She remembers the giant fighting machines they called Evas, the fights, the trauma, the anxiety, the nightmares she still occasionally has. The visions and feeling of being torn limb from limb which still wakes her up some nights. Her mother. Her father.

She remembers a pale boy with strange crimson eyes. It’s been almost twenty years now and she reflects that her life has moved far too quickly. More quickly then she wanted it to, at any rate. There was supposed to be fame and glory some inner voice whispers to her. She brushes the feeling away and she imagines she can see the last shreds of childhood dreams and fears being torn away by the breeze.

She remembers the boy with gray hair. The one who held her hand and brought her horrible tea and stayed with her through sleepless nights. The one she taught to play video games, who never did grasp the idea of fashion or human emotion. The violin duets (she still plays), the arguments, the threats. The small touches and looks. She remembers all of it. Finally the tears come again. So much gone and so much gained.

She thinks she would trade it all for one more chance at the life she could have had.