Everything is dark, not even the stars are lit. All the pieces are gone save one: a statue of my mother in the middle of the room, lit from within.I don’t remember that statue. It’s not supposed to be here. Where are the murals? Where are the stars? Everything is wrong! The whole thing will be a fiasco, and I’m going to be so humiliated. I’ve ruined it all.Then I realize it’s not a statue. It’s actually Isis.“Mother?”She smiles, holding one hand out to me. “Hello, Isadora.”“You came for the opening?” I feel a brief burst of pride and happiness, then embarrassment. “The room isn’t supposed to look like this. I did a better job—I did—I don’t know what happened.”“You changed something,” she says, her voice soft and sad.My hand flits self-consciously to my hair. “Oh, I, umm . . .”“In the dreams. In the darkness. You changed something.”“I couldn’t let it—I can’t just watch anymore.”“You know I would rather you be safe,” she says.I open my mouth to argue, but . . .
