When she had nightmares, she would dream of January.
There was cold, and the sense of being chased, or the feeling that she was the one chasing.
Pine trees, skinny young ones, black against the orange carpet of pine needles beneath.
She’d run until she came to a clearing, and then the clearing always turned out to be a pond. (No matter how many times she ran from it, or was sure that this time, there was no water, she found herself on the pond.
a sideways gravity pulled her onto ice, skidding her into the middle, the section that was most certainly, the deepest.
No matter if she had just been chased by wolves with glowing eyes, or if she had the strength to create justice by tearing someone limb from limb, she always ended up hovering above the same spot in the ice.
Her brother, in his swimsuit from that summer, beating on the other side of the ice. “I’m still alive, I’m still alive!” He could only pound, but his voice invaded her mind loud and clear.
"I’m still alive!"
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