to trust her over me? Perhaps you should rethink that decision." She grimaces. "What exactly did she say to you?"

Trust Mallory. Trust Mallory. Trust Mallory.

"You're dangerous." My voice is surprisingly steady as I try to ignore the pain she's putting on my arm. "She had the knife to attack you, and Light stopped her. That's all there is."

"And you never thought to confirm that fairytale?" Aura clicks her tongue. "I'm disappointed, Ellie. I thought you'd be smarter than that." She leans forward, her face inches from me. "Let's see it then, shall we?"

"See what? I already know—" I interject, but Aura grabs my arm tighter then and the forest flees from us like a whirlwind, hasty and cold. Her grip hurts and I'm freezing one second, then overtaken by warm sunlight the next.

When her grip loosens, I look around, and it takes me a moment to realize what I'm looking at.

Mal's memory. But not from her eyes this time, I'm an outsider, standing off to the side like a ghost. Watching, invisible.

The flowers flourish, the birds sing and in the midst of the garden in front of the ancient willow stands Mallory.

The knife looks threatening in her hands, and a flash flickers through her eyes. She stares at the blade and takes a breath in.

Light is right next to her. "Don't," she says gently, guiding her hand away. "It's not worth it, Mallory."

This is where the memory is supposed to end. It's where Mallory's story ends, it's where I rediscover my trust in her. It should be.

But it's not.

"I have to." Mal's voice is small, scared. "She said..."

"There must be other ways for you to escape this. If you do this, you'll be safe, but what about her? Won't you regret doing this?" It's odd how Light's voice can sound so normal. Far before she's been locked away, losing her mind.

"She won't." Aura appears next to Mallory. Memory-Aura, not the actual Aura standing next to me. She's still silently watching me like a shadow, intimidating me with her presence. "This is the only way. It's your choice."

Mallory swallows and looks back and forth between Light and Mallory. "Ellie is so young," she whispers. My heart skips a beat when she says my name.

"So are you, dear," Memory-Aura says. "You won't do her any harm. She'll be powerful. More than you'll ever be." Those last words sound like a threat, but her eyes sparkle with desire. She leans in closer, whispering into Mallory’s ear. “It’s you or her, darling.”

Mallory looks at the knife in her hand again. She closes her eyes for a second, and nods. "I have to," she whispers again.

Then, she takes a step toward the willow and puts the blade against the bark. I take a step closer, and Aura lets me, observing me.

Mallory carves a name into the bark. My name.

Then, the garden vanishes piece by piece, leaving only darkness.

The darkness dissolves around me, and I'm back in the undergrowth of the forest, Aura's looming presence beside me.

"You still trust her?" She starts walking down a narrow path, not waiting for me to follow, not looking back. She knows I'll come with her. "What do you think you just saw?"

Mallory didn't tell me everything. She's still a liar.

"Nothing of importance," I say.

"You saw your sister betraying you. Sacrificing you."

The words cut like a blade. Mallory would never sacrifice me. That word alone sounds so medieval, or taken straight from a fantasy novel, it's not something people do. And Mallory would never do me any harm, no matter how mad or scared she might be.

"You're lying," I decide, struggling to keep up with her pace. "Mal wouldn't do that."

"Oh, but she did." Aura's voice is raspier than I'm used to. "She sacrificed you to save herself."

"Save herself from what, exactly?"

How do I even know whether anything that Aura tells me is true? If she's been lying this whole time, she might be doing the same now. How do I know the memory I just watched is true?

Aura smiles. An unsettling, powerful smile. "From me." She stops walking and turns to me. "You're not afraid, are you?"

"I'm not."

You should be.

"Good," Aura says. "Do you remember the first time I showed you the Eternal Library?" She doesn't wait for my answer. "You must remember seeing your book."

I do. I remember the shreds of the first page, having been ripped out carelessly. Aura watches me with satisfaction as the puzzle pieces in my mind connect. "You did that," I realize. "You tore out the page."

She chuckles. "I suppose you might as well read it now." She lifts her hand in one swift motion and a piece of paper appears in it. Bending her wrist, she offers it to me. "Go wild."

There's only one line.

Elaine Hunt. Sacrifice.

"This is what you didn't want me to see?"

Aura takes the paper away from me, and within a heartbeat, makes it disappear. "You would've questioned it."

"Duh."

