To be immortal is to have many, many memories. It was getting hard for Vida to tell the difference anymore. She looked in the mirror as she applied dark, red lipstick, and she fixed her pink, curly hair. There was a red velvet dress on the chair next to her. “Gosh, it looks just like that dress I wore in Paris,” she muttered to herself. Was that Paris? Or London? Was that in 1889 or 2002? And, as an added layer, Vida could see the future. Maybe it hadn’t even happened yet. Maybe it was some distant planet far, far in the future.

“Mm… yes, Paris,” she told herself.