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Description
It's deja-vu.

When she opens her eyes, the puzzle pieces begin to arrange themselves. "London. The prison. Irish. Explosion. The girl."

She closes her eyes again and the visions flash across the inside of her eyelids like a screen. A small, blonde girl and her mother on the street. Older, a baby boy in her arms, her grandson. The Great War — he takes a bullet — the man behind him lives. A daughter, a grandson. The chain flies by so quickly she can barely follow it.

And then it all slows to a halt — a raven-haired woman. The details are fuzzy, the setting strange and foreign, well into a future she's not aware of. She is the end of a line that starts on this day.

Kaylin opens her eyes, scans the plaza. She can feel the clock. She runs. The house, the door. She approaches, puts her hand on the knob. Her blood pulses with heat and energy.

"Yes." She knows. She opens the door.

"Who are you?" The mother's voice. Kaylin ignores it. Her head is pounding. It's close, so close. The mother yells, only a whisper to her consciousness. She opens the bedroom door.

"Hello, Kaylin." Darus.

The blonde girl stares at the ceiling with wide, blue eyes. She's dead.

Time expires. The world shakes — fire and smoke. Time stutters, stops - the bits of shattered stone and wood of the walls hover like snowflakes.

Darus runs his fingers along the edges of his precisely trimmed goatee. He smiles, fades away into nothingness.

She turns, looks through the blown apart wall into the flames from the bomb outside the prison. "December 13. A failure." She knows. Time begins once more, the flames engulf her.

And she awakens, somewhere else.

Description
It's deja-vu.

When she opens her eyes, the puzzle pieces begin to arrange themselves. "London. The prison. Irish. Explosion. The girl."

She closes her eyes again and the visions flash across the inside of her eyelids like a screen. A small, blonde girl and her mother on the street. Older, a baby boy in her arms, her grandson. The Great War — he takes a bullet — the man behind him lives. A daughter, a grandson. The chain flies by so quickly she can barely follow it.

And then it all slows to a halt — a raven-haired woman. The details are fuzzy, the setting strange and foreign, well into a future she's not aware of. She is the end of a line that starts on this day.

Kaylin opens her eyes, scans the plaza. She can feel the clock. She runs. The house, the door. She approaches, puts her hand on the knob. Her blood pulses with heat and energy.

"Yes." She knows. She opens the door.

"Who are you?" The mother's voice. Kaylin ignores it. Her head is pounding. It's close, so close. The mother yells, only a whisper to her consciousness. She opens the bedroom door.

"Hello, Kaylin." Darus.

The blonde girl stares at the ceiling with wide, blue eyes. She's dead.

Time expires. The world shakes — fire and smoke. Time stutters, stops - the bits of shattered stone and wood of the walls hover like snowflakes.

Darus runs his fingers along the edges of his precisely trimmed goatee. He smiles, fades away into nothingness.

She turns, looks through the blown apart wall into the flames from the bomb outside the prison. "December 13. A failure." She knows. Time begins once more, the flames engulf her.

And she awakens, somewhere else.