I open my eyes to find myself embraced by a sea of magnificent diamonds. Thousands of brilliant, sparkling specks of light surround me and illuminate the dim purple backdrop of the empty sky. Brilliant hues of pinks, yellows, greens, all dance around me, each light a fragment of a long-forgotten soul. They are no longer stars, but they are still close enough to the bounds of existence to be found if one looks hard enough. Each particle shot out of a supernova resides here, bringing life to an otherwise lifeless pocket of the universe.

One day, my sister will be here. One day, I will, too.

I feel a twinge of familiarity occasionally—maybe, I'm feeling the presence of a relative who passed away years before I was born. Maybe my great-great-great-grandfather is glimmering somewhere just beyond my reach, looking down at me with a pained smile, pitying the poor girl who's fallen victim to the icy clutch of the mother. One day, I will join him here, long-since having left the mother behind to rot. I smile, feeling a gentle comfort knowing that the mother will never be up here with us.

One by one, the lights begin to fade and burn out. One by one, specks of brilliant light disappear and are replaced with an eerie, darkness. The darkness overwhelms my senses and drowns out what few souls remain. Pain flickers through my heard, but fades quickly when I remember that they aren't disappearing forever. If I keep this land of forgotten souls remembered, I may return every night in my sleep. These forgotten souls will never be forgotten so long as I am alive.

My smile fades to gentle, hammering sadness as the final speck of light fades into oblivion, and I rest for one moment in a pure, hopeless abyss of darkness. Then, I'm back—my eyes slam open to reveal the disappointing gaze of my dream room's ceiling. I lift my head slightly, just to meet the equally disappointing gaze of the morning sun. I sigh, nearly wincing as the pale beams of sunlight wash across my body.

In the morning, the room is depressing and useless. Even if it protects me from the mother, the sadness I feel looking at my starless window hurts more than the mother. So, I only ever love this room at night, when I'm able to see my real family.

During the day, I avoid the mockery of the sun by hiding in the abyss of a living room and pass the time by trying to eject myself from reality. It never works, unfortunately, but the effort kills enough time and energy.

I sigh and sit myself up, running my hands through my short hair rather than using the brush resting on the nightstand next to me. I swing the pastel purple sheets off my legs and stand up. My feet tense as they hit the chilling wood of my dream room's floor, but I don't retreat. One foot in front of the other, I make my way to the edge of the room. Opening the door slowly and quietly, I walk as quietly as I can down the hallway until I reach the stairs. Before I walk down the stairs, I decide to pause and listen.

It's quiet.

I'm not surprised; I expect just that nowadays. The mother isn't around much anymore—not since the night it pretended to fix itself and tie its shambles together. It has been in and out of its job for the past few weeks; however, rather than leaving in the morning and working its normal ten-hour day, the mother takes its work home and locks itself in its room. It's always still working when I go to bed, so I don't know if or when it stops and sleeps.

Our house has grown littered with expensive-looking and certainly dangerous machinery, all of it foreign and incomprehensible to me. I don't know what to make of the mother's strange behavior. Something isn't right—the mother must be planning something.

The mother and I haven't spoken a single word to each other since it first left for its job. I'm too scared to break the silence—I don't want to disrupt the system we've developed. It buys me enough food to survive, and I let it neglect me and focus on whatever space stuff it's working on. It doesn't bother me; I want to survive with as little interaction with the mother as possible, and so far, it's working well. The mother makes sure I don't die, and I stay far, far away from its work.

I think, however, that the mother is unaware of this cycle. I think that it buys food out of instinct and is satisfied when it notices the food mysteriously disappearing. I don't think it knows who or what takes the food. I think it forgot that I exist.

But, if it's keeping me alive, I don't care what the mother thinks of me.

I walk down the stairs, gently pressing each foot into the ground to be as quiet as possible. My hand trails on the railing behind me, helping me maintain my balance in between steps. When I finally reach the end of the stairs, I immediately turn and walk to the couch, the sound of my footsteps now absorbed by the worn carpet. I sit down on the couch and begin my ritual of staring blankly at the wall in front of me. Immediate, a thick fog spreads across my mind and my body begins to feel numb. The room seems to darken, my eyes forever fixated on the wall directly in front of me. I lose my grip on reality momentarily and bask in the comfort of disconnection.

My bittersweet comfort ends abruptly as the awful creaking of a door opening rings through my ears. The mother, dressed formally to hide the perpetual exhaustion in its eyes, takes two wide strides out of its bedroom before stopping. It takes a curious look around the room, as if it were looking for something. Suddenly, its eyes land on me, and terror shoots through my body as the mother's eyes light up in recognition.

It's either remembered me, or had never forgotten me at all.

The mother cracks a hollow smile and walks towards me. "Millie," it says, an unfamiliar sense of life lingering in its voice, "it feels like I haven't seen you in so long."

The mother goes to hug me, but I shrink away from it. It frowns slightly, but I pay no mind. I value my safety over the mother's emotions.

"What do you want?" I ask, my polite tone laced with fear.

"It's just..." the mother hesitates, "you're all I have left, Millie. I'm trying to change that, but for now, you really need to be here for me, okay?"

I ignore its first statement. "What do you mean you're trying to change it?"

"Oh," the mother starts, "I'll be going to place where your dad and Merisdae are still alive. You will be there too, but not this you. A you from that reality. You'll still be happy—do you understand?"

My eyes widen in horror. Without saying another word, I stand up from the couch and walk hurriedly up the stairs. I ignore the mother's selfish please as I storm to my dream room, slamming the door behind me.

"It's going to leave me to die!" I cry, feeling a foreign fury swell in my chest. Will I go with my dad and sister if the mother succeeds, or will I be left alone while the mother enjoys a life it doesn't deserve. I cry out in anger, grabbing my tattered pillow and throwing it against me wall.

I crumble to the ground and drown myself in tears.

There's a knock at my door. "Millie, are you okay? Please understand that you'll still be with us there, even if it's not this version of you." I pray that it doesn't try to open the door.

I say nothing. There's a few moments of agonizing silence before the mother sighs and walks away. My heartbeat slows and I calm down as I listen to the mother's rhythmic steps fade as it gets closer to its bedroom. I wipe my tears and stand up slowly, glaring at the midday sun. Now, I'm forced to stay locked in here and let the sun burn me until nighttime finally comes.

So, I pick up my pillow, put it back on my bed, and get under the covers. I lay there for a few minutes, motionless and emotionless. Finally, I begin to doze off, and head to the land of long-forgotten souls.