Dreamland was different this time. Not the dank, dark forest I was used to, but a place I’d thought I’d wiped from my memory altogether—my childhood home. Next to me, my nightmare self with violet eyes was leaning back against the roof. She lounged against it, basking in the pretend sun of what was surely going to turn into another nightmare.

“Not this again,” my other said dryly.

Below us, a child-me was sparring with our father.

“What are you talking about? What is this?” I asked, bristling at her comment.

“You tell me,” she quipped, throwing a hand over her eyes in a more human show of exasperation than I was used to from her. This wasn’t like our other encounters. Something was different here.

A sharp crack jerked my attention back to the scene below. I was huddled in a ball, my father standing above me.

“You’re going to have to do better than that, Selena,” he said coldly.

No, that couldn’t be right. He wasn’t cold. He was kind.

Child-me looked up, eyes fractured by hurt, but already recovering. He walked away, not making it five feet before the little girl’s hand shot out.

My father slammed into a wall then turned slowly to face his daughter. I—she—didn’t say anything as her hand tightened into a fist, and phantom hands lifted my father off the ground by an unbreakable grip around his neck.

“Now we’re talking,” other me said. She looked down at the child with a smug grin, and something almost like affection. This most definitely wasn’t a memory. I’d never used my ability again after I manifested, and that was years before the little scene playing out before me.

My father struggled, and a booming voice rattled my mind, but I wasn’t the only one who heard it—or even the one it was directed at.

“Harder, Selena!”

The silent command was the child’s undoing. She dropped her hand, folding in on herself as my father fell to the ground before her. It took him no time at all to recover.

“Selena, look at me,” he said.

The girl pulled herself in tighter. The darkness was coming, already… I was so young.

“That wasn’t a request,” he snapped.

Child-me looked up, her eyes shining with a faint violet hue.

“Come.” He held out a hand that she took shakily. They started walking hand-in-hand to the old alpine larch that guarded our property.

I jumped from the roof to follow them.

“What are you doing?” the other-me asked.

I looked back at the roof. Yes, it was different here, more terrifying in its own way. As if she’d heard me, my thoughts, she grinned down at me with razor-like teeth. I turned and kept walking, trying to keep up with my dream-father and child-me.

“Do you know why I make you train like this?” he was asking her. They both sat on a boulder, watching the sunrise. This seemed more like him, like the father I remembered.

“Because they’re scared of me,” she said.

“They are. Do you know why?”

I frowned, and the little girl echoed the expression. That wasn’t how this was supposed to go. This was where my father was supposed to ask who’d told me that then dissuade me from all the bad thoughts that my sister tormented me with. I liked this dream less and less. Where was the surreal train station when you wanted it? Or the creepy-ass forest where shark-me liked to prowl?

“Because I’m stronger than the rest of them,” she said fiercely.

I almost smiled. The orange sunrise painted my childhood home an egg-yolk color, instead of the pale yellow it actually was. Our white picket fence cast shadows across the rocky land.

“Yes, but it’s not really you they’re afraid of, my dear. Not yet,” he said softly.

Shivers went down my spine as I recalled a similar conversation between us. I was only seven at the time. Surely the girl sitting here was older, though. Her eyes were already so haunted.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because you haven’t come into your full power, yet. One day you will, though, and when you do, even the telekinetics of legend won’t compare,” he whispered reverently, petting my head affectionately. While the mannerism wasn’t odd for him, I didn’t remember his reverence in my memories. If anything, I remembered him telling me to shut the power down and never let it get that far.

“You’re talking about the matter manipulators?” she asked, her head perking up.

“Where did you hear that?” he asked, cocking his head. This man was my whole world; he hung the moon as far as I was concerned—but here in dreamland, he wasn’t the same.

“Lily told me about it, said Mama was looking for answers in the past,” she said. Oblivious to the darkening of our father’s eyes, she babbled on about our mother.

“Did she tell you who they were?” he asked, playing this game a little longer while child-me shook her head. He sighed deeply.

Drawing her arms around her knees, the little girl relaxed just enough for her father to tell her a story of the telekinetics of old.

“The matter manipulators lived a long time ago, Selena, longer than most of the world can remember. They were the strongest of the Supernaturals, so powerful it was said that Nyx herself had to bless those who became one, because only the strongest would survive.” He paused, his eyes darkening again—but this time for a very different reason. I knew what was coming.

“Your mother is killing herself, traveling through the realm of the dead to find answers, because she doesn’t like the truth. The matter manipulators were wiped out by their own minds, Selena, just like you’ll be if you don’t learn to control it now.” He fell silent, and she followed suit for a moment, but my—her—curiosity wouldn’t be silenced.

“Does that mean I’m a matter manipulator?” she asked, her eyes wide in awe of something she didn’t understand yet.

“The matter manipulators are dead, Selena. I just told you that.”

“So are the telekinetics, but here I am.”

He went quiet, watching his small daughter, who was too observant for her own good. The whole interaction was wrong, as if a filter had been placed over my childhood memories—but part of the scene was still the same.

“Not all telekinetics become matter manipulators—only the strongest. Just like not all matter manipulators survive their gift. It isn’t me who’ll decide what you become, Selena, but you.” His words felt both inspiring and ominous.

My father stood, walking back to the house.

“Wait, Dad…I have one more question!” she called, sprinting after him.

I waited where I was, a pit settling in my stomach.

“What is it?” he asked, not bothering to stop. My mother’s voice carried from within the house, humming a melody I recognized but couldn’t place. I was tempted to follow them just to see where that led. Would I see her again too? Would she be the same?

“They’re all dead. The telekinetics and the matter manipulators,” the little girl said. I saw the clocks turning in her mind even if my father didn’t.

“Yes, I already said that.” He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

She was persistent, though, like a dog with a bone. “Then how am I here? How is that possible?”

My father stopped, swallowing hard. He placed a large hand on my shoulder and leaned down until we were face-to-face. “I don’t know.”

“But how—” she protested.

“I said I don’t know, Selena. Let it go.” He dropped his hand and kept walking, sweeping both my sisters up in his arms at the door. I may have only been a child at the time, but I knew a lie when I heard it.

My mother smiled from the doorway, calling child-me inside. Her white-blond hair was already gray…even though she wasn’t old enough for gray hair.

It’s just a dream, I told myself, even as I watched my small, dark head duck inside my childhood home. There was more to this dreamland, even if I didn’t want to admit it.