CELESTE'S POV
Ever since Sera and Kieran defeated Catherine, I’d been plagued by dreams.
I was pretty sure they were suppressed memories, but the Celeste in those dreams was so different from the Celeste I knew that it was easier to pretend they were figments of an overactive imagination than a version of myself my godmother had stolen.
One dream, in particular, always wrecked me so thoroughly that I woke up with tears in my eyes and a weight pressing down on my chest.
It started with me in a closet. I never knew what had scared me, but I knew that four-year-old Celeste was terrified.
I was clutching a stuffed animal—some days a giraffe, others an elephant, one time a wolf eerily similar to Daniel's.
Then the door opened, letting in a sliver of light for a split second before my sister slipped in.
“There you are,” she whispered. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
I sniffed. “It’s scary out there.”
