Early this morning, my little girl came into my room and squeezed into bed with me. She was sobbing away as she told me about a bad dream she just had. It was pretty scary for a nine-year-old girl as she witnessed her siblings getting eaten up by snakes at the beach before an unknown man killed her.
In my sleepy state, I cuddled her, and told her it was just a dream and that everyone was alright.
A moment later, I was storming through the double doors of a huge mansion where a man in white button-up shirt and blue jeans was sitting cross-legged on the couch, reading the newspapers.
“How could you put her through all that?” I seemed to have roared at him.
The man casually folded the newspapers and straightened his sitting position to place the papers on the coffee table in front of him. He then took the cup of tea I hadn’t noticed was there and drank from it before placing it back on the table next to the papers. His actions were all very relaxed without a tiny bit of care in the world.
I continued to glare at him and waited impatiently for him to explain himself.
He had a brow raised when he finally stood up, towering over me by a good head-and-a-half.
“It’s not like it had never happened before,” he said, his expression stoic. “We all need the reminder.”
“She’s only nine!” I practically screamed. I could feel my nails digging into my palms as I clenched my fists.
He looked at me as nonchalantly as before. “It’s better for her to see it for herself before she hears about it from someone else.”
“She doesn’t even have to know about it! It’s got nothing to do with her life right now,” I countered.
“Sometimes we need to face our past fears,” he shrugged. “Being my sister doesn’t mean you’ll be spared from nightmares of your past life. And neither will your children.”
I woke up wondering how I had become Phobetor’s reincarnated sister.