The city was bright and full of life. I was walking down the sidewalk, and I could feel the weight of my laptop bag on my shoulder. Everything felt so normal. I could hear the cars passing by and smell the fresh coffee from the shop on the corner. It was a beautiful afternoon in my own time.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw Mia's face on the screen. She was calling me.
"Hey! Are you done with work yet?" Mia asked. She was sitting in her living room with a bowl of popcorn. "I have the pillows ready on the couch. The historical drama is paused. Don't you dare be late!"
I laughed, feeling happy. "I'm leaving the office now, Mia. I just need to stop by my parents' house for a minute to give my dad some papers. I'll be at your place in twenty minutes."
"Okay! Tell your mom I said hi! See you soon!"
I put my phone away and turned the corner. I could see my house at the end of the street. My mom was outside in the garden, watering her roses. She looked up and waved at me with a big, warm smile.
"Mary Ann! You're just in time for some tea!" she called out to me.
"I can't stay long, Mom!" I shouted back. "Mia is waiting for me!"
I stepped off the sidewalk to cross the street.
But suddenly, I heard a loud, screaming sound of tires. I turned my head and saw two huge, blinding white lights coming straight at me. There was a loud thud, a sudden sharp pain, and then I felt like I was flying through the air. Everything went pitch black.
Suddenly, I was standing in a gray, rainy field.
It was a cemetery. I saw a small group of people standing around a fresh hole in the ground.
My parents were there. They looked so old and broken. My mom was crying into a handkerchief, and my dad was holding her shoulders, his face full of pain. Mia was standing next to them. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying so much. She was clutching a bouquet of white flowers. They were all looking down at a wooden casket being lowered into the dark dirt.
"Mom? Dad? Mia?" I ran toward them. I tried to grab my dad's arm to show him I was okay.
"I'm right here! Stop crying! It was just an accident, but I'm fine!"
But my hand went right through his arm like I was made of mist. I tried to push them, but I couldn't touch anything. I screamed as loud as I could, but no one turned around. Mia just stared at the grave, a single tear falling down her cheek.
"Look at me! Please!" I shrieked. My voice was breaking. "I'M NOT DEAD! I'M RIGHT HERE! DON'T BURY ME!"
I sat up fast, gasping for air as if I had been underwater.
My heart was thumping so hard against my ribs that it hurt. I was covered in cold, sticky sweat. I looked at my hands in the dark room, touching my arms and my face. "I'm solid. I'm real," I whispered.
I looked around. I saw the old wooden beams of the ceiling and smelled the dry straw under me. The silver moonlight was shining through the tiny window.
"It was just a dream," I said, trying to calm down. "Just a nightmare."
Beside me, Manya and Dasha were sleeping quietly. I stayed there for a long time, my mind racing. Was I really dead in my own time? Was that dream a vision of what happened after the light hit me in the museum? Am I just a ghost haunting the 1800s?
The room felt too small and hot. I couldn't catch my breath. I needed a drink of water to wake myself up.
I got out of bed very slowly. The stone floor was freezing on my bare feet. I walked down the dark hallway, my head spinning. How do I go back? Can I even go back to a life that is already gone?
I entered the kitchen. It was dark, with only a tiny orange glow from the dying fire. I walked toward the water barrel, but I froze.
Sitting at the long wooden table was Mikhail.
He was sitting perfectly still, staring at the door as if he knew I was coming. His dark eyes locked onto mine, and I felt a wave of pure terror.
"I... I just came to get some water," I said. My voice was small and shaking.
I tried to walk past him as fast as I could, but he suddenly stood up. He was so tall, and his shadow stretched across the wall like a giant.
"Wait," he said. His voice was deep and cold.
I stopped. I felt a chill run down my spine. I slowly turned to look at him. "Yes?" I asked, my knees trembling.
Mikhail took a slow step toward me. His eyes were like sharp knives.
"I know you are not from any town around here," he said quietly. "I saw those strange blue clothes you wore. I saw the way you looked at a simple fire like you had never seen one before. You move different. You talk different. You don't belong here."
He stepped even closer, his shadow covering me. "I don't know why you are in our house, Mary Ann. But this home is for children who have nothing else. It is a safe place."
He leaned down, his face close to mine. "If you do anything—even one small mistake—that brings danger to this house or makes these children suffer, you will answer to me."
His eyes were cold and serious. "Don't bring your trouble here. If you are a danger to the children, I will throw you out into the snow myself. Do you understand?"
I was so scared I couldn't even speak. I just stood there, unable to breathe.
"Sestra? Mikhail?"
A soft, sleepy voice came from the dark doorway. We both snapped our heads toward it. It was Dasha. She was rubbing her eyes with her small hands. "What are you doing? Is it time for breakfast?"
The scary look on Mikhail's face vanished instantly. He straightened up and walked over to Dasha. He put his large, rough hand gently on top of her head.
"Go back to bed, Dasha," he said softly. His voice was kind and warm now. "It's not morning yet. I was just leaving."
Dasha nodded sleepily. Mikhail looked back at me one last time—it was a silent warning—and then he walked out of the kitchen.