She starts walking again like she has somewhere to be, not minding my struggle to keep up at all. "Mallory made a trade," Aura says like she's explaining something entirely irrelevant rather than the betrayal of my sister. "An exchange was made." The forest around us dissipates, replaced by the garden overhung with dark clouds and dead flowers. She gestures toward the willow, tracing the pattern on the bark. "Your sister didn't want her powers anymore. She chose her ordinary life. The one you so desperately wanted to escape."

"I didn't run from being ordinary. I was hiding from my trauma."

"Which is exactly what made you perfect." Aura runs her thin fingers over my carved name. "By carving your name into this willow, her abilities were taken and transferred to you. Mallory wasn't nearly as well-suited for us as you were. Your pain..." She stops her hands over the name in the wood, her face twisting into a dark smile. "We'd get more from you than we ever did from her. She was useless. A lost cause."

"No. Mallory wouldn't do that. She wouldn't knowingly hurt me."

Maybe you don't know her like you thought you did.

Aura chuckles and turns to face me again, her hand leaving the bark. "It's exactly what she did."

"Why would she?" My voice feels faded.

"Because I told her to. Because she trusted me above everyone else. She happily did this to you, the only one she worried about was herself." Aura takes both my hands into hers, and for a moment I let her, before remembering that her touch isn't comforting. "You're far more powerful than she will ever be. If you give it some more time, you'll be able to do even more."

I stare at the carving in the bark.

"My folk," Aura continues, "relies on shifters like you and your sister to survive. To thrive. Without naïve little girls like you, we wouldn't exist." Her smile turns darker. "The more you come here, the easier it is for us to split your mind from your soul. You'll be a part of this world soon." She leans in and whispers, "It's already begun."

"You're lying." She must be. There's no other way. She just wants to scare me.

"I might be. Do you want to take that bet?"

Run away. Be scared. Do something. "You don't scare me."

"I know I don't," Aura replies. "I can't." Her hand reaches out and she places her palm over my heart. "There's nothing left in there to feel. At first, it's only the worst of yourself that you stop feeling. The anxiety, the guilt, the fear. But soon, you'll be void. All of you." She smiles again then, and it drips of poison honey.

"So you'll lock me away like Light? Because she figured out why you lure shifters in? Is anything you told me about her true at all?"

For Christ's sake, Elaine, leave. Stop talking to her.

"Of course not," Aura says like I'm a child. "And I won't have to lock you away at all," she adds, looking at me like she doesn't understand my concern. "There's still some of your soul left to take for myself."

I swallow. "I won't come back then."

"Oh, Ellie," she says sweetly. "It's not your choice anymore, though, is it?"

I hold my head high. "Everything you say is a lie," I decide. "I don't trust you. You're just lying again." I narrow my eyes and stare into hers. "Mallory is my sister. She's the one I can trust, not you."

Yes. Remember it.

"You need more proof?"

She takes my arm again, her grip hurting me, and she drags me toward the Eternal Library appearing in front of us. She doesn't say a word, not minding when I stumble and try to yank my arm from her grip. She leads me toward the Banished Section, not needing a petroleum lamp like I did, a faint glow emitting from her whole body. "You've been snooping around here, haven't you?" she says. "Why don't you take another look?" She lets go of my arm, pushing me toward the shelf.

The book she wants me to look at stands out. A large M is carved into the spine, staring at me. With a shaking arm, I reach out for it and turn it to look at the cover. Mallory Hunt.

I turn to look at Aura, whose eyes burn holes into me. My hand trembles as I open it, and I don't have it in me to read about her in here. The last pages of the book are burnt. Black edges mark the paper where the fire stopped, and it radiates a subtle heat.

It's as though a wall made of cotton closes around me, disconnecting me from everything around me.

She's banished because she made a deal. Because she doesn't care. She doesn't care.

Aura leans in, close to my ear. "Remember the guilt you felt for murdering your boyfriend? The fear and anxiety about not controlling your abilities? The sleepless nights you spent trying to escape me? Mallory did that. She brought you here. It is all her fault." I didn't think someone's voice could be dark, but hers is. It's overflowing with evil, dripping out like black tar, and bleeding over my mind. "Do you believe me now?"

I clench my jaw, glancing at Aura.

Don't trust her. Fight it.

But it is Mallory's fault. She put me into this situation. Aiden would've never died without her. I would've never become like this without her.

