Chapter 4

As I stepped out of the cramped motel bathroom, the harsh fluorescent light flickered above me, casting sharp shadows on the faded wallpaper. The faint smell of bleach mingled with the distant aroma of fried food drifting in from the parking lot outside. The air felt thick and humid, clinging to my skin despite my recent wash. Shri'la was perched on the edge of one of the sagging double beds, her energy buzzing with anticipation.

"We are going shopping,” Shri'la exclaimed, springing to her feet as soon as she saw me. "We need to get you some new clothes and common teenage things. You'll need a cell phone, a laptop, beauty products, and shoes. Ohh, how I love to shop for shoes." I could tell she was excited, her eyes sparkling in the dim motel light, the sheen of the afternoon sun filtering through the dusty curtains.

I recall what those items are, but the mention of 'beauty products' makes my head spin. I understand the words, but the specifics—what counts as fashionable, what each makeup brush or little bottle does—are a mystery. I glance at Shri'la, watching her rattle off brands and styles with ease, feeling as if she’s speaking a foreign language. All I know is that clothes are supposed to fit, makeup is supposed to enhance, and shoes are apparently worth getting excited over, but the finer points are lost on me.

"You do realize that I have no idea what I'm doing when it comes to shopping for clothes, shoes, and beauty products, right?" I exclaimed, my voice tight with anxiety. The panic is real as I realize that while I remember what these things are called, I have no clue how to pick them out, let alone use them. Kyle's memories of his teenage years are useless here; he never cared about outfits or mascara, only about the girls who wore them. I used to chase girls, not dress like them. Well, I chased girls in both of my pasts, I joke to myself. At least my sexual desires won’t be a problem. "You should probably show me how to put on a bra first because that is stupid crazy."

I hesitated, the unfamiliar garment in my hands, and finally turned to her, voice low. "Okay, but how do you actually put one of these on—properly? I mean, do you start with the straps or the clasp? And how tight is it supposed to be?"

Elizabeth grinned, amused by my awkwardness, and without hesitation took off her shirt, then her bra, treating it as the most normal thing in the world. She picked up one of my new bras and walked me through each step, demonstrating first the easiest way: wrapping it around my waist with the cups facing out, fastening the clasp at the front where I could see it, then twisting it around and pulling it up so the cups were in place before putting my arms through the straps. "This way, you don't fumble behind your back," she said, her tone light and practical.

She then demonstrated the trickier method—fastening the clasp behind her back with a practiced flick of her fingers. I tried to mimic her, fumbling with the tiny hooks, feeling all thumbs. "You'll get it with practice," she reassured me, laughing softly. All those years of being able to undo bras in the heat of the moment, and now I couldn't even put one on myself. The irony wasn't lost on me.

"So, are you ready to go to the mall? I'm so excited about this!" Shri'la exclaimed as she threw her arms around my neck, practically bouncing with anticipation. Her eyes sparkled as she started listing off her favorite stores, her plans for finding the perfect outfits, and how much fun it would be to try things on together. She described the thrill of finding the right dress, the satisfaction of the perfect pair of shoes, and the joy of hunting for bargains as if it were some grand adventure.

I tried to smile, but it all sounded like an alien ritual to me. I nodded along while she chattered about color palettes and accessories, but the excitement just didn't translate. Shopping, in my mind, was a task—a list to check off, not an experience to savor. Her enthusiasm was infectious, but I still couldn't quite grasp what made it all so magical for her.

I nod my head, not sure how I am supposed to feel. Excitement, dread, curiosity—they all blend into a sort of resigned acceptance. I’ve never been to a mall before as a teenage girl, and the idea of shopping for hours for things I don’t understand is overwhelming. But there’s no point in fighting it; Shri’la’s enthusiasm is a force of nature, impossible to resist. I sigh inwardly and decide to just go along with it—let her lead, let myself be swept up in whatever adventure this turns out to be. Maybe if I stop resisting and just accept my fate, I’ll at least survive the day with my sanity intact. This world is so different from the one I lived in before, and I consider myself lucky that I have Kyle’s memories to help me acclimate—otherwise, I’d be completely lost.

Shopping at the mall feels like a huge step. One that I am not sure if I am ready for. But Shri'la is so excited, and I don't want to disappoint her. I decide to suck it up and go, but as we walk out to her car, I glance over at her, trying to reconcile the confident, stylish woman beside me with the wild, carefree daughter I remember from what feels like another life.

