“Mom, I had a dream. No, it was more like I remembered something that my subconscious had tried to bury. And there is no use in denying it.” My tea cup and its tiny porcelain saucer rattled with nerves. 

“What was the dream, Ash?” My mother suddenly got serious, her voice lowering an octave. She clasped and squeezed her hands until they were white.

“I know that you lied about... Dad’s... death.” I stuttered; it was more difficult than I had imagined—to go against my mother, who was the world to me. “And you have to know that, that really hurt me.” I looked down at my hands as I twiddled my thumbs. I could feel the muscles in my throat start to tense. 

My mother just sat there wide-eyed. “Ash, you can’t possibly believe in a random dream you had one time. And believe in it before you even came and talked with me.” My mother was practically shouting. 

“It wasn’t even really a dream; it was more like a vision. It was so lucid and surreal.” I tried to explain.

“Ash, you have never been a seer.” She was starting to get mad.

“You never know, you could’ve passed it down or something.” I joked, chuckling. I have always had a problem with using comedic relief at the worst of times. My mother just squinted at me as if she were trying to figure me out.

“But I didn’t.” My mother’s voice became soft, realizing that I wasn’t going to let up. “Fine, yes, I did lie, but it was just to protect you, Ashlem.” My mother pleaded. I shot up from my chair in anger.

“What do you mean, ‘to protect you’? You mean protect me from my own father?” I shouted, making fists with my hands.

“Ashlem, you have to understand, he was a horrible man. And he betrayed both of us; I mean, you would have had to have seen that in your dream.” My mother drooped her head into her open hands. 

“Yeah, I did; I also dreamed where you forbade him to ever come back. I was two years old, mother, and you should’ve waited until I was at least old enough to make my own decisions.” I sat back down, sitting eye-to-eye with my mother.

“Ash, that would’ve taken too long; I didn’t want him near you. I was scared.” My mother looked up through watery eyes.

“You were scared of my own father?” I leaned forward, trying to search for any plausible answer.

“Yes, I was.” My mother replied after deliberating for a moment.

“Why?” I asked instantaneously. She didn’t answer me; she just stared into my eyes, as if she were pleading—not for herself but for me. “I deserve to know the truth, so I will ask again. Why?” 

My mother squeezed her eyes shut and answered, “Because he was a dragon.” 

I stood and walked up the stairs to my room wordlessly. My mother pleaded and shouted for me, but I didn’t hear, for every one of my senses was blurry.

The walls that were built with my morals, my opinions, my facts. My friends and my limited years of wisdom. With my mother and Margarey. My now broken-glass memories. 

The walls crashed down over me.

And I was suffocated.