"Why are you telling me this?" I whisper hoarsely.

"Because, dear," Aura says, "you can't escape me anymore. You're bound to this realm."

Run.

This time, I listen to the voice in my head, and the library begins to spin around me as I try to leave. Aura's laugh echoes in my ears. "I'll let you leave now, but you'll be back. You can't run from me!"

I held up the knife The Raven had given me. It had a wooden handle with engravings of forget-me-nots.

All I had to do was make a trade. A transfer of my abilities onto someone else, someone who could do more than I could. Simply by carving the bark of the willow, I could complete the trade.

My powers would be gone, I would lose the energy tingling weakly in my body, and I would go on with my life. Whoever's name would be in this bark would take over where I left off. It would be my Dreamscapes inside their mind.

There was only one issue. It had to be a specific name. It couldn't just be anyone.

I loved my sister back then as much as I love her now. Truthfully, I didn't want to do this, but at the same time, I thought that The Raven was only trying to get me to stay, that nothing would ever come from doing this. And that Ellie wouldn't ever be in any danger, not if I could keep her safe.

Nell was not on board with this. She had become quieter over the time I hadn't seen her, hazier, too. But she was still present enough to tell me what a horrifyingly terrible idea this was.

"You wanted me to leave," I told her. "I am. Ellie will be fine."

"Look at me," Nell whispered. "This is what you will do to her."

"I'll do it to myself otherwise," I said.

If I was put in the same situation again today, that's exactly what I'd do. I'd burden myself, I'd choose to suffer before I'd put my sister through this.

Nell promised me that if she could, she'd look out for Ellie if she ever showed up in the Dreamscapes. It was a choice to come here, after all. Maybe she never would.

I was too scared to back out. Too convinced that I could somehow stop it if Ellie were to dream of this place. While carving her name into the tree, I swore to myself to never mention this to her. If she didn't know about the Dreamscapes, she couldn't choose to go there.

When I carved the last bit of the name, the knife fell to the ground and the Dreamscapes vanished around me.

And that was it.

That was my biggest mistake.

I'm sorry. I truly am.

I will destroy these pages now.

Rage clings to me when I wake up. My blanket is on the floor, kicked off during the night, with cold sweat pearls on my forehead. I feel a pounding from my ears through my temples as I push myself up, my fists twisting the bedsheets.

She did this. Mallory did this. She kept lying to me, even when she promised not to. All this anger inside me, Aiden's death, it was all her fault.

Hers only.

Tunnel vision takes over me, blinding me, only one target in mind.

"Mallory!" I don't shout—I scream across the hallway, surprised by the volume my voice can take on. My pulse is at an all-time high, heart threatening to burst out of my chest if I don't rip it open myself, and I don't wait for her to come to me.

The door to her bedroom flies open, smashing against the wall, startling both Mallory and Ewan to wake up. While Ewan has a puzzled look on his face, trying to arrive in reality, Mallory hurries to get out of bed.

"Ellie," she starts. "You went there again."

"Good thing that I did," I hiss. My eyes flicker to the bedside table where the small box with the knife still remains. How careless of her. It's mine, she doesn't get to keep it, I found it in my world. She's lost every right to owning something so beautiful the moment she carved my name into that tree.

Before she realizes what I'm looking at, I grab the blade and wrap my fingers around the handle, clutching it tight. "You kept lying."

"Ellie, whatever she told you, it's not true." Mallory raises her open hands placatingly. "You have to believe me."

"How can I believe you?" I wipe over my eyes, angry tears blurring my vision. "You're a liar. You lied to me my whole life and you keep doing it!"

“What the hell is going on?" Ewan asks, now out of bed, too, and clearly terrified. He holds onto the headboard with one hand, the other one held up toward me as if trying to stop me from getting closer.

"Let me handle this," Mallory says to him, and she takes a step toward me. "This is just the Dreamscapes taking over. Do not let them control you."

"Quit telling me what to do," I bite back. "Quit pretending like I need you to take care of me."

"Ellie, please. Your mind isn't in control anymore. Put the knife down." Her voice attempts to be soothing, but it only stings me and fuels my anger further.

"I won't do shit." I raise the knife higher. "You lied. Again. Why would you lie to me?" Angry tears gather in my eyes, and I don't have to see myself to know that my face is vermillion. I take a step toward her. "You did this to me."

