I was dreaming. But it wasn’t the kind of dream stitched together from chaos or memory.
No, this one felt... real.
I was by the lake.
Not this lake, not as I knew it now, surrounded by layers of security and whispers of betrayal. It was the lake from my childhood—the one by our summer house where the water glistened like melted silver and my only worries had been skinned knees and catching dragonflies.
I was laughing.
That deep, unburdened laugh that only existed before life turned into blood and contracts. And beside me—running just ahead—was my sister. My little twin flame. Not the version the world had twisted. Just her. My sister, when we were kids.
She ran ahead, her tiny braids flying behind her, her dress catching the wind. I lunged forward, laughing, and tapped her shoulder. “You’re it!”
The moment my hand touched her shoulder... something changed.
She blurred.
Like a smudge on wet ink.
Then disappeared altogether.
And there I was, four years old again, standing at the lakesid
