✧ ཻུ۪۪. love is the most beautiful of dreams ,
and the worst of nightmares . . .
in which the quiet sister of lizzie and mika learns that to love deeply is to ache - that hurt is part of the package, and the beauty...
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(flashback/dream)
THERE WAS ONLY ONE PLACE Ella Samuels could ever call home.
It was tucked away within the lush of Jacksonville, Florida, alongside a street of cracked pavement, the occasional weed peaking through. At the end of the street, Bonnie Drive, there was a white house with green shutters. Small, however perfectly presented to the world. A crape myrtle tree embraced the siding, its pink petals coating the deck that wrapped around the front of their home. Flowers that dusted their entire yard, riddled with overgrown grass, and a singular car her parents once shared.
A riddled cluster of pink touched her feet, its petals painfully fragile, crinkled like wrapping paper. Cones that were a similar shade to a radiant fuchsia, contrasted against the color green, a reflection that consumed the state. Its pollen was a scent Ella could identify in her sleep, present from the first time her parents walked through that door, with their first baby girl. These were the walls that raised her, the yard that witnessed her first steps, that grass more comfortable against her feet than any shoe. Heat present as ever, blurring the surroundings into one, humid image that was too good to be true.
It had to be a dream. Even while asleep, Ella knew that her home was long gone. That and the life with it, they abandoned it all.
This was another movie in her mind of the world before, only one she suspected she would remember, whenever she would wake up. End the dream with the flutter of her eyes, and the tough reminder of what laid for her beyond the comfort of her bed. A gift of the prison that was a practical time machine.
What was different about this fantasy though, was the fact that she was not alone. Almost always, the girl was by herself. At least, in the nightmares. Either locked in a memory of before or between the jaws of the dead, it never did matter. It appeared her dreams were evolving, becoming more vivid as the time went on. As before her, there was a woman. A beautiful one, at that. She shared the blonde hue to her head, only she wore it longer, waved into the occasional curl. One genetic trait Ella did not inherit. Everything else, it was hers. Their eyes, hair, the subtle arch to their hairline, it was a mutual trait. Appearances passed down by generations, faces created by the ones who shared her family name and were lucky enough to experience love.