"When did you get so interested in clothes?" I ask, my voice tinged with genuine curiosity. "Last time I saw you, you were wearing nothing but a loincloth. You were not the slightest bit modest back then."

As we walk, I find myself watching her closely, noting the subtle differences in how she moves and how she holds herself. She's clearly adapted to this world, but there are still flashes of the daughter I once knew—a certain tilt of her head, a mischievous smile, the way she laughs at her own jokes. Part of me aches for that simpler time in the cave, where our needs were basic and our lives intertwined in ways that had nothing to do with shopping malls or fashion.

Still, I want to know who she is now. So, as we make our way toward the car, I ask her about the things she loves, what excites her, how she chose her style, and what it's like to live among humans. I listen, trying to fit these new pieces into the old puzzle, hoping to understand the person she has become without losing sight of the daughter I still carry in my heart.

"Oh, you know, I decided that I wanted to walk among humans and fit in with their world. That meant I had to learn their customs and adapt to their expectations—no more running around in loincloths or ignoring social rules as we did back in the cave." Shri’la grinned, a hint of nostalgia in her eyes. "At first, it was awkward. I had to figure out what to wear, how to act, all the little things that humans care about—like modesty, style, and blending in. I watched, I learned, and over time, I realized I could use their customs to my advantage."

She laughed, twirling a strand of hair. "Now, I almost enjoy it. Clothes help me blend in, let me express myself, and are useful for attracting attention when I want it. I found I could attract more sexual partners by wearing clothes that reveal just enough skin to be tempting, but not enough to get in trouble. Humans are funny that way—they like the chase."

She started walking me toward her car, her posture relaxed, clearly at ease in her new role. "Adapting wasn’t easy, but it was necessary. If I wanted to live among them, I had to become one of them—at least on the surface. Humans are wary of anything that stands out or seems strange. If I kept to our old ways, I would have drawn suspicion, made it impossible to build relationships or even find a place to live without constant questions. To exist here, to feed and thrive, I had to blend in, to make them comfortable around me. It was the only way to survive—and sometimes, to protect us both."

It dawned on me that for Shri’la, adapting wasn’t just about blending in for convenience—it was about survival. Feeding off sexual energy meant she had to be part of the human world, to interact, to be accepted, and to move through society without drawing suspicion. If she clung to our old ways, she’d be isolated, unable to thrive, and constantly at risk. It wasn’t just about clothes or customs; it was about making sure she could exist safely and keep her true nature hidden. In a way, adapting was the only way she could protect both of us.

When we stepped outside of the motel room, I was immediately assaulted by the sheer intensity of the North Carolina summer. I squinted against the blinding mid-afternoon sun, the glare bouncing off the cracked asphalt and making my eyes water. The air was thick and heavy, pressing against my skin like an invisible, damp blanket. Each breath felt slow and syrupy, the humidity wrapping around me until my clothes clung uncomfortably to my body. The heat radiated up from the parking lot, baking my feet through the thin soles of my shoes and making every step feel like wading through a sauna. My hair started to plaster itself to my forehead, and I could already feel sweat gathering at the small of my back. “The weather here is very hot,” I said to Shri’la, but even that felt like an understatement.

“Yeah, welcome to North Carolina summers. It gets cold here in the winter though,” she told me. I closed my eyes for a moment, silently praying to my goddess who would listen to let me escape this oppressive heat. My mind drifted back to the cool, constant comfort of the cave—shaded from the sun, the air crisp and fresh, the gentle steam of the hot springs soothing my skin. Here, every second outside felt like a punishment, my body wilting under the weight of the summer air. I pleaded inwardly for a blast of air conditioning, a cold drink, or even a passing thunderstorm—anything to break the suffocating grip of this southern heat. This weather is going to be difficult to get used to. I hope I can find something that will not make me so hot.

When I first saw her car, I felt like I had been robbed. Parked in front of the rundown motel is a brand-new, gleaming M6 BMW—the kind of car that turns heads and makes people wonder who you are. The paint gleams in the sunlight, the chrome accents sparkling with every shift of my gaze. My jaw drops, and a wave of indignation surges through me. How is it that I’ve been sweating it out in a dingy motel, while she’s out here driving a car that probably costs more than most houses?

"What the fuck is that—you have a BMW, and you have me spending my time in this godforsaken motel?" I demand, my hands planted firmly on my hips, face burning with anger. The injustice of it all stings. “You could have at least put me up in a nice hotel if you could afford to have this.”

