Disclaimer: I do NOT own Fushigi Yuugi, or the characters within. Unfortunately, that includes Chichiri and Tasuki. However, I do own my OC's. This disclaimer covers the whole story. Enjoy!
~Chapter 1~
The heavy rain clouds drifted in the sky, painting the scenery a deathly grey. Rain washed over the city, bittersweet like the tears of angels, pouring out their sorrow for mankind. A lone, seven year old girl walked through the city of San Francisco, her drenched, reddish brown hair sticking to her face and her hazel eyes darting to and fro, as if she was a scared animal. And she should be, for that matter. It was only a few hours ago that she was in a fatal car crash…and survived. She was the only one to survive. She got away with only a few cuts decorating her arms and a cut on her cheek, from when the window broke. Unfortunately, it wasn't that way for her mother. Tears stung her eyes and she quickly wiped them away. She clenched her fists.
"I…I'm going to be strong," she whispered to herself. But she knew it was all her fault her mother….
Her feet sped up as she suddenly felt a chill. She could feel the sadness, the pain, the misery. Scared, the girl turned around slowly, eyes wide in fright. A pale ghost stood before her. It was a woman, apparently in her mid-thirties. Her matted, bloody hair was black, her deep brown eyes were sad and filled with pain. Her pale form was disfigured with cuts and bruises, blood covered what was supposed to be her skin. The luminescent clothes that covered her were drenched. An aura of blue surrounded her, enveloped her in a deep melancholy. Overall, her image was hazy. Amara felt the nagging feeling that she knew her once, but couldn't quite distinguish who she is.
"Amara," the ghost whispered into the autumn air. "Amara."
"Stop calling my name!" the girl cried, clutching her ears.
Amara spun around and started running. The ghost followed, floating through the busy streets, through the pedestrians huddled beneath their umbrellas, through the obstacles that the poor girl had to dodge. The people in the streets made way for her, letting her run in the make-shift path. They didn't notice the ghost that followed. They didn't have the sight.
"Stop following me!" Amara cried, trying to run faster.
Amara suddenly slipped on a puddle, barely able to break her fall with her hands. Blood seeped out of the scrapes that formed on her hands and knees. The ghost was now right in front of Amara. The seven year old looked up at the soul of the dearly departed, tears streaming from her eyes. The ghost knelt down to her level and cupped her cheek in her luminescent hand. Amara shuddered from the cold that felt like death itself.
"Amara," the ghost's voice was gentle. Soothing. "I'm sorry."
Amara didn't say anything, just stared up at those sad brown eyes. Her body shuddered, her head swam. Suddenly, before her very eyes, the ghost no longer had the wounds that decorated her skin only a few minutes ago. She looked more and more like when she was alive. The haziness was slowly deteriorating. She was beautiful.
"Amara," the ghost said gently. "You must live. You must live, no matter what."
"W-who are you?" Amara asked, frightened. She tried to squirm away, but found that she couldn't. She was mesmerized by this creature in front of her. Mesmerized by fear.
"Don't you remember sweetie? I'm your mother."
"W-what?" Amara's hazel eyes widened. The haziness around the ghost has completely disintegrated, and she realized that it was true. Amara's heart throbbed. "But…you're…"
"Dead," her mom finished. "Listen to me. I want you to be strong. You mustn't die, Amara. You have to live, no matter what."
With that, the ghost disappeared in a flash of light.
A loud bang suddenly sounded in front of her. Amara's eyes popped open, her heart pounding in her ears. She felt afraid, but shook away the feeling as she looked up to see her Calculus teacher standing in front of her, a ruler in his hand and a scowl on his face. He was mad, no doubt about it. He tapped the ruler lightly against the palm of his hand, still glaring down at the student below him. Amara could practically see the dark, angry aura radiating off of him.
"So, miss Amara, what do you have to say for yourself?" the teacher asked menacingly.
Amara gave a nervous laugh. "Uh….Sleeping makes you smarter? It's proven, actually. It helps keep information in the brain, helps you focus…you know. Sorry."