"I'm sorry," she whispers tearfully. "I made a mistake. A dumb, stupid, terrible mistake. I didn't understand what it'd do to you." Her eyebrows gather in, a sob escapes her throat. "I didn't think anything would come from it. I...I just wanted to save myself."

"By throwing me under the bus." I scoff. "You knew what this entailed. You knew what you were doing."

"What was I supposed to do!" she shouts, wiping the few tears from her face. "Aura told me this was the only way, I needed to get out of there, I—"

"Aura lied! You knew that!"

"Ellie, I swear, I didn't know back then." Her eyes are pleading. "I never meant to hurt you. I couldn't, I love you too much."

"You love me so much that you decided to put the pain on me instead of yourself? You're my sister, Mallory, you're supposed to care about me!"

My hand with the knife rises autonomously, uncontrollable anger buzzing through my brain. Someone grabs my arm then, attempting to force my hand down and take the knife from me, but my reflexes are faster and red color stains Ewan's shirt where the blade sinks into his chest.

It pulls out with a squelching sound, and Ewan is on the ground under me, panting. His palm takes on the color of blood when he presses it against his chest.

"Ewan!" Mallory screams and hurries toward him, but stops when I turn toward her. Her face is drained of any color, and she stares at me with wide eyes.

I would like to see myself right now. Above everyone else. In control, at last. Power tingles in my fingertips and my heart hammers against my ribcage.

Stop this, please, stop this.

"We need to get him to a hospital," Mallory whispers through tears. "Please. You don't want to murder someone."

"Wouldn't be the first time." My jaw clenches when I take another step toward her.

I don't care about Ewan's condition. His presence and the noises he's making in pain are irrelevant to me. He's repeating Mallory's name over and over again, telling her to run away, to get away from me.

"Aiden," Mallory whispers. "You killed him."

"I didn't mean to!" I shout at her. My whole body is pulsating. "I didn't mean to, and now he's dead, but I wanted it to happen! He deserved it!"

Mallory slowly walks backward, but her plan to get away from me is spoiled when her back hits the wall. There's no way for her to get away from me.

"He did," she says quietly. "He deserved it, he did so many terrible things. You were only defending yourself." She attempts a tight smile. It doesn't reach her eyes.

"Don't act like that." I roll my eyes, switching the knife to my other hand for a moment to wipe my palms on my sleeves. "I don't need your pity anymore. I'm doing what I want for once."

Her breathing is becoming faster, irregular. Her eyes dart around the room, as if looking for a way to escape.

"You were supposed to protect me. But you lied to me. All those years. You're selfish. I thought I could trust you, and now look at us." I laugh lightly, but it sounds pained.

Something inside me is trying to escape, but I don't know what it is.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

Wrath wraps itself around my head, clouding my mind with red fog, suffocating the voice in the back of my head.

"Remember London?" she whispers. "It was raining so much, and we ran through the rain to the bus stop. We got drenched, but we had so much fun." Her eyes flicker to Ewan on the ground. His breathing is shallow now. "And the other day at the junkyard. You and I, we've always been good together. You're the only person in my life who truly matters to me, Ellie. There are still so many good memories to create together, okay?" Tears spill over her cheeks. She doesn't wipe them away. "You can live here. You can have a good life. No consequences, just a fresh start. You and I."

"Stop it. I know what you're doing." I realize only then the smile frozen on my lips. I can't stop it. "I can't believe anything you say anymore. You don't love me. You don't care about me."

I'm standing close to her, my hand with the knife dangling down, and I realize my breathing is heavier, too.

She stares at me, holding the eye contact, but I can feel her slowly reaching for my wrist without looking down. It's funny how she thinks I wouldn't notice.

"You know I love you," I say with a broken voice, blinking angry tears away. "And just like you said, just like you promised, I'd never do anything to cause you any harm."

Her eyes widen when the blade sinks into her stomach.

The curtains catch on fire quickly. The bedsheets, the wardrobe, and soon the heat crackles around me in a dangerous melody.

I hardly notice the sparks flying through the air, taking down the barn. Slowly, as if paralyzed, I make my way toward the front door, knife still in my hand. My nightgown is colored red in some spots, stained by blood. A wooden beam crashes down behind me.

I don't turn around.

