Arianne knew she was dreaming. Yet she could do nothing but watch the scenes unfold before her. These nightmares had persisted for years, resurfacing most often around the anniversary of her mother's death.
She watched a younger version of herself standing outside her parents' bedroom. She was eight and had just returned from her piano lesson. She had never liked it, though her mother insisted she continue.
"Mommy?" the young Arianne called through the closed door.
Faint crying came from the other side.
The scene shifted.
Now she watched herself years later, hiding behind a door late at night while her parents argued inside the bedroom. The words were sharp, overlapping. Tears ran down the young girl's face.
The door swung open without warning. Her father stepped out, knocking the child backward onto the floor. He paused, looked down at her, and clicked his tongue in disapproval before walking away.