I fell to my knees on the cold floor. I started to cry because I was so scared and so relieved at the same time. Dasha walked over to me, looking worried. "Sestra? Why are you on the floor? Why are you crying?"
I looked at her. I remembered what Manya told me—how this little girl was sold and hurt before she came here. I didn't care about the future or the past right then. I just needed to feel something human.
I pulled Dasha into a big, tight hug.
"Sestra? Why are you hugging me so hard? You're squeezing me!" she said, her voice muffled against my shoulder.
I hugged her even tighter, feeling her heart beating against mine. "Nothing, Dasha," I whispered, my voice thick with tears. "I just... I just really need a hug right now."
Dasha didn't ask again. She put her small, thin arms around my neck and held me back.
Dasha's small hand reached up and wiped a stray tear from my cheek. "Don't cry, Sestra," she whispered, her voice still thick with sleep. "Mikhail is just loud. He's like a big bear, but he doesn't bite the family."
I let out a shaky breath and stood up, still holding her hand. My knees felt weak, but the warmth of her fingers kept me grounded. "I know, Dasha. I was just... I had a bad dream. Come on, let's go back to the room before Manya wakes up and wonders where we are."
We walked slowly through the dark, cold hallway. The stone walls felt less like a prison and more like a shell protecting us from the storm outside.
"What was your dream about?" Dasha asked as we walked. "Was it about a monster?"
I looked down at her. How could I explain a car crash or a cemetery to a child from the 1800s? "Something like that," I said quietly.
"It was a dream about being lost. About being somewhere where the people I love couldn't see me."
Dasha squeezed my hand. "But we see you! I see you, Manya sees you, and even the Eldress sees you. You aren't lost anymore, Sestra Mary Ann. You're right here."
Her simple words hit me harder, "You're right, Dasha," I whispered," Do you... do you ever have bad dreams, Dasha?"
Dasha stopped walking for a second. Her small face looked serious in the shadows. "Sometimes," she whispered. "I dream about the dark house before I came here. I dream about the loud voices and the hitting. I dream that the Eldress forgets me and I have to go back."
My heart squeezed with pain for her. "And what do you do when that happens?"
"I find Manya," Dasha said, starting to walk again. "Or I think about the porridge in the morning. Even if it tastes like sawdust, it means I'm still here. Manya says that if you are still breathing, the dream didn't win."
"Manya is very wise," I said, feeling a lump in my throat.
"You're wise too, Sestra Mary Ann," Dasha squeezed my hand.
We reached the door to our room and crept back inside. Manya hadn't moved; she was still tucked under the thin blanket, her face peaceful in the moonlight. Dasha climbed back into the middle of the straw bed, patting the spot next to her for me to lie down.
As I settled under the scratchy wool cover, the images of the funeral and the car lights tried to creep back into my mind. I felt the familiar panic rising in my chest.
Then, I remembered.
Back home, whenever I had a nightmare as a little girl, my mother would sit on the edge of my bed. She would brush the hair out of my eyes and whisper that the stars were watching over me.
I looked at Dasha, who was already starting to drift off again. I reached out and gently smoothed her messy hair. I leaned over and gave her a soft kiss on her forehead, just like my mom used to do.
"Sweet dreams, Dasha," I whispered. "No more bad dreams tonight."
Dasha's eyes fluttered open for a second. A huge, sleepy smile spread across her face—a look of pure, unfiltered happiness. She had probably never had someone kiss her forehead goodnight before.
"What was that?" she whispered, her voice tiny and sweet.
"It's a forehead kiss," I explained softly. "It's a way to keep the bad dreams away and tell your heart that you are loved."
Dasha's smile grew even wider. "I like that. Can you do it every night?"
"Every night," I promised.
Then, to my surprise, Dasha didn't just close her eyes. She pushed herself up on her small elbows, her face serious. She reached out with her tiny, cold hands and framed my face, pulling me down toward her.
With a soft mwah sound, she pressed her lips against my forehead.
"Now your bad dreams will go away too, Sestra," she whispered. "I'm giving the magic back to you. So the bad monster didn't go back"
I felt a tear finally slip down my cheek, but this time, it wasn't from fear. It was because this little girl, who had every reason to be cold and bitter after what she had suffered, was trying to protect me.
"Thank you, Dasha," I whispered, pulling her into my arms. "I think the magic worked. I feel much better."
Dasha let out a long, happy sigh. She laid her head back down on the straw pillow and grabbed my arm, hugging it tightly against her chest like it was her favorite toy. "Sweet dreams, Sestra," she mumbled, her voice already trailing off into sleep.
She didn't let go. As her breathing slowed and she fell into a deep sleep, the heaviness in my heart finally started to lift. I wasn't in my world anymore, and maybe I really was dead to them.
But here, in this cold room on a bed of straw, someone was holding onto me like I was the most important thing in the world.
For the first time that night, I closed my eyes and didn't see the cemetery or the car lights. I only felt the small, warm hand of a girl who finally felt safe—and who made me feel safe, too.