Did I set the fire? I can't remember. Mallory and Ewan are still in the bedroom. I didn't check if they were still breathing when I left the room. Why would I care now?

The anger inside me is still pulsating. I don't think it will ever stop. It's empowering, and the flames licking the wood of the barn makes the feeling all the more satisfying.

Pungent smoke fills the air and my lungs. I ignore the dizziness slowly taking control of my body. When I step outside the house, another wooden beam crashes down with a loud sound.

My legs are weak, trembling with each step I take. Each impact my feet make with the ground feels shattering. I turn around just in time to watch the roof collapse over the house, thick billows of smoke rising into the sky and mixing with the clouds.

It's a bright, sunny morning. The birds that normally sing around this time are silent now.

I wonder what this day could've brought to me. A nice trip to the market with Mal, maybe. Or reading together in the sun. Working on the house. Reminiscing old memories.

The knife drops to the ground with a clanking sound. Then, the red and orange blurs with the blue and the gray. And finally, everything fades to black as my body hits the ground.

My mind feels hazy, and I'm cold. Bright light blurs through my eyelids. Birds are singing a soothing melody.

I push myself to stand, needing a moment to find my balance. Soft grass tickles my feet and flowers sprout all around me.

Lilies, hyssops, hyacinths.

"Welcome back," a familiar voice says.

Aura steps toward me, as graceful as ever, and she reaches out to cup my cheek.

"What happened?" I whisper, leaning into her touch. "I'm...I don't remember."

"Don't worry about it," she says with a smile as sweet as syrup. "This is your home. It always has been. Look around."

I do. All the flowers, the beautiful landscape, the fluffy clouds, and in the distance, I spot Light, standing still and staring at me.

"You can join her now," Aura says gently, caressing my cheek. "No need to hide anymore."

Run.

"How did I get here?" Trying to remember hurts me. My head throbs.

"You let your power take over, dear," she says. "There's no stopping it now. Would you like to stay?"

No. Run. Hide.

It takes all of my strength to shake my head. "I want to go home," I whisper.

Aura smiles with pity. "That's okay. You'll get used to it."

"My mind is so..."

"Foggy?"

I nod again.

"Don't you worry about that. It's completely normal. You're transitioning to this realm now."

"But I don't want to."

"You will." Aura runs her fingers through my hair, the smile on her lips twisting. "How unfortunate that you won't be able to use your powers anymore." She clicks her tongue. "Oh, well. What a shame."

My brows furrow as my glance shifts from her face to Light.

"You're bound to this realm now, Ellie." Aura takes my hand like she has so many times before. I don't back away. "Your soul is part of it now. It's time for you to face the music. You're nothing without me. Just like your pathetic sister."

Mal.

"Where is she?" I look around, searching the field for a sign of Mal. Every movement is excruciatingly slow.

"Don't worry about that," Aura says again. "You won't have to see her again. Ever. You made sure of it."

"I don't understand what's happening."

It's too late.

"You were powerful." A satisfied smirk grows on her lips. "You were. And now, it's all gone. Don't you see? You're all alone, Ellie." Her smile, the same one she's shown me since the beginning, is colder now. "You have nobody." She leans down, somehow having grown taller in the last few moments, and her bony finger lifts up my chin. "You're mine now," she whispers.

Be scared, do something!

Why is Light just standing there, doing nothing? She could help me.

I can't become like Light. I may not feel anything anymore, but I can't be this hollow shell that she is. I need to wake up, I need to shift.

But there's no energy inside of me to control. Nothing to feel, nothing at all.

"You're cute," Aura says. "Keep trying."

Something in her tone makes me want to try even harder, and I do, but it's of no use. Aura watches me desperately search for the tiniest spark of my energy, but like Mallory's, it's gone.

I stare at her with wide eyes. "Why would you do this?"

"You'll come to like it here," she says. "We can do whatever we want to do now. You'll just have to let me do the shifting."

"I want my sister." My hands tremble, my legs are weak and cold, and my heartbeat hammers inside of me, but that's all I feel.

"Well." Aura shrugs. "That's too bad."

She places her hand on my shoulder and guides me through the field toward Light.

The soft humming and dancing that seemed to define her are gone. She only stares.

"You'll be good friends," Aura says. When I look back at her, she's not standing between lilies, but between dark roses, growing taller to frame her.

Carefully and slowly, I take a few steps toward Light. Aura lets me.

