Author:
M.J. Swenson has been writing stories since elementary school and earned a B.A. in Creative Writing from the University of St. Thomas, Minnesota. Besides writing and reading, M.J. also enjoys playing music and video games.

The wind ruffled the red and orange leaves of the half-wire trees, and strangers walked on either side of Lysandra, keeping their heads down, never once casting a glance at her. A perfect day for masquerading. If only every day could be as perfect as this one.

Lysandra’s skirts swished around her ankles, and she held them up just slightly with her hands as she ran. She parted the crowds on the street with hardly a motion, and no one even looked up to wonder why she ran when they didn’t. The wind rushed through her long auburn hair, catching it on the breeze just as it caught those leaves on the trees around her, real or not.

The wind did not rush through her hair when she sat in the window back at her father’s house—the screen blocked it. And her father’s servants seemed to think it was unbecoming of her to stare dreamily out the window in the first place.

Rewriting Memory

Lysandra and Cale turned and left Zavier's office. Lysandra felt tense, felt her hands shaking with fear and anger. The problem with Memory Recoding was that you could never truly know what transactions had gone on between Recoder and patient, because each had their own memories and ideas. How could Zavier know what was inside her head? How could either of them know she wasn't lying about her memories? How could anyone know what was false and what wasn't?


The room two doors down was small with close brick walls. A chair sat in the center, hooked up to all sorts of wires and electrical equipment. Lysandra eased into the chair, while Cale leaned on the wall in the corner and crossed his arms.


Zavier pushed through the door minutes later, one end of a wired Electrode attached to his ear, the other end pinched between his fingers. He handed that end to Lysandra.


Chapter 17