Today, a new star appears.

It comes suddenly, ripping through the darkness of the evening sky and blinding me with a light brighter than anything I've ever seen. It's only a pinprick of white against an overwhelming expanse of purple, but its blistering beauty entrances me and renders everything around it obsolete. All I can do is stand and look and let the light seep into my body, find its way to my brain, and gently rob me of the memories of person the light represents. I can't keep those—it wants those pieces of itself back.

Finally, the light begins to fade, and I can hardly recall a thing about my sister. Disoriented, I shake my head, rubbing my temples before training my eyes once more on the ever-darkening sky. I watch my sister flicker delicately against the silky evening sky, dancing with folds of pink and purple decorating the fading day. I realize now that her soul is white—a white so bright that I know that, when she left, she took my light, too. When my time finally comes, there will be no star in my memory, only an empty spot forever reserved for something that never existed.

My star-speckled eyes play catch with my sister's, recalling with desperate nostalgia the fading memories of us. Again, all I can see is that her soul is white, and what's left of mine is the lonely blue of a rusty, long-forgotten truck abandoned on the side of some desolate road.

As I replay my memories in my mind, I realize that my sister is no longer there. In her place, a white light. My mind searches in vivid fear for any clear memories of her, but they're already gone. That white light is just a light, and the sister in my memories is just that, too. A hole forms in my mind and instantly tears at the seams—a black hole of lost memories, pounding forever in my mind.

That faceless white light dances next to someone else—a brilliant golden star that has never failed to entertain and comfort me since I was young. My dad's star. My dad's valiant, golden soul.

The only proof of my dad's existence.

They flicker together. I can't flicker back.

The two lights begin to beckon to me, drawing me in with comforting words and memories. In an instant, I'm gone, falling far away from the two ethereal dancers. My consciousness plummets out of the sky and back down to Earth, slamming onto the ground and leaving my ears ringing. My body jolts by its own accord, not expecting to have to exist again so soon. My thoughts are racing, shooting ahead of the feet planted on the ground below me.

As I'm snapped out of my trance, my attention finally turned away from the stars, I'm suddenly hyper-aware of every sensation taunting my body. My mind focuses of the razor-sharp blades of grass slicing my bare feet, mocking the body that's hopelessly grounded in reality. The grass is real. I wish I could will it out of existence.

A sudden warmth attacks my senses—a cold, lifeless warmth that sends shivers up my spine. My head, against my will, turns slowly to meet the hard, dead stare of the mother. The mother's bony fingers dig into my skin, gripping my shoulder and refusing to let go. Its eyes are clouded and lifeless—more so than mine. It says nothing and stares into eternity, eyes unfocused but pointed in my direction.

Its light was taken, just as mine was. It was taken long before I was born.

The mother finally releases its grip on my shoulder, gesturing to the scene unfolding before me and hissing demands to pay attention. Its nauseating voice burns through my ears and boils my skin, leaving me green. I don't want to pay attention, but my body does nonetheless.

In front of me is a hole. It's only six feet deep, but it seems to stretch forever and bleed into everything. A group of strangers stand across the hole, forcing somber looks as they carry a box cradling someone they don't even know. The box is only slightly larger than me and is an elegant mahogany with complex, swirling designs carved into it. They say my sister is in there—those liars. The body is not the person; my real sister, the soul that I knew, is a million miles away from me. I don't understand how they've yet to notice the star that appeared the moment her fragile heart stopped beating.

The coffin is only lowered six feet, but it seems to plummet into forever, disappearing from my sight as it falls into the sky. Its fall comes to an end as it collides with the new star, confirming to me that my sister is not in that coffin.

The dirt surrounding my sister's body is filthy and unworthy of touching someone so ethereal. I wince in disgust, sending a silent apology into the night.

As the dirt begins to pile on top of her coffin, the last traces of purple disappear from the dying sky and leave what's left stained by ugly blues and grays. I feel a strong sense of loss as night finally sets in, but I know this ugliness harbors a blessing still, as it is only at night that I can clearly see my stars.

The last bits of dirt fall over her coffin.

And suddenly, I'm home. I feel confused—dazed—and I can't remember anything that happened between the funeral and now. My only clue is the damp remains of tears that must have fallen down my face. I look to my left, and see the mother gently weeping.

The mother wants its family back. I am not family enough.

My mouth moves against my will, the words unfamiliar even to myself. "Don't cry. They're not gone forever. They're—"

"Millie," the mother rudely cuts me off, "stop lying to yourself. There is no afterlife; Merisdae is dead."

And it turns around and cries more.

I don't let my heart linger on the mother any longer. If it won't believe me, I'll just keep the family that it misses so to myself.

I walk away, moving from the entrance of my home towards the living room. Only the dark greets me, consoling me with a chilling embrace—arms that wrap around my throat and choke me. Even in the absolute darkness, I can feel a lingering sense of hope radiating from the sky. One day, my sister and father will stand tall as beacons of light pulsing at the end of this perpetual darkness. All I must do is find my way to the end.

I slow my pace slightly, reaching out into the darkness to make sure I wouldn't run into anything. The mother walks past me, moving surely despite being unable to see. The only proof of its existence is the slight breeze I feel as it passes me and its chokes and sobs that fade with it into the darkness. I take a deep breath and follow it.

Without anything to focus on, I am unable to distract myself from the mother. Its tears echo much louder than before, tearing through me as if begging that its last miserable excuse of a crutch won't leave it. As unfortunate as it is, I am all that the mother has left.