It's so quiet here. Too peaceful.

Light's eyes meet mine. She attempts a soft smile that doesn't reach beyond her lips. She holds out her hand for me to take. Her skin is soft.

Aura follows me like a black cat, her presence sending shivers down my spine.

Somewhere, a raven croaks.

"There is nothing to worry about now. You're safe here. You always have been," Aura speaks softly. "You're home now."

THE DREAM SCA PE S ARE A TERRIBLE PLA CE.

TH EY WILL CHIP AWAY AT YOUR S

O

U

L,

PIECE

BY

PIECE,

UNTIL NOTHING IS LEFT BUT A

HOLLO W SHE L L

OF YOUR W O RST

ANX IE TIE S.

RUN, BEFO R E IT’S TOO

LATE.

Acknowledgements

There are countless people I want to mention. Too many to dedicate this book to, so I’ll put you in here instead. Writing this book has been an adventure. I did not know what I was doing, I’ve been winging it from the start, and had it not been for your support and pep talks, I would never have finished it.

Thank you, Ambra. This book is already dedicated to you, but I need to say it again. You are the reason that I sat down to write anything at all. You are the reason I went from reading fanfiction to writing it, to short stories, to writing my first book. You are the reason I found my passion, and for that I will forever be grateful. Life is brighter now.

Thank you, Rachel. You read everything I wrote whenever you could, and you hyped my books with me, never tiring of my daily wordcount reciting. Who cares if I wrote a thousand words or five thousand? You did.

Thank you, Lexi. You deserve an extra nod toward the support you put toward me, from reenacting descriptions with me so I could figure out if my character’s body language worked out, to talking me through my scenes and helping me with dissecting every thought I needed to dissect. Also, thanks for baking a cake for literally every finished draft of every single one of my works. I love those.

Thank you to my beta readers, one of which was Lexi, but also Jasmin, Shruti, Mia and Maria. All of you helped me shape this book into what it is now, you helped me fix its flaws and underline its strengths.

Thank you to everyone who let me endlessly yap on about my characters and the lore. To Selina, Abhi, Jana, Johanna, Jenny, Nati, Lilly. Your patience for my countless hours of talking of nothing other than my book has played a big part in my confidence that people might actually like what I write.

Thank you to my parents, who likely won’t even read the book because it’s not their genre(totally fine, by the way), but still encouraged me to keep writing and following my goal.

I’d say Thank you to my brother as well, but he’s too young to read this, so if you are, put this book down. It’s not for you yet!

An extra Thank you goes out to Hannah, my editor. When I first started looking for editors, she reached out to me, and she was the one who stuck out to me the most, and her unhinged and hilarious comments on my manuscript made me giddy and even more excited to publish.

There are countless more people I could mention; people who supported me online, through my writer’s discord, Instagram, threads; who liked and commented and shared my posts and helped me show my writing to the world. It may still be a small world, but it can only grow from here.

One acknowledgement that I can’t leave out goes out to two people who will never see it, and maybe it’s useless to put this here, but regardless: I would not be here without the Duffer brothers and their genius minds that created StrangerThings. Seriously. I watched that show for the first time in 2022, and became obsessed with it. I had not read any fanfiction in years, and that show got me into reading fanfiction again, which is how I met Ambra, who is the reason that I got into writing my own fanfiction, and short stories, and so on and so forth…

Last but not least, and this may be a little cheesy, but I’m okay with that—I am thanking myself. Normally, I pick up random hobbies, obsess over them for two weeks, just to drop them again. I didn’t do that with writing. I made it my passion, made it my dream, and I will continue to follow this dream for as long as it takes.

About the author

Alice Brooks is a writer from Germany who likes to write unreliable narrators, queer characters and stories about mental health. She was born in 2002 in the south-west of Germany and has been interested in art from a young age. This interest grew into a joy for writing, until it became her passion. Besides writing, Brooks enjoys photography, painting, fashion and videogames. Her drive for writing is inspired by all things mundane; the way people talk, the sun shining through canopies in just the right light, specific color schemes, and infinitely everything.

Content Warnings

Mentioned:

Domestic abuse

Death of spouse/parental figure

Bullying

Self-harm

Suicide

Pedophilia

Described:

Vomiting

Murder

Rape

Gaslighting

Emotional abuse

Abusive language

Harassment

Physical violence