Storm’s Other

Storm was dreaming, but it felt more like a memory than anything else. She found herself observing two girls talking, two girls who couldn't have been more than twelve years old. 

They chatted about mundane things, their voices a soft murmur in the distance. One of the girls seemed familiar, and when the girl turned toward Storm, it struck her like a bolt of lightning: this was her, her younger self.

The other girl looked at her with sparkling eyes and a wide smile, but Storm didn't recognize her, didn't know until later that this particular girl really didn't see her. 

The environment was foreign too, with fresh air and beautiful vegetation that she didn't remember from her childhood. The greenery was lush, vibrant, and seemed almost magical in its perfection.