Messengers

I’m walking through the woods again, barefoot, but this time, I know it’s a dream. Just a moment ago, I was in an empty school, rushing down the hallway, late for class, but when I passed through the door to my English class, I found myself here, back on the familiar wooded path, my friend, the fox, waiting for me. I feel myself gliding over the ground as we move down the trail.


We arrive at the daffodil house once again, and my muscles tense. The fox scampers to the foot of the stairs and waits. This time, I do not approach. I remember the yelling, the burning, the choking. The door slowly opens, and a figure moves just beyond the threshold.


“Amber?”


My breath catches in my throat, “Mima?”


She steps onto the porch and the morning light bathes her features in a youthful glow. I rush up the stairs and throw myself into her arms. She hugs me back, laughing at my enthusiasm. Words begin to pour out my mouth, every fear, every betrayal, every disappointment, as her arms hold me tight, and she rocks me back and forth like a small child. When I am finished, when my words have exhausted themselves, she runs her hand over my head and kisses me on the forehead. “I know,” she says as she gives me one more tight squeeze.


As I pull back to look at her, I see she is looking at something behind me. I turn to face the object of her attention. A short distance away, a female figure in a white cloak is slowly walking barefoot with deliberate steps. I watch as she slowly turns and doubles back, and I realize she is walking through the maze.


“Who is she?” I ask as I slowly pull away from mima’s embrace.


“Our legacy,” mima says as I walk across the porch.


“Our destiny,” she adds as I lean against the rail for a better look.


Destiny? I turn to mima for clarification, but she is gone. When I turn towards the figure, she is no longer there,either. I am alone with a fox waiting at the foot of the stairs.

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