She wasn't sure where she was going or why, even what she needed to find. All she knew was that her eyes were open now, the last tendrils of the dream relinquishing their hold on her and retreating into the dark corners of the room. But they were still there.
'It runs in our blood, Meera,' her mother used to say often, so long ago. Prophetic dreams were their bloodline's core thread, connecting m...