I tread delicately though the labyrinth of darkness until I finally find the stairs. The stairs move directly up, leading to another seemingly empty floor. However, I can tell without being able to see that something is up there. I can feel its strong presence at the end of the floor, making all my efforts to navigate the downstairs worthwhile. My bedroom exists there, illuminated by the light of two living stars perfectly visible from my window.

I climb the stairs slowly, as if entranced by the idea of being safely away from the mother in my room. Left, right, left, echoes in my mind, the only sound I can hear now that the mother has locked itself in its room. I reach the top of the stairs and realize I have a death grip on the railing, enough so to turn my knuckles white. I let go of the railing and take a deep breath.

Now I am faced with my final challenge: a long, thin hallway from which a single light pulses, barely visible, at the end. The light is weak and nearly invisible, but it fills me with comfort and confidence and compels me to continue. Left, right, left, I walk down the hall, each step a cacophony scraping through my mind, until I finally reach the perfectly white door illuminated at the end. A soft yellow light pulses under the door's crack—a welcome mat into a better world. I smile.

My cold fingers find themselves wrapped tightly around the reflective doorknob, turning slowly as if trying to not bother what lay beyond. With a gentle push, the door creaks open slowly. I keep my head down, taking two hesitant steps to ground myself in my bedroom. I move with caution, too terrified to risk ruining the only utopia I have. I don't want to leave ever again.

My head raises slowly, my gaze trailing behind it. I eye the room, nearly in awe as I realize how safer I feel with my sister watching over me. My eyes refuse to completely focus, so the area adopts a fuzzy, dreamlike appearance. The room seems unreal, so much so that I feel like I'm the one who died and this room is the afterlife. My bedroom and the air within feels too pure, like a synthetic Heaven.

In the center of my window shines my support and source of happiness. There, in the center of the window, stands my meaningless sister. Her light is as beautiful as ever, and just as empty as ever. She is unbearably beautiful, even despite the abhorrent lack of humanity within her now.

Nothing happens. I don't know what I expect, but whatever it is doesn't happen. All I can do is meet the haunting gaze of my sister, falling again into her trance. The deepest point of night has reached, and my sister shines as hypnotizingly bright as she ever will. I shake my head, forcing myself back into reality before I fall too far. I thought I would feel comfort in her presence, but all I feel is fear. All I feel is the mother.

I stare. She stares back. I blink. She remains unwavering. For a long time, we float in silence, together and alone. I don't know what to say. I don't know if I can say anything.

Silence slowly turns into a cacophony of gentle whispers, sweeping around my ears and taunting me with long-forgotten memories. Every moment it feels like I'm on the verge of remembering something about my sister, and every moment the memory slips away right as I reach out for it. I feel peace for only a moment, losing it the moment those forgotten memories come flooding back. A floodgate of memories crashes over me, pinning me to the ground and drowning me.

I remember everything, and fear explodes through my body as if a bomb that had been ticking down for a century finally hit zero.

My sister fades from my sight, and my room fades to black. Whispers turn into reality—screams. Screams and pleas for help swarm my senses, one million voices shouting each other in a desperate attempt to be the only voice audible to me. They sob and pull themselves closer to me, spewing nonsensical, meaningless, terrifying memories.

I don't realize I'm crying until tears reach my chin and fall to the ground. The darkness is infinite, and there's nothing at the end for me anymore.

Everything is void for one moment longer, but I suddenly realize that I am no longer alone. There is a presence in the darkness, slowly coming closer and closer to me.

Finally, I see her.

My sister is here, in flesh and bone, in pathetic thoughtlessness. She gets close to me then huddles behind me as if hiding from some monster.

I can feel every ounce of her life force pushing against my body, shrinking into itself as I realize that she is hiding from a monster. The dark world begins to shake as the sound of monstrous steps echoes through my ears. The darkness somehow grows even darker as the tyrant finally makes itself visible. The mother, in all its likeness, is finally showing me its true colors.

The mother comes rampaging through the darkness, revealing itself with an empty, emotionless shriek. My sister tries to scream, but no sound comes out. All I can do is stand paralyzed in horror and feel my tears slide down my cheeks faster and faster.

The mother eyes us with an animalistic hunger, slowing its pace to taunt and pain us—to prolong this moment as much as it can. I make eye contact with it, and realize that the mother always had a monstrous gaze in its empty eyes. Its wild eyes and deranged grin get closer to my face, and I can feel its breath on my cheeks. I don't know why it must turn out like this. I don't know why it won't take me instead.

The mother's gaze softens at the sight of my sister, standing tall and donning a seemingly genuine smile. I see through its façade. I beg it to stop.

It doesn't listen. With one last barbarous roar, it runs towards Merisdae, relishing in the silent fear frozen on her face.

I can't see what happens to my sister—everything goes black and I am deaf once more. I have no clue what the mother did to my sister, but I know that is I'll never see her light again.

I only have a few moments of silence before I feel the mother's jagged breaths against my fragile neck. My body begins to shake, and I look up slowly to meet the bloodstained face of the mother. I scream and try to flee, but I've been frozen where I stand.

The mother raises its arms above its head and, with one last maniacal laugh, swings itself down upon my skull.

I scream from the split second of real, agonizing pain in my skull before my vision goes black. Then, as quickly as it came, the pain is gone, and I open my eyes to find myself in my room once more My body is crumpled on the floor as if I collapsed from some exhaustion I was too empty too feel.

I look around my room, still breathing heavily, trying to process the experience. I can't tell if it was a memory, or, rather, an experience. It doesn't matter, though. Whether it happened now or long ago—whether it was literal or a metaphor—doesn't matter. It happened. I know it did.

All I know is my sister's light shines just slightly darker than before my dream. Only now do I realize how dangerous the mother is.