This time, when I opened my eyes, it was neither limbo nor the living world that greeted me. Dreamland, as I now not-so-affectionately referred to it, had transported me back to my childhood bedroom—powder-purple walls and all.

“What are we doing here this time?” I groaned. I couldn’t even see child-me, but the paisley black bedspread and training weapons on the wall didn’t lie.

“You’ll see,” my other said quietly, looking out the window just as a scream erupted from the front yard.

A door slammed and footsteps rushed upstairs. I had a bad feeling as my bedroom door swung open, and my father ushered me in. Child-me was older still. My legs were longer than last time, my hair darker. Mother used to tell me I was born blond, like Lily, but that my hair had turned black within days. Maybe my soul had known even then just how dark I was to become.

“Analysa!” He yelled for my mother, and she was at the door before he even finished.

He rested child-me on the bed, and only then did I notice the writhing. Black and purple encased me in a shield even he couldn’t break, with all his might. If I’d ever questioned before whether my father loved me, I didn’t now. His brown eyes were softer than I’d ever seen them when he turned to face my mother.

“What is it?” she asked softly, looking down at my crumpled form. Her white-blond hair billowed in the breeze that carried through my bedroom window. Whatever angelic glow I’d always associated with her faded when her eyes darkened to a charcoal black instead of their usual gray. There was nothing angelic about that.

“What did you do, Eric?” she demanded, striding forward. My sisters’ heads peeked around the doorframe.

“Is she doing the weird shadow thing again?” Lily asked.

Alexandra bonked her on the head then grabbed her by the collar of her shirt to pull her away. She looked guilty, and I didn’t question why. Dressed in her training leathers, Alexandra looked like some type of ancient child warrior. Child-me was dressed much the same, and I could only guess what the dreamland’s version of my father had had them do. How far he’d gone before I’d snapped. She’d snapped. Child-me.

“They were training, Ana. I didn’t realize until it was too late,” he whispered.

Alexandra released Lily by the stairs, and my other sister wasted no time running. Not Alexandra, though. Her small brown eyes watered as she stared at the dreamland Selena on the bed. Her chin quivered, and fire sprang to life between her fingers—but she didn’t seem to notice.

“You never do,” my mother whispered, bringing my attention back to my parents. She hummed a calming tune, in between scolding my father. “How many times have I told you not to push her? How many times do you need to beat her before you realize she’s a child? She isn’t a warrior, and if you don’t stop, she’ll never live to be one.” My mother’s words were harsh, with more grit than I remembered.

Before my parents could say more, Alexandra ignited—consumed by a guilt that wasn’t hers to bear. Whatever my father had done to us in dreamland, it was his burden, and his alone. She was a child, and I was a child, and the world was cruel.

“Take care of Alex, if you can manage not to hurt her too,” my mother snapped. I’d never heard her so angry or spiteful.

My father leaped to his feet, closing the door behind him on his way out. The last I saw of my little sister was her firedrop tears hitting the ground before she turned and ran. Was that fear in her eyes when she looked at our father? Or was it concern? I didn’t care to know. This dream left a bad taste in my mouth.

“I don’t understand why you brought me here,” I said harshly to my other. She may have been a figment of my imagination, but she watched the scene before her with a bored interest that even I couldn’t have feigned.

“I didn’t bring you here. You did.” She arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow, daring me to contradict her.

Bullshit was on my lips just as my dreamland mother started crooning to the body of a girl locked in her own mind.

Run, run, girl of fate.

Your dark mistress is here to stay.

Run, run, and I pray.

The madness won’t take you away.

My mother was somewhere between singing and praying in her devotion to child-me. The energy was snaking back into my tiny body, but the trembling remained. And I remembered.

Run, run, child I made.

The darkness wants to come and play.

Run, run, don’t delay.

She will take you far away.

I hadn’t thought about the lullaby in years, or what it meant. She’d told me once that her mother had sung it for her, to guide her when the path became too dark. Now that I knew she was adopted, I wondered if it was all just a lie. The more she sang, though, the more uneasy I became.

Run, run, Mother of fate.