The Calculus teacher growled. Amara flinched.
"Not when you're sleeping in class!"
"Toodles!" Amara cried as she jumped up and ran out of the room. The teacher followed close behind, waving the ruler around like a madman.
"Amara Anderson! How dare you leave the classroom! Get back here right now!"
"Nya nya!" Amara cried, looking back just enough to pull down her bottom eyelid and stick her tongue out. "Don't you have to teach, Mr. Ostrowski? You have a whole classroom left unattended! Sorry, sorry!"
The teacher stopped mid-stride, eyes bugging out in realization. Then, he growled and stormed back to the room. But before he rounded the corner, he shook his fist at her.
"Mark my words, Anderson, you'll regret skipping class!"
"Sorry!" she called just as the Calculus teacher disappeared from sight.
Amara slowed down her pace to a walk as she made her way to the exit of Lowell High School. Seventeen years old, and a senior. Wait until graduation, and then she'd be free of this hell. She heaved an almost-happy sigh. But then again, wait until graduation, and a bigger hell will emerge: college.
She didn't want to go to college. She didn't want to sit in class after class for ten or more years. She didn't want to be a cardiologist, like her foster mother. But she'd do it. She didn't want to let them down. Not after they rescued her from that damn orphanage she was in. She was ten years old when they adopted her. But still, they were controlling.
"Go to college," they'd say. "You'll make more money."
Money, money, money. Everything revolves around the damn evergreen slips of paper, these days. She hated it.
Amara was soon at the commons area. A few feet ahead was the office, where a burly woman sat with a phone nearly glued to her ear, yapping away to someone who –most likely- doesn't give a crap about whatever the hell she's talking about. Getting past her would be no easy matter. But it would be fun, if nothing else.
Amara smirked as she neared the office. Then, with one, almost graceful, swoop, she fell silently to her knees and crawled past the window. Her blood pounded in her ears, the palms of her hands sweaty.
'Don't lose your nerve, idiot,' she thought to herself. 'Just a few more….'
And then she was free. She was past the office, her major concern, and the five front doors were only a few feet away now. At this point, all she had to do was choose her escape door to freedom.
"Hey! What're you doing? You can't leave!" a voice bellowed.
"Sorry!"
And then she was off. Amara ran like no tomorrow, adrenaline pumping through her veins as the burly woman shot through the door to the office and chased her. The woman was fast, Amara noted. Faster than she would've guessed. Amara didn't dare look back. She focused on her target: her silver Nissan Altima parked in the student parking lot. She fished her keys out of her jeans and clicked it open as she neared it. In one, superman-like dive, she grabbed the door handle, yanked open the door, got in, and drove off.
Amara glanced in her mirror and gave a triumphant grin as the woman faded to the size of a furious ant, as she sped along the roads. She rolled down the windows and let out a sigh of relief as the morning air brushed against her sweat-dampened face. She took a deep breath, relishing the sound of the wind and birds that chirped in the few trees that aligned the road. Sunlight filtered from the Californian sky above, glaring at her through the windshield, as if it was accusing her. Her grin widened. She glanced at the clock; it read 8:27. She only lasted twenty-seven minutes in that horrible class; she hated calculus with a passion. It's boring, and totally stupid. That's why she always falls asleep.
Amara let out a sigh, boredom already trying to take over. There was really nowhere else to go but home. Her eyes flitted this way and that. There usually weren't any ghosts around here, but who knew? Sometimes it seems that they follow her. She reached over and cranked up the radio until the music blared from the speakers. It was Falling, from Staind.
You in your shell,
Are you waiting for someone to rescue you,
From yourself?
Don't be disappointed when no one comes.
xxxx
Don't blame me you didn't get it.
Don't blame me you didn't get it.
Don't blame me you didn't get it.
Don't blame me you didn't get it.
