Letters from the future
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That night, the dream came.
She stood in her childhood bedroom, but everything was wrong. The walls were the color of smoke. The furniture was gone. Only the mirror remained, free-standing in the center of the room, taller than before. Her reflection stood on the other side — older, her eyes darker, her face set in grim determination.
Ava stepped closer. “Who are you?” she whispered.
Her reflection tilted her head. “You already know.”
“Why are you doing this to me?”
“Because you didn’t listen.” The older Ava’s voice was cold, tired. “You thought you could run from time.”