Keira recalls a non-specific memory of her and Abby at a park. They hug and smile and laugh like best friends who just so happen to be related. 

Keira, In Narration: 

Most people have companions as children. An advisor, friend, and keeper of secrets that only they can see.

Adults write them off as imaginary, but they’re real. Irene and I can see them. As can the child each is bonded with.

An even smaller Irene hovers behind Keira, and standing next to Abby is her own spirit companion. The figure is about half of the six-year-old’s height, with large fully black eyes, an earthy complexion and long dark hair held back from her face by a large violet.

Keira, In Narration: 

But eventually, children grow up. And the spirit fades away, forgotten. Like it never existed in the first place.

Abby’s companion is consumed in shadow, the flower slowly falling to the ground as it decays.