KeLani Pov
Ever since I was swallowed by the darkness wolves, something inside me has changed. It's like there's a new feeling in my body—strange but also familiar, like something I knew in my past life. When I sleep, I dream of memories that don't belong to me but somehow do—memories of power and danger, of life cycles repeating and ending in fire.
At first, I thought I was sick. There's a taste in my mouth sometimes—bitter and sharp, like poison and venom mixed together. I didn't tell Mama because I didn't want her to worry. She has enough to worry about already.
Every time Mama leaves me alone in the room, which isn't very often, I sit on the floor pretending to play with my toys. But I'm not really playing. I'm trying to understand this new feeling inside me, trying to see if I can make it come out.
It took weeks of secret practice, but I finally figured it out. These strange sensations are my powers—something I never knew I had before. When I concentrate really hard and imagine the bitter taste spreading down to my hands, a smoke appears around my fingers—black and purple and pink, swirling together like angry storm clouds.
The first time it happened, I got scared and tried to shake it off. But the smoke—it's not really smoke, it's more like venom and poison mixed together—just clung to my skin, not hurting me but promising to hurt others.
I know what it is now. It's a weapon, something to protect Mama with. Something that could kill anyone who tries to hurt us.
I'm careful to keep it secret from Mama. She has enough to worry about, and I don't think she'd understand that this is from my past life—that I've carried this through death and rebirth to protect her this time. Sometimes the poison leaks from me while I'm sleeping, little wisps of purple-black smoke that curl around my pillow. I've been practicing making mama immune to it, making sure it can't hurt me or Mama by accident.
Mama's different now, too. She wakes up with expressions I don't understand. Sometimes she looks sad, sometimes angry, and sometimes there's a strange hope in her eyes that disappears as soon as she notices me watching.
She talks to herself when she thinks I can't hear, whispers names like "Kai" and "Kaison" and questions herself about what's real and what isn't. I wish I could help her remember, but I don't know how. The book doesn't say anything about a man named Kai or Kaison—only about the hospital and the darkness and the cycle of death that follows her and her past lifes.
Mama is trying to trust her family, I can tell. She gives them small pieces of herself—brief conversations at dinner times, but still not letting them to touch her , listening when her twin sister speaks. But it's not real trust. Not with her past, not with her secrets, and definitely not with me.
She keeps the silence barrier up around this room all the time. The darkness wolves guard the door constantly, their glowing eyes watchful. Sometimes I think they can sense my new powers, the way they tilt their shadowy heads when I practice, but they never tell Mama. Maybe they understand it's to protect her.
Mama tries so hard to make being hidden fun for me. She brings me new books and toys, plays imagination games where we pretend the room is a spaceship or a castle or an underwater cave. She paints pictures with me and tells me stories about good things from her childhood—simple things like climbing trees or watching fireflies in the mansion's garden.
But I know she feels bad about keeping me locked away. I hear her apologize sometimes when she thinks I'm sleeping: "I'm sorry you have to live like this, treasure. Someday it will be different."
At night, she sneaks food from the kitchen—cookies and fruit and little sandwiches—smuggling them up to me like treasures. She calls them our "midnight feast" and makes it seem like a special game, not the necessity it really is.
Some days, Mama stays in the room with me all day, not leaving even once. On those days, there are always knocks on the door—usually from the same two women. One voice sounds exactly like Mama's (that must be her twin sister), and the other is softer, more musical (I think that's her mother). They sound worried when Mama doesn't come out.
"Amiriah?" they call through the door. "Are you alright in there? You haven't eaten anything today."
Mama always goes to speak to them then, slipping out the door so quickly I can barely see the hallway beyond. I press my ear to the door to listen.
"I'm fine," she always says. "Just tired. I need some time alone."
But she's not alone—she's with me. And I'm the secret she's keeping from them, the daughter no one is allowed to know about.
I asked her once why her family couldn't know about me.
"Are they bad people?" I wondered.
Mama looked sad when she answered. "No, treasure. They're not bad people. But they sent me to a bad place once, and I need to be sure they'd never do that to you."
I understand more than she thinks. I remember things from before—from my past life and hers. I saw how in the book how she was in the hospital and the bad men who hurt her. I remember the fire. I remember dying with her, only to be born again over and over but the stories so different each time but she'd always suffer.
And I remember what the book says—that Mama always dies in S City. That's why I'm practicing with my poison powers. This time will be different. This time, I'll protect her.
Yesterday, when Mama was taking a shower, I practiced making the poison smoke form shapes—little daggers of venom that could strike someone from a distance. I'm not very good at controlling it yet, but I'm learning. The smoke listens to me better each time I try.
I wish I could tell Mama about my powers, but I'm afraid she'd be scared. Afraid of what the powers would do to me.Maybe she'd even think its to dangerous for me, like the people at the hospital thought she was dangerous.
So I keep my secret, just like she keeps secret from me. We both have things we're hiding.
But I've decided something important: if the bad people or even her family put Mama in danger or try to hurt her I'll be ready. I'll use my poison smoke. And if anyone tries to take her away...
Well, I've been practicing for that too.
Sometimes at night, when the poison leaks from me while I'm sleeping, I dream of a people sometimes hurting Mama, and I kill them with my poison. But sometimes—and these dreams are strangers — protecting her, protecting us both.
I don't know which dream is true. But I'll be ready either way.
Because this time, in this life, I won't let Mama die in S City. Not again. Not ever.