The Grandmother’s Secret
The golden light was warm.
It wrapped around Mira like a blanket, like a memory, like a dream she had forgotten she had dreamed. The old woman stood before her, her silver eyes bright, her white hair floating in a wind that did not exist. Her dress of gray silk shimmered with every breath, as if it were made of liquid shadow.
She was beautiful.
She was terrible.
She was Mira’s grandmother.
“You’re the first dreamer,” Mira said.
The old woman nodded.
“I am the first. The one who heard the signal. The one who followed it. The one who opened the door.”
“Why?”
She stepped closer.
Her bare feet made no sound.
“Because I was lonely. Because I was afraid. Because I wanted to be loved.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
Her silver eyes dimmed.
“No. I found only hunger. Only darkness. Only silence.”
Mira looked at the light.
At the golden warmth.
At the pulsing heart.
“The signal is not a message. It’s a door.”
“The signal is a door. A door between the living and the dead. A door between the waking and the dreaming. A door between the worlds.”
“What’s on the other side?”
The old woman was silent for a long moment.
“Everything. Nothing. The end. The beginning.”
Mira stepped closer.
“You’ve been waiting for me. For a thousand years.”
The old woman nodded.
“Waiting for someone to finish what I started.”
“Finish what?”
She took Mira’s hands.
Her skin was cold.
“Close the door.”
“How?”
She looked at the light.
At the golden warmth.
At the pulsing heart.
“You become the door.”
Mira’s blood went cold.
“Become the door?”
“The door needs a heart. A living heart. A heart that beats with the song. The first dreamer gave her heart. The second dreamer gave her heart. Now you must give yours.”
“That will kill me.”
The old woman nodded.
“Yes.”
“You’re asking me to die.”
“I’m asking you to live. Forever. In the door. In the song. In the hearts of the sleepers.”
Mira pulled her hands away.
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“I have a life. A career. A future.”
“The door is your life. The song is your career. The sleepers are your future.”
“That’s what the first dreamer said.”
“Because it’s true.”
Mira walked to the heart.
It was warm.
“How long will it last?”
The old woman stood beside her.
“Forever.”
“Nothing lasts forever.”
She smiled.
It was a real smile, warm and bright and full of love.
“Love does.”
Mira placed her hand on the heart.
The light blazed.
The ship shuddered.
The song pulsed.
“I’m ready,” she whispered.
The old woman took her other hand.
“Then become the heart.”