"Marissa, what's wrong? What's going on?" Her mother looked frantic, as if Marissa might blow up or breakdown at any moment. As if she had done so before.

"I-" Marissa fumbled with her hairbrush for a second, grappling to make sense of her surroundings. It had all been so real; the urge to fight or to run was still so strong.

But when she looked up at her mother's face, she saw two visions: she saw a woman she didn't know - Abigail Townsend, New York artist in residence - who was quite beautiful; tall with long curly black hair and almond eyes. And, she saw her mother - whose almond eyes were filled with tears and uncertainty, her face a mask of concern. There was a large purple bruise on her arm. She was staring at Marissa in a state of shock, just like Marissa was staring back at her.

She looks broken, Marissa thought. Her stomach twisted in knots, and the thoughts of what had happened floated to the back of her mind. She hadn't gotten into a fight with her mother since she was little, and the guilt of it tugged at her heartstrings.

"I made a mistake," Marissa said haltingly in an effort to explain. She strove to keep her voice soft and tender and in a tone far removed from the harshness she felt. Her tongue felt numb and a bit strange. "If I'd known you were still home..." she trailed off. She had just noticed the bruise on her mother's arm, or recognized it was there.

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"Marissa?"

Marissa blinked and lifted her head to look back at her mother, disoriented. Marissa's eyes were watery and her head was starting to pound. "I..." Marissa continued. She was looking at the bruise again, vision swimming, her words echoing in her head, trying to think if the bruise looked bad to her.

"Marissa? There was a boy. He looked like he walked out of the forest. He had a white cloak" her mother started to babble. "Like... well, like a long white cloak. It was almost kind of strange. He was just standing here. Here, in this bathroom. Standing next to you."

"Oh.." Marissa said, before her brain caught up with the words. "Oh, crap. Mom, there was no boy. No one was home but me. Have you been taking your medication?"

"I..." her mother looked sheepish and confused.

"Sorry, mom. I have to go, uh, deal with something. Don't let anyone in the house." She was relieved to find her voice sounding more assertive. She dashed out of the bathroom and disappeared down the hall of their tiny New York penthouse, her whole body starting to tremble. In her mind had bloomed a terrible image, one of a prince wearing white. He was standing over her, and he was laughing as the blood cascaded down her face like heavy tears.