Her dreams were vivid and lucid, as they always were. The manor was dark. The light extinguished for the night near her bedroom. Mya crawled out of bed and sat on the edge. She could only remember her bedroom as a distant dream now. She ran her hands along the soft comforter for a moment before standing and turning back so she could see herself sleeping soundly on the bed. Her younger self slept undisturbed, ‘I was so peaceful,’ Mya remembered thoughtfully.
Mya knew where she would go, the same place she always went when she found herself awake in her dreams. The last time she had heard her father’s voice was a special time for her, even if she was losing the exact phrasing of all the words he had said that night.
She made her way through the darkness of the hallways towards the sound of voices in the kitchen on the other side of the building. She could never understand what her father and mother were talking about before her younger self woke and joined her outside the doorway to the kitchen. Mya had come to this dream countless times and used to rush as fast as she could to the kitchen to try and make sense of what they were talking about but to no avail.
She strolled, tracing her fingers on the wood grain of the walls, there was no need to hurry. Mya stopped outside the entrance to the kitchen, just beyond the light streaming out of the doorway. Murmurs and soft taps, slicing and the clang of dishes were the sounds she could always hear. Even if she went into the kitchen it would all be blurry and formless, the words jumbled and alien; which made her uneasy, frightened even, so she waited.