They are here, you cannot stay.

Run, run, don’t delay.

They will burn you at the stake.

A shiver made its way down my spine. I’d never considered the words before, but instead wiped them from my memory. Was this a warning of what was to come? Or was her melancholy lullaby simply her own madness seeping through?

Run, run, daughter I made.

So you can come back one day.

Run, run, soul in pain,

So you can make them pay.

And pay.

The mists of swirling color had all but disappeared from child-Selena’s body. The shaking had lessened to a slight tremor. My mother’s soothing tone may have calmed the child, but did nothing for the daughter watching. I’d always known that the madness came from her, that something in her mind had slipped after we were born, but I’d never guessed how deep her darkness ran until she murmured the last line of the lullaby.

Run, run, they will say.

You will take revenge one day.

“What is this?” I snapped at my other. The memory was so detailed it looked completely real—from the way the hairs on my mother’s head shone to the texture of the fibers of my bedroom carpet—but this couldn’t be real. Could it?

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. You talk to the voices in your head, so who are you to say what’s real and what’s not. Eh?” my other said, her violet eyes glowing with mild amusement.

I glowered at her, but it wasn’t worth debating when that would just prove her point. My mother’s sobbing brought me back to the scene.

“I see you, Selena. I know the realm you walk in. It’s time to come back though, baby girl. The darkness is gone.” Her words calmed me, even though I wasn’t the child she was talking to. Not anymore.

“It never leaves,” the child and I said as one.

Returning from limbo was never physically difficult; it was making the choice to come back that was hard. I had the power, but I’d lacked the strength to abandon the safety of my mind even then. So many times—too many—my mother had had to pull me from the darkness because I couldn’t do it myself.

“One day it will,” my mother promised. She was a damned liar, but I guess the apple never falls far from the tree.

“No. I don’t think it will,” the child said. She peered up through her rain-colored eyes at her mother, who was wasting away before her. I’d never realized it growing up, but looking back through the memories, she was thinner now than I’d ever seen her. Those cheekbones could’ve cut someone, and the collarbones sticking out beneath her crewneck sweater weren’t any better.

“What do you mean, honey?” she said softly, running her thumb over my hand in gentle circles. She brushed my hair away from my face so softly that I couldn’t recall ever being touched that way. Like I was fragile. No. Like I was precious.

“Violet is the darkness, Mama, and she’s here to stay,” the child said darkly, but it was my other I looked to.

She’d known this was coming. I could see it on her face as she gauged my reaction. Violet? There was no one I would’ve referred to as Violet other than her, with those glowing purple eyes.

“Who is Violet?” my mom asked, an edge in her voice. A tense note that hadn’t been there before.

I glanced back at the mother and daughter pair, unsure how this was going to play out, but unable to write it off completely. Unable to say for certain that dreamland wasn’t real. That it hadn’t happened.

“She’s the voice I hear in the darkness, when it hurts too much. She comes to me, in limbo. She speaks to me in my dreams. Don’t be afraid, Mom. Violet’s my friend,” the child-me said, her bright eyes showing a hint of purple.

My mother gasped, grabbing my face roughly so she could get a better look at my eyes. Her mouth went slack, but only for a moment, before she slapped me.

Crack.

What the hell? That was uncalled for on so many levels. My mother would never have treated me like that. I glared at the cowardly woman. Child-me turned away as fat tears slid down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry. Oh my god. Selena, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” my not-mother gushed. She moved to hold the child, but the girl flinched, pulling away. Dreamland mother opened her mouth and closed it again three times before backing away from the bed.

“Violet isn’t real, Selena. I’m sorry I hit you, but you must understand that. The darkness isn’t real. It’s all in your mind, and only you can defeat it.” When she pulled back this time, it was like she’d made up her mind. Like she really wanted me to believe that there wasn’t something in those eyes that scared her. That I really was chasing boogeymen.

“And if I don’t want to?” child-me asked. I got the impression it wasn’t just me speaking, as I now knew just how easily Violet could step in when she wanted to.

