Olivia shook her head, her small fists clenched at her sides. "No, Oriana, I do not want to give up on my dreams. They tell me things… true things."
Oriana blinked, confused, her brows knitting together. "But dreams are not real, Oli. Mama says they're just our imagination. And yours, make you cry. Do you not want to sleep soundly like us?"
"I do. But I am not ready to give up what is mine in exchange. What if i forgot them?," Olivia insisted quietly, her voice trembling with conviction. "I see things before they happen. I see people I have never met. It's not just sleeping. It's... it's something else."
Before Oriana could respond, a soft rustle of skirts approached. Their mother appeared, her face pale and drawn, lips pressed into a thin line. She knelt before Olivia, her hands gently cupping the girl's face.
"Sweetheart," she whispered, brushing tangled hair from Olivia's brow. "The healer is waiting. She will help you. You don't have to carry this alone."
