I jerked awake, tears pooled in the corners of my eyes.

"That's not very good energy," A deep female voice remarks. I wipe away the tears and sit up. A very tall woman with curly black hair wearing a purple paisley bathrobe and tall high heels stands in the doorway, her head nearly touching the doorframe. Her face is caked with makeup and several beads and crystals swing from her long neck.

"Are you that Gemini Violette's dating?" She looks me up and down and holds out her long-nailed hands.

"You escaped death at a young age in your past life," She has very sad eyes. She walks over to Violette's bed and cups my face, her long purple nails cool against my damp skin.

"He still dwells by the lake, you know. After you and your husband escaped from his wrath, he crawled next to the lake and looked up to the stars. There he died and was buried by sands of neglect." I don't like her sad, luminous eyes or her piercing gaze.

"Wha... when was that?" I don't even know why I'm asking this; I'm still reeling from my dream.

"Oh, 1972. Before my time." She shrugs and leaves the room. I'm left in the dark, in utter confusion and horror.

Violette reenters the room, carrying a mug of tea and two aspirins.

"My mother always used to give me a cup of tea and two aspirins whenever I had bad dreams," Violette says as she hands me the mug and the pills.

"That doesn't sound very safe," I look down at the pills, "you shouldn't take aspirins unless you're in real pain," Violette casts her eyes down to her pale blue carpet and sits on the edge of my bed.

"Yeah, that was my mom for you," She smiles a little sadly, "she was sort of a hippie. Her hair went down to her ass. She never really got over having to shave it. But she was always telling me to, like, follow my dreams and go with my feelings. She originally wanted to name me Holly, after hollyhock. They were her favorite flower. But my dad wanted to name Rosa, after his grandmother. They agreed to name me after a flower, and my mother found Violette, which is the French word for Violet," Tears coat her eyes like glaze on a donut. And I realize she still misses her.

"Looks like your dad's got a thing for hippies," I smirk, and she giggles, "I kinda have a cute story about my name too. So you know the MFA in Boston, right?" She nods.

"Anyways, so my mom went to this snooty all-girl's school and my dad went to some trashy private school. So they were both on a field trip at the MFA, and my mom got lost in the Colonial Art section. My dad snuck away from his group with some of his friends, and she was standing in front of the portrait of Alexander Hamilton, tears just running down her face."

"Your mother doesn't seem like the crying type," Violette interrupts the story.

"She may look tough, but it's all an act." She raises a skeptical eyebrow and smirks.

"Okay,"

"Anyways, one thing led to another and he got her number, and they kinda had me. I was supposed to have a little sister, but there was this accident," Violette places her hand on mine. "I'm so sorry," My drowning dream feels just like that - a dream.

As we sleep that peaceful Saturday, something happens. My phone, which is plugged into Violette' Macbook to charge, is just a vessel for the awakening conscience inside. Audrey - whose mind is just energy - surges through the charger into Violette's Macbook. I never could have began to fathom what was going on.