“Then you’ll die like the rest of them, always chasing shadows,” she whispered. Her back was to us, but the vein in her neck was bulging. Her hands trembled, but with fear or anger, I didn’t know.

“Who?”

“You know who, Selena,” she answered, making her way to the door. It grated on me that the second she knew I was fine she fled, like a damned rabbit in a wolf’s den.

“The matter manipulators?” child-me asked, her voice sharp with interest.

I’d always wanted to know more as a child, about why they were afraid of me, why I was supposed to be afraid of myself. It wasn’t like I’d picked the darkness. It wasn’t like I’d chosen to be strong. Or crazy. My dreamland mother reached for the knob, but the door wouldn’t move. She sighed, and swung her gaze back to the person responsible.

“Open the door, Selena,” she said, her voice more exacerbated then anything. I suppose that was better than fear…or pity.

“Then answer the question. The matter manipulators died a millennium ago. How am I here? How is this possible?” Child-me was up now, out of bed with her arms thrown wide in a plea. My heart ached that it kept coming back to this: me asking for answers, and them only keeping secrets.

“Goodnight, Selena,” she said, and that was that.

I turned to my other—Violet, as the child referred to her. Her long black hair was tied back in a wild braid, and her eyes held mine.

“If you didn’t do this then why am I here?” I asked. Bluntness seemed to work best with her.

“Why did you go into limbo?” she asked, answering a question with a question.

I scowled, but tried another tactic. “I need space to figure stuff out.”

She pulled a knife from the wall and picked at her fingernails with it, digging the crud out while she made me wait. “Has it not occurred to you that maybe you’re still searching?” Another question, but at least this one was getting somewhere.

“Through some twisted version of my past? I fail to see how that helps me,” I said.

She smiled, just a little. Violet was going to make me work for whatever answers I got from her. “Sometimes you need to remember the past to see the future and live in the present. If one doesn’t know who they are then what do they know?” Her psycho-mumbo-jumbo was getting on my last nerve, but I was never able to wake myself up, not in dreamland anyway. May as well go with it, for just a little longer.

“So you’re saying I need to remember who I am?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at the absurdity of that statement.

“I don’t know. Do you?” she shot back, a twinkle in her eye. She was enjoying this.

“I know who I am. What I don’t know is who you are. You weren’t around when I was this young. My mother didn’t look like a damn wraith, and my father wasn’t an abusive prick. I don’t understand why I’m seeing any of this…” I gritted my teeth, waiting for a response, but she just gave me that pretty, awful smile.

Child-me was curled up in bed again, staring at a wall, probably talking to some godforsaken hallucination she thought was her friend. Not much had changed.

“Just because you don’t remember doesn’t mean it never happened, Selena. Even our own minds can lie, so who’s to say what’s real or fake? At the end of the day, we’re all liars. I’m just along for the ride.” She smirked.

Something about what she said grated at me, though—the idea that I didn’t remember my own past. That my parents were actually these kinds of people, and I this kind of daughter.

“Let’s say you’re right. Why would I not remember this? Why would it be coming back now? Years after they died. Why?” I asked, running a damp palm over my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Breathe... In. Out.

“That, I think, is the best question you’ve asked in a very long time.” Her eyes flicked to the child-me lying curled in my own solitude, no longer trusting the world to care. Something close to warmth crossed her gaze as Violet looked down at child-me. Almost as if she cared. But not quite.

I thought of the questions child-me had asked, and the one it always came back to. How was it possible for a telekinetic child to be born to into a non-telekinetic family? How did I even exist?

Something told me Violet knew, but I wasn’t ready to know. There was work to be done, people to slay, Fortescue bitches to hunt. I needed time to think, time to contemplate what this all meant, and if it was real—but here was the crux: how do you tell real from hallucination when you can’t even trust yourself?

They all looked the same to me.

“Time to wake up.” Violet winked.

The dream faded, and I had no desire to linger. Dreamland could go back to whatever forgotten recesses of my mind it had inhabited before.

“This isn’t over,” I said, and her laugh echoed until the moment I opened my eyes.

Gold stared back.

“Your sister’s awake. Thought you ought to know,” Johanna said.