She was driving home. Home, where she was safely tucked away from all the noise and headaches of the day. Safe from the ghosts that haunted her; safe at least, until she goes to bed. She stopped at a red light and sighed, frustrated.
Amara looked out the window. Her eyes widened as she saw a cross at the side of the road. It was an old, dirty, wooden cross that seemed to know better days. A little boy stood beside it, and by the transparence his body had, she could tell he was a ghost. He looked at her, face grave, and Amara found that she couldn't look away. His soul churned with anger. With loathing. He looked at her like she was the one who was supposed to die. She should have been the one dead, instead of him. She gulped, feeling guilt once again clutch her heart as her mind flitted back to her mother.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, but the boy didn't seem to hear.
The light turned green. A few moments passed before an impatient honk forced Amara to tear her eyes off the boy. Instead of muttering a few choice words at the driver behind her like any normal person would do, she turned around and gave him a big grin. He blinked, surprised, and that was all Amara wanted. She did start driving though. No use just sitting there looking even more stupid.
I already told you that falling is easy.
It's getting back up that becomes the problem, becomes the problem.
If you don't believe you can find a way out,
You've become the problem, become the problem.
xxxx
You all alone,
Are you waiting for someone to make you whole?
Can't you see?
Aren't you tired of this dysfunctional routine?
With a growl, Amara turned off the radio. She's had enough of that song for now. It hit a little too close to home, and she was beginning to feel uncomfortable. At last, she arrived at the house. A car was in the driveway, signaling that her foster father was there. She wondered absentmindedly if she should just stay out for a while. She didn't feel like hearing any nagging about skipping school. But then again, she didn't feel like seeing any more ghosts that happened to drift by. With a sigh, she parked, got out, and tiptoed inside.
Amara somehow managed to get to her room before anyone saw her. She grinned to herself, mentally patting herself on the back for her ninja-like abilities. She didn't want to hear the lecture that her parents would undoubtedly bestow upon her if they found out.
To her immense displeasure, the door to the house swung open. If she focused, she could hear her foster mother come in, her footsteps light on the wooden floor, and heard her mutter something about Amara's car in the driveway. She cringed as she heard her foster father's voice call from below.
"Amara! Come down here! We need to talk!"
So much for her ninja-like abilities. She should've hid the car.
Amara sighed and went out of her room. She walked into the kitchen, where her parents were sitting at the table, each sipping his or her own cup of coffee. Amara sat down hesitantly, already knowing what they wanted to talk about. She put on a grin.
"Yes, oh dearest?" she asked playfully dramatic, as if she was trying to get a part in some soap opera. She bowed. "How may I be of service?"
"Why are you here so early?" her father asked, cutting straight to the point.
Amara's playful act dropped. She stood up straight, her grin vanishing. "Because I want to be," she answered confidently, her tone turning serious.
"Don't tell me you cut class again."
"Sorry."
"We all know you're not sorry," her mom interjected. "You always say sorry, even though you don't mean it. You'll do it again, wouldn't you?"
"Yep. Sorry. And why are you here, Mom? Shouldn't you be at work?"
"I'm going to work in about ten minutes. I took my break early 'cause I needed to get some groceries. Now don't change the subject, Amara."
"Sorry."
Her father rubbed the bridge of his nose, letting out an exasperated sigh. After a moment of silence, he looked up at her.
"Can you at least tell me why you skip class?" he asked.
Amara held up three fingers. "One," she said, putting a finger down," because the teacher sucks. Two," she put another finger down, "I hate the class," and at the last finger, "And three, because I don't want to waste my time with someone who can't teach. I can learn it better on my own."
Her mom sighed. "Why? Why do you insist on treating us this way?" She looked almost near tears. "We…we love you, Amara. We only want you to be the best you can be! Why do you insist on skipping? Even if the teacher's bad, there has to be something useful you can learn in the class."
Guilt gripped Amara's heart, but not enough to keep her from skipping again. Amara took a deep breath.
"What is the best I can be, Mom?" she asked. "In other words, what am I really capable of?"
