Chapter 10
The Past Life Awakens
I see myself as another person in a different era, standing in a candlelit room with Marie Leveau, my heart pounding with recognition.
The darkness behind my eyelids did not lift so much as peel away, like the skin of a fruit too long in the sun. I felt myself falling, but falling upward, if such a thing can be imagined—a slow, weightless descent into light. The light was not white. It was amber, the color of old honey, of candle flames reflected in glass, of memories too long buried to be trusted.
And then I was standing.
The transition was so abrupt, so complete, that I forgot I had ever been anywhere else. The cool leather of the hypnotist's chair, the sound of his voice counting backward, the faint scent of lavender from the sachet he kept on his desk—all of it dissolved like morning mist. In its place rose a room I had never seen, yet knew with the intimacy of a childhood bedroom.
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