"Ahh, yes, well, umm..." Shri'la stammered, her confidence faltering for the first time. She looked anywhere but at me, rubbing the back of her neck as she searched for the right words. "Okay, so, the thing is... I didn't expect you to know about the modern times, and, honestly, this is one of the few places that accepts cash with no ID and doesn't ask questions. I know it looks shady—I mean, it practically screams 'pay by the hour.' But I can't risk leaving a money trail while I'm trying to get you ready to go home with me."

She fidgeted, glancing at the peeling paint and flickering neon sign outside. "It was hard enough sneaking you in here without anyone noticing me carrying an unconscious body. Can you imagine the kind of attention we'd draw walking through the lobby of a fancy hotel with you like that? I had to keep things quiet, off the grid." Her eyes met mine, searching for understanding, a bit of embarrassment, and fear flickering in her expression. "I know it's not ideal, but it was the safest way. I promise, it's just for now."

"Then how are we paying for a new wardrobe? That's going to cost a lot, I know that much. I'm pretty sure you are not carrying around that much cash on you." My voice pitched up, frustration boiling over. I stomped my foot hard on the cracked pavement, crossing my arms and glaring at her, refusing to budge. "This is ridiculous! You have a car worth more than some houses, and I'm stuck in a motel that smells like old cigarettes and broken dreams!"

I shook my head, letting out a huff that was half growl, half whine. It felt like a slap in the face. I could see her point about keeping things quiet, but still—why did I have to be the one suffering for it? I kicked at a loose pebble, scowling, and muttered under my breath about how unfair it all was. The childishness of my tantrum wasn't lost on me, but the heat and the stress and the sheer absurdity of it all just pushed me over the edge. I would rather not stay in a place like this if I could get away with it.

Sliding into the passenger seat, I level a long, expectant stare at her—my eyes practically drilling into the side of her face. I want answers, and I want them now. My arms are crossed, my jaw set, and I don't bother hiding the frustration etched across my features. It takes her a moment to meet my gaze, and when she does, I can see the flicker of nerves beneath her practiced calm.

"You are correct about all that, but I have an account I set up for you once the anchor stone started shining. I knew that you would need money here, so I got you set up. You have a credit card here that we will be using for all the purchases," she explains quickly, her words tumbling out as if hoping to appease me before I can press further. She glances at me, gauging whether her answer will be enough to satisfy, and for a moment, an awkward silence fills the car. I know I am making this harder on her than I should, but it is irritating to be staying in this place when so much more is possible.

"That still doesn't explain why you are paying for the 'No tell, Motel' with cash. Instead of just using my account to pay for a better place to stay. Especially now that I am awake and moving," I say in a huff, my voice trembling just a little. The sting of being left in a place like this, when so much more was possible, gnawed at me. I couldn't help but feel dismissed, like my comfort was an afterthought—a bitter realization, given how much I was already struggling to adjust. I turned to look out the window, blinking hard to keep my emotions in check. I didn't want her to see just how much it hurt, how much I longed for a sense of care and belonging in this strange new world.

She glanced at me, desperation creeping into her voice as she tried to make me understand. "Lilith, please, I swear—this is only temporary. We’ll be going to my house tomorrow, and the accommodations are a lot better there, I promise. I just needed to keep things safe and quiet until you got your bearings. I hated leaving you in a place like this, but it was the only option that wouldn't draw attention. Just one more night, okay?" Her eyes searched mine, silently pleading for forgiveness and understanding. "Tomorrow, everything will feel more normal."

"Fine, let us go," I say, still fuming. The silence in the car is heavy, broken only by the hum of the engine and the soft whoosh of the air conditioning on my flushed skin. I stare out the window at the unfamiliar streets and strip malls flashing by, trying to piece together any clue about our location, but nothing looks familiar—no landmarks, no names I recognize. The road signs mean nothing to me, and the cityscape outside could be anywhere. A knot of anxiety tightens in my stomach as I realize just how lost I truly am.

I don't recognize the name of the mall when we pull into the parking lot. Swallowing my pride, I finally turn to her. "Where are we?" I ask, the words coming out smaller than I'd intended, the reality hitting me that I had absolutely no idea where in North Carolina I was.

"Oh, right, I forgot to tell you that we are in Raleigh. I work at NC State University there as a history teacher along with David," she says with a smile. "It pays the bills and gives me a perfect cover—no one suspects much from a professor, and I get to keep up with what's happening in the world. Plus, being around students and faculty gives me access to all sorts of energy and information."