Her mom looked up, tears in her eyes. She let out a wavering smile. "You're going to be a cardiologist, like me. You'll save lives! You're smart. Young. You have your whole life ahead of you. I know you can do it."
Amara sighed. "Yeah, but you don't know if I will," she murmured, so low they couldn't hear. "Okay, Mom," she said louder as she got up from the table and left for her room. "I'm gonna go study."
Weight clung to her chest as she trudged up the stairs. She was near tears by the time she plopped on her bed and took out her calculus book. She faintly heard her mom say goodbye to her dad as she left the house for work.
"I don't want to do this anymore," Amara whispered to the book. "I'm just living a big fat lie."
That night, the moon shone full. Her foster parents went to bed early, because their work made them wake up at 4:00 in the morning. It was about 10:15 right now. Amara pushed herself out of bed and tiptoed down to the door. She had to get out of the house. She had to breathe.
She drove for what seemed like an eternity in silence. The lights of California were on, so bright that it made the night seem like day. They outshone the stars. Amara sighed and stopped at another red light. She looked around. Suddenly, she saw a psychic reader's shop around the corner. On a whim, she drove over.
"Psychic Palm Reading," the sign said. "Only $5! Come in today to be told your fortune! Open 8 a.m. -11p.m."
Amara scoffed, parking her car. She didn't believe in psychics. But she had to say, she was curious. After all, what harm would it do? She glanced at the clock. It read 10:40 p.m.
"Guess it's not too late after all," she muttered to herself.
She got out and went to the entrance of the shop. Taking a deep breath, Amara opened the door.
The room was dim, but it seemed nothing was out of the ordinary. Scented candles burned with their small flames flickering this way and that, filling the house with their soft fragrance. Amara took a deep breath. It was cinnamon. An elderly Chinese woman was sitting on a chair behind a table in the kitchen, waiting patiently for something. Or someone. Her hair was graying, but still mostly black. Her eyes were a soft brown color, speaking her kindness and wisdom without words. Amara stopped at the entrance of the room, uncertain if the woman's personality matched her eyes.
"Come in, child," the woman said.
Her voice was soft. Convincing. Amara stepped into the room where the woman sat and sat down across from her. The woman smiled softly, and Amara sent a small, slightly nervous smile back.
"Do you want me to tell your fortune?"
"Um…I'm afraid I don't have any money with me," she said, suddenly remembering that she's forgotten her purse at home. "I'm sorry."
The Chinese woman dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "It's alright, dear. Something tells me you're an extraordinary case."
Amara raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
The woman motioned for her to sit down. Warily, Amara obeyed.
"Give me your palm."
She did as she was told. The elderly woman looked at it closely, moving her fingers around the lines. After a few minutes, she closed her eyes. Then she looked at Amara.
"Tell me, what is your name?" she asked.
"A-Amara Anderson."
"But that last name isn't yours, is it? Your real mother's maiden name is Avira Durand. You were born on October 31, on Halloween."
Amara's eyes widened. "H-how…did you…?"
"You're adopted, aren't you? You survived what should have been a fatal car crash, were found by an orphanage, and were adopted by the prestigious Anderson family when you were ten."
Amara was officially getting scared now. "How do you know all this?"
The woman looked into her eyes and smiled warmly. "I'm a psychic, dear. Also, it appears you're stifled in this world. You're a caged bird. But you are too afraid to figure a way out. You're too afraid, too guilty, to try to break free. You feel that you should have been the one who died in the accident. Not your mother. And ever since then, you can see the spirits of the dead, can't you?"
Amara pulled her hand away, standing up. "I-I think I should leave now. I'm sorry."
"No, child. I will tell you something important. Not long from now, you will no longer be in this world."
"You mean…I'm going to die?" Fear gripped her heart from the question. Images of her mother flashed through her mind. She was beginning to hyperventilate before the psychic interrupted her thoughts.
The woman shook her head. "No. You will not die. You're meant for a purpose that isn't in this world, and you will be sucked into another dimension. There, you will find your real purpose. You will meet new people, both good and bad. It will be your choice if you wish to return to this world, or if you wish to stay in the other."
Amara narrowed her eyes, calming down some. "Since you said that I'm a caged bird here, why would I come back? That is, if what you're telling me is true?"
"The world you will go in is filled with danger. Filled with mystery."
Amara's hazel eyes sparkled in the candlelight. A grin burst forth from her face, excitement apparent. Her long dark hair brushed forward as Amara leaned closer across the table to the old woman, her eyes exuberant. Her side bangs covered her left eye, but she didn't seem to notice.
"So you mean, it'll be like an adventure? I'll be like some great detective? I might even save the world, like Superman or some other super hero?"
The woman chuckled. Her eyes glistened as she gently touched Amara's hand.
"You have a good heart, Amara. I can tell. That world is dangerous, you must understand. There is evil in every corner, just like in this world. Only the evil there is much stronger. You must be careful, dear. And I cannot tell you what your purpose there is. Only you can find out. But I have a present for you that may help."
Amara blinked owlishly. "Huh? A present?"
The Asian lady smiled warmly, her eyes shimmering in the candlelight. She stood up and went over to a dresser to her left. Amara watched curiously as she took out a small, black, Chinese-looking box. It was black with blue flower petals drifting over it. The woman handed the box to Amara.
Gingerly, Amara took it. She brushed her fingers over the box, mesmerized by its beauty. Its elegant design. Finally, she opened it. She breathed in sharply as her eyes took in the two matching bracelets that were contained. They were Chinese turquoise bracelets with etched silver on the three larger beads, and a silver toggle clasp. The larger beads with the silver were about ten millimeters, and the smaller beads were about eight millimeters. The bracelets were plain enough to go with every-day clothes, but beautiful enough to go with fancy attire, too. They took her breath away.
Amara looked at the woman, eyes wide. Her mouth opened in protest, but before she could make a sound, the psychic spoke.
"They are gifts, for your journey. They will protect you from evil and help ward off danger."
"But, ma'am, I can't take them! They're beautiful! They must be worth a fortune!" Amara protested hotly. "I-I can't take them from you! I'm sorry!"
The psychic smiled warmly at the teenager in front of her. Her eyes softened at the sincerity she saw. She shook her head slightly, and reached out to touch Amara's hands. Amara didn't flinch away at the contact, just stared into the elder woman's eyes. Trying, no doubt, to see if this was just a dream.
"I want to give them to you dear. It's no trouble at all. But be warned. You must attune to this gemstone. It is not the gemstone that will attune to you. Once you are attuned with the turquoise, you will find your power. In the meantime, it will keep you alive."
Amara furrowed her eyebrows. "Huh?"
The psychic laughed. "Now, it's time to go dear. I'm closing now."
After thanking the psychic for the gift, Amara left, more confused than she was when she entered. She looked up at the dark sky and took a deep breath.
"What…was that all about?" she asked no one in particular.
She looked down at the box in her hands, which contained the bracelets the woman had given her. It felt warm. Shaking her head, she got back in the car and went home. As she sat on her bed that night, she couldn't help thinking about the psychic. She opened the box she had been given, and clasped the bracelets on. They were warm against her skin, somehow, but Amara tucked that thought to the side. She took a dart from the nightstand beside her, next to the picture of her mom, and threw it at the target placed on the wall across her bed. It was a bull's-eye. Amara sighed, closed her eyes, and fell reluctantly into sleep.
The next day, Amara shuffled through her classes, barely paying attention. She took the notes like she was supposed to, but she couldn't get her mind off of what the old Asian psychic had said last night. Absentmindedly, Amara fingered her new bracelets, still quite perplexed about the words the woman had told her. She barely listened as the teacher droned on. And on. And on.
"Yo, Amara," her classmate hissed, poking her in the ribs. "Class is over."
Amara jumped out of the chair and looked at the source of the voice. Brown eyes met her hazel ones. It was her friend, Jessica. Amara met her earlier in the semester, so she still didn't know her very well.
"Jessica, quit it!" Amara hissed back. "Sorry!"
"You've been daydreaming all day," Jessica observed, tucking a strand of dark blonde hair behind her ear. "What, you've got a boyfriend or something? What's going on with you?"
Amara put on her poker face. "No. I don't have a boyfriend."
Her friend raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Where did you get those bracelets then?"
"Sorry. Someone gave them to me as a gift. Why do you want to know?"
"Hmm….No reason."
Amara and Jessica walked out of the classroom, side by side. Amara couldn't help the twinge of jealousy as she looked at her friend. Jessica was taller than her. Slightly slimmer, with more pronounced curves. But she expertly pushed the feeling aside. What's the point of being jealous of a friend, anyways? She knew that it would serve no purpose, except to tear them apart. Amara sighed, grateful that they both got through the last class of the day. And, even more grateful that it was a Friday. They both began walking to the parking lot.
"Hey, Amara, do you want to go out tonight?" Jessica asked. "You know, girls' night out?"
Amara sighed. "I can't…." Amara couldn't tell her friend that she wasn't up to seeing any more ghosts. "I'm sorry."
Jessica flew her hand to her mouth in mock surprise, her eyes wide in dramatic horror. "What? It's Friday, for crying out loud! You keep doing this to me, Amara! You're so cruel! It's almost like you don't want me anymore!" With that, Jessica broke down into fake sobs.
Amara rolled her eyes, feeling guilty. She couldn't help it if she didn't like going out…but maybe once wouldn't kill her. Besides, what was the worst that could happen?
"I'm sorry, sorry. Quit the melodramatics, Jessica. Fine. Why don't we go to the movies and dinner? That'll be fun, I guess. I can't stay out too late or my parents would flip."
Jessica smiled. "Alright. That sounds good. I'll pick you up at 6."
Amara nodded grudgingly. Jessica let out a light laugh and continued walking to her car. Amara grinned as she watched Jessica go. Then she stopped at her own car, got inside, and drove off.
Night was quickly approaching. Amara couldn't get past the unsettling feeling that sprang up out of nowhere. It was like something was going to happen, but she couldn't tell what. Amara let out a sigh and began to dress.
"It's probably nothing," she told herself. "Just that old lady getting me worked up. That's all."
When she was finished getting dressed, she looked herself over in the mirror. She was wearing a mid-length black pleated skirt and a form-fitting white button-up short-sleeved shirt that complimented her very well. The Chinese turquoise bracelets were on each arm. She was wearing black knee socks and black flats. She grinned at her reflection. Amara was ever-so-grateful that it was Friday.
An impatient beep sounded outside. Amara ran out and practically jumped into the car, an idiotic grin on her face. Jessica leaned back away from her, surprised.
"What the hell? Are you okay?" she asked. "What's going on? Did you just stuff your neighbor's cat in a dumpster or something?"
Amara laughed. "Sorry. No way. I'm just excited, that's all. Now onward!" she cried. "To the movies!"
Jessica began driving, chatting animatedly about her week. Amara chatted back, just as animated as she was. The traffic of California was not helping much with their speed, so their mundane talk passed the time. They were just passing the library when Amara suddenly felt a strange tug. She stopped talking for a few seconds and looked over at Jessica.
"Hey, Jessica, stop by the library real quick," Amara said, her tone serious.
"What? Why? We're going to the movies to get away from books."
"I'm sorry. Just please do it. It'll only take a minute."
"Fine."
After parking, Jessica and Amara walked into the library. Books surrounded them immediately, organized in a neat manner that barely prevented the feeling of claustrophobia. Computers were perched on the other side of the desk, where a friendly-looking librarian sat. Amara had no idea why she was here in the first place, but that nagging tug came back and led her towards a shelf of books. She began walking, followed by Jessica, until she was stopped and took out the book that she felt so drawn to. It had a red cover and was called the Universe of the Four Gods, translated from Chinese to English.
"Is that what you came to get?" Jessica asked impatiently.
Amara looked the book over, perplexed.
'Why did I want this? I've never seen it before in my life,' she thought to herself. But she shrugged, forcing her thoughts away, and just went over to the counter to check the book out. After that, they continued on their way to the movies and dinner.
When Amara finally made it home, she was exhausted. It was about 11:17 at night, much later than when she intended to come home. After the movie and dinner, Jessica convinced her to go to a karaoke. More like threatened her. Said that she wouldn't take her home, if she didn't. Said that Amara needed to get a life and have some harmless fun. Amara sighed. That was the last time she trust herself to get into a car that wasn't her own. She smiled wryly to herself. But she had to admit, it was fun. Besides seeing the ghosts along the road, watching her with cold, hate-filled eyes, she had a blast.
Amara tossed her library book on the desk next to her and sat down on her bed, not bothering to change out of her clothes. She took a dart from the nightstand and threw it at the target. It hit dead center, but Amara couldn't lighten the oppressing feeling that was in her heart. She grabbed the picture of her deceased mom from the nightstand next to the bed, the small lamp illuminating it with its fluorescent light. Amara sighed and looked down at the picture.
"I'm sorry, Mom," she said, fingering the picture frame carefully. She looked up at the ceiling. "I wish," she whispered into the still air, "I could escape…." She then shrugged, an impish grin on her face. "Hell, a first love wouldn't be so bad, too…." Her smile dimmed, barely remembering the feel of her mother's arms around her as a kid.
Amara closed her eyes, suddenly feeling cold. She sighed and plopped down on her back, the soft mattress bouncing her lightly. The last time she felt any warmth was the night before the fatal crash that took her mom away. Guilt suddenly brewed in her heart. It was her fault her mom died. It was all her fault. Tears brimmed in her eyes and spilled over as she reluctantly fell asleep.
xxxx
The window to the room was open, letting in the warm night air. It brushed aside the curtains, tracing its invisible fingers over Amara's sleeping figure. The book that had been carelessly tossed onto the desk was still in its position: the hard-back cover opened, but not yet turned to the first page. In the wind, the pages fluttered, then shifted forwards to the first page. A bright red light emanated from the book, all of it unnoticed by Amara, who was living in her own dreams.
"Stop following me!" the child version of Amara screamed as she ran through the streets of California, a wild gleam set in her eye.
The ghost behind her did not seem to hear. She continued to follow Amara until Amara crashed into the cement. Amara looked up at the ghost, shaken, the scrapes on the palms of her hands and knees dripping dark droplets of blood. The ghost knelt down to her level and looked at the girl lovingly. She caressed the girl's face, sending a chill down the child's back.
"Amara," the ghost breathed. "I'm sorry."
Recognition dawned on Amara's face. "M-Mom?"
The ghost smiled beautifully. It was the most beautiful smile Amara has seen, the smile that only belonged to her real mother. Her dead mother. The young girl began to cry, and tried to touch her. Her hand went through her mother's soul, and a wisp of coldness enveloped her hand. The tears streamed down her cheeks, harder.
"I'm sorry, Mommy," Amara cried. "I'm so, so sorry."
The ghost leaned over and planted an insubstantial kiss on Amara's forehead.
"You mustn't die, Amara. You must live, no matter what."
Suddenly, her mother's blue aura turned crimson. Her appearance changed before Amara's eyes, the light emitting from her skin forcing the child to squint. The light, as well as an almost unbearable heat, enveloped Amara, and she screamed out in pain, her tears still falling. She couldn't close her eyes, though, for the sight was too beautiful. In the place of her mother was a red phoenix with pale blue, pupil-less eyes. The painful heat diminished until it was an almost comforting warmth. The beautiful creature looked down at her, just before wrapping it's wings around the child, and before Amara knew what was happening, darkness blanketed her soul.