Page 271 of Mother of Death and Dawn

Everything about this place reeked of death. As I lay there, staring at the ceiling, I felt a bit stupid for not realizing what lurked within these walls sooner.

I sat up.

“Hello again.”

The burning girl smiled at me. Immediately, I looked away.

I stared at the wall, blood rushing in my ears to the beat of my pounding heart. I stood, carefully keeping my gaze on the stone.

“Why won’t you look at me?” the girl said.

Breathe, Max. You know what this place does.

When I had been imprisoned here, my broken mind had saved me. The burning girl had been horrible then, too, of course. The image alone, in any context, was horrifying. But now, knowing who she was—

Knowing what I’d done—

I shut my eyes and drew in a long breath.

“Why won’t youlookat me?” the girl said again.

“I’ll need to eventually,” I muttered.

Kira. The burning girl was Kira. I hadn’t been able to place her when I’d seen her back then—a strange sort of mercy.

Since my memories had returned to me, I dreamed often about the way my favorite sister had looked when she died. It would be another thing to confront her here, where everything seemed so much more real.

It is not real. It is a memory.

You can do nothing to change your past. You’re here because of the future.

I heard two small, tentative footsteps. The snap and crack of flames grew nearer. She was right behind me.

I would turn, I decided, and go down the hall quickly. I would barely look at her. I’d look straight ahead until I found Tisaanah—the real Tisaanah, not whatever horrifying nightmare version this place would show me.

I let out my breath slowly, and turned around.

“Why did you do this to me?” the burning girl asked. She was blinking fast, like she was trying not to cry but was going to anyway. She stood so close to me that I nearly collided with her.

Keep going. Walk right past.

But I froze.

Because this girl was not Kira.

She too had long black hair, but this child’s was sleek and wavy instead of pin-straight like Kira’s had been. Her features were different, though I saw myself in them still. Her eyes were wider, and green instead of dark brown—amber-green, like the sun shining through leaves.

A familiar green.

And then it hit me: The burning girl was not my sister.

The burning girl was my daughter.

I had prepared myself for my worst memory of the past. I had not prepared myself for my worst nightmare for the future.

I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

The little girl’s lip quivered. “Why— why would you do this?”

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