In her dream, a woman was standing on a beach, wearing a dress. Her feet were buried in hot sand. A little girl with bangs and dark hair was standing next to her, holding her hand. The girl was looking up with worried eyes. Her eyes would meet the woman’s, and they would both turn their heads towards the roaring ocean that left little space for any more sand. The tide was strong and unstable, and the sea was biting more sand with each bite. It left, then came back stronger, more fierce, harsher. Ready to take over every last grain of sand. “Sand is made out of rocks that are attacked by the sea” recalled the woman. She tightened her grip on the girl’s hand. She looked behind them: a tall wall made out of old stones. The wall covered the whole extension of the beach to their left. To their right, the wall continued from the back of the beach to the depths of the ocean. This wall had a window in it. A small window that seemed to be the only way out, somehow. There was no way to know where it lead to. The ocean was roaring and threatening to attack them both – the girl and the woman who were holding hands and now standing on wet sand. They ran towards the window.

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