Lunar Blessed
“Hello, my little moon.”
“I'm not supposed to be here,” Tamara said. “You're dead.”
“I'm memory,” Elena said. “Your memory. The silver and gold are fighting hard, they pushed you somewhere safe – into what you remember.”
She opened her arms, and Tamara ran to her. Her mother smelled like earth and growing things, and that perfume she always wore – lavender mixed with something bitter, like medicine.
“I miss you,” Tamara whispered into her mom's shoulder.
“I know, baby. I miss you too. But we don't have long. He's coming.” Elena held her tighter. “And he'll lie to you.”
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