The ground beneath Amara's feet wasn't ground at all—it pulsed like the skin of a living creature, soft and warm, beating with a slow rhythm. The sky above was violet and shifting, with stars that blinked like eyes. This was the Dream Vale: a plane created by forgotten gods, layered with memory, shadow, and magic.
Elara appeared beside her, disoriented but composed. Her hand reached for Amara's, firm and steady.
"Is this… your mind?" Elara asked, eyes scanning the strange, ever-changing horizon.
Amara shook her head. "No. It's hers. Or ours. I can't tell anymore."
They walked forward, through a forest made of glass trees. Each leaf chimed like a bell in the breeze, though no wind could be felt. Faces appeared in the bark—faces from Amara's past. Her mother. Her old mentor. A boy she once kissed under a bridge. All staring with hollow eyes.
"She's using your memories," Elara whispered.
"No. She is my memories," Amara replied, her voice trembling. "The ones I tried to forget. The ones I buried when I stopped being that girl."
A voice slithered through the trees.
"You buried me alive."
They turned.
There, standing between two glowing stones, was the echo.
She wore Amara's face, but it was sharper, crueler—eyes like shards of moonlight, mouth pulled in a taunting grin.
"I was the girl who laughed too loud," she said. "The girl who danced under blood moons and kissed witches. You hated her. You killed her."
Amara stepped forward. "I grew up. I changed. I became something better."
The echo laughed. "You became something smaller. A teacher. A rule-follower. You gave up everything wild and beautiful to fit in their world."
Elara stepped in front of Amara. "She became powerful. Respected. Loved."
The echo's expression darkened. "Did she tell you she begged the witch to make her desirable? To make her beautiful? That her pregnancy wasn't a curse—but a gift she traded for power?"
Amara's chest tightened. "Stop."
The echo stepped closer. "Did she tell you she liked it?"
Amara screamed, and the Vale shook violently.
The echo halted. Smiled wider.
"There you are," she purred. "The real you."
Nyla's voice echoed through the dream, distant but powerful: "You must claim her, Amara. Name her. Control her. Or she will become you."
Elara squeezed Amara's hand. "You can do this."
Amara stepped forward, trembling. "You're right. I did beg. I did sleep with the witch. I wanted more. I wanted to be seen. I made mistakes."
The echo blinked, expression faltering.
"But I chose to grow. I chose to teach, to protect, to heal. You are a part of me—but I do not belong to you."
The echo's form flickered.
"You're not real," Amara said. "You're the girl I used to be. The broken, hungry version. But I've outgrown you."
The dream around them shook again. The forest began to fade. The stars went out one by one.
The echo screamed—not in anger, but in fear—as cracks appeared in her body. Light spilled through.
"You can't erase me!" she wailed.
"I'm not erasing you," Amara said. "I'm accepting you. And letting you go."
She stepped forward and embraced her echo.
The moment their bodies touched, the echo shattered into golden dust, dissolving into Amara's skin.
The Vale crumbled.
Darkness swallowed them.
When Amara opened her eyes again, she was back in her room.
Elara was beside her, breathing heavily.
Nyla was chanting a closing spell, sweat dripping from her brow.
"It's done," Nyla whispered.
Amara sat up, heart pounding.
And for the first time in years, she felt whole.
Not haunted.
Not cursed.
Just… human.