The Mark of Memory
Marisol hit the ground hard. Cold earth. Damp leaves. The sharp scent of pine. The world snapped back into place all at once—sound, breath, gravity. She gasped, choking on air that felt too thick, too real. Ana’s hands were on her shoulders immediately. “Marisol! Hey—hey, look at me. Are you here? Are you with us?” Sofía knelt beside her, eyes wide with terror. “She wasn’t breathing. I swear she wasn’t breathing.” Tomás dropped to his knees, pulling Marisol into his arms. “Mija—thank God. I thought—” He couldn’t finish. Marisol blinked, vision swimming. The clearing spun around her, the trees bending like they were leaning in to listen. Her chest burned. Her head throbbed. Her fingers tingled. But she was back. She was back. Ana shook her gently. “What happened? What did it do to
- Writer
