CHAPTER TWO
Mom is chopping something in an unfamiliar kitchen, while a child version of me is opening a packet of manna.
My younger self looks to be about five and must be filtered through Mom’s memories. I doubt I was that adorable, and I’m skeptical of that innocence in my eyes. Though I don’t remember anything from when I was younger than seven, I couldn’t have changed this much.
A part of me is disappointed. My dreamwalker powers allow me to tell if a dream is based on a memory, and that’s not the case here. It would’ve been a chance to learn something of my early years—one of Mom’s many taboo subjects.
Mom starts chopping with greater intensity.
Something prevents me from clearing my throat to inform her of my presence. As much as I yearn to speak with her, curiosity and a certa
