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Diana eventually is, for all intents and purposes, the five-year-old daughter of a witch. She starts thinking of herself as Brigid, and of the witch as Mother. And though her fake memories of her life as Diana do not disappear, they fade a bit, and she doesn't think about them anymore. One morning, she wakes up in her green room, feeling better-rested than she has since the accident in the potion room that gave her those strange memories. She starts to realize something, though... The room looks different. Some furniture has been rearranged, some is missing, some she has never seen before. She is quite sure the mattress on which she lies is a newer one than the one she's used to. And when she swings her legs out from under the covers and rests her feet on the floor, she finds that the floor is much closer than usual... Panicking a bit, she rushes to the same mirror that once told her that she was, in fact, five, and not in her early twenties. Right now, that selfsame mirror tells her that she's grown up just a bit more. Her terrible scream echoes through the entire castle, and when her mother comes to her doorway not long after, she finds the girl standing in front of a broken mirror with cut-up hands. "Brigid!" Mother cries, and rushes to her. "What happened?" Brigid wraps her arms around her mother, who is now only a bit taller than she, and starts sobbing into her shoulder. "Mummy, I don't understand what's happening," she manages after several minutes of tears. "What do you mean?" her mother asks, alarmed. "What don't you understand?" "How old am I?" Brigid asks miserably. Mother blinks. "You're fifteen, darling. What's wrong? Are you ill?" "But... but I thought I was being good, I was getting better. I can remember stuff and I know what's real, only this can't be, only it is, and Mummy I don't get it, I'm not fifteen, I'm five." The words tumble from her mouth and she's back to pathetic blubbering by the end. "Oh no..." she hears Mother murmur. "After all this time, it's affecting you again?" A pause. Then, uncertainly, "Do you know your name?" "Brigid," the girl sniffles. "Yes," Mother says, relieved. "Honey, do you not remember anything since you were five?" "I am five," Brigid insists. "Your memory is failing you again, sweetheart. You've been living perfectly happily, growing up normally, since you were five. You're not five anymore, you're a teenager." Brigid keeps crying, though a little more quietly now. "Brigid, I promise I'm going to help you through this. It will all be okay." After calming herself a little bit, Brigid asks,
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11/15/2013 3:59:06 PM
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