She leans in conspiratorially. "I also do some consulting on the side for museums and historical societies—just enough to keep things interesting and make use of all the knowledge I've picked up over the centuries. But teaching is my main gig."

"Ok, first, we are going to get lingerie, this will help you look extra sexy for all the girls you like to play with." Reminding me of the young girls, Shar'li and I used to play with while she fed. Smiling at all the memories of those days of debauchery. I loved seducing those women into our bed. 'Soon, my love, we will be having such fun together in this new world.' I think to myself.

As we approach the entrance to the mall, she gives me a warning look and leans in close, her voice low and serious. "Oh, refer to me as Elizabeth from now on. That way we won't attract the wrong kind of attention." She pauses, glancing around to make sure no one is listening, then adds, "Elizabeth Ann Moore, to be exact. It's the name on all my documents, my work, everything. Shri'la is just for family—here, blending in is everything."

I nod, trying to process the shift. It makes sense since no one here would recognize a demonic name, but it still feels strange and awkward on my tongue. She has been Shri’la for so long to me that I’m sure I’ll mess up a few times until I get used to it. There’s a strange pang in my chest—each little change another reminder of how much both of us have had to adapt to survive in this world.

As we stood just inside the mall entrance, I found myself turning the idea over in my mind. Shri'la—no, Elizabeth—had completely reinvented herself to survive here. The thought of her moving through life as someone else, with a whole new identity, made me wonder if I needed to do the same. Would my name mark me as an outsider? Was Lilith too strange, too old, too...otherworldly? I tried to picture myself introducing myself to strangers as something more ordinary—Jessica, Emily, maybe even Kate—but it felt like I would be erasing the last piece of who I truly was.

“Do I need a new name as well?” I asked, uncertainty creeping into my voice.

Elizabeth shook her head, reassuring. “No, Lilith is still a relatively common name here in America. So, no one is going to question it,” she replied, giving me a small, encouraging smile.

A wave of relief mingled with an odd sadness washed over me. At least for now, I could keep this small anchor to my old self, even as everything else around me changed.

The mall is not huge, but it's packed with people—streams of teenagers with shopping bags, mothers wrangling toddlers, groups of friends laughing too loudly, and older couples strolling arm-in-arm. The air is filled with the scent of cinnamon rolls from the food court, the sharp tang of perfume from a nearby kiosk, and the underlying hum of dozens of conversations overlapping. Bright lights gleam off polished tile floors, and every storefront is a riot of color and advertising, promising sales and new arrivals.

I find myself weaving through the crowd, acutely aware of how out of place I feel. I catch snippets of strangers’ lives as we pass—a girl giggling into her phone, a boy showing off his sneakers, a couple arguing quietly by a fountain. There is a rhythm and chaos to it all, an easy confidence that everyone else seems to possess. The noise and movement are overwhelming, a far cry from the gentle silence of the cave or even the hush of the motel room.

We finally reach the first store, VS. I know of this place from Kyle's life, but I have never gone inside before now. The sales lady introduces herself and asks what we are looking for. I look at Elizabeth because, for some reason, my voice won't work. I feel too shy to speak to her, which is weird because I've never been one for shyness. I was always very outgoing and direct with what I wanted from others, but here, surrounded by the press of bodies and the pulse of modern life, I feel like a stranger in my own skin.

My eyes go wide as I step through the doors and take in the riot of colors, lace, and satin that lines every wall and display. The lighting is soft and pink, casting a dreamy glow over everything, while the subtle scent of perfume lingers in the air. I'd seen VS catalogs and commercials in Kyle's memories—glamorous, polished, almost clinical in their perfection. But the real thing is overwhelming: racks upon racks of bras and panties in every imaginable size, shape, and color, mannequins posed seductively in the windows, and women—young and old—browsing and chatting as if this is just another stop on their afternoon errands.

I suddenly feel exposed, awkward, and deeply out of my element. Kyle's mentality tells me this is a place men avoid unless they're shopping for a partner, and even then, it's supposed to be a quick, sheepish trip. The reality is nothing like that—here, everything is bold and unapologetic, and everyone seems to know exactly what they’re looking for. I stand frozen for a moment, feeling like an imposter in a secret club, and realize Elizabeth must have known this would be the hardest part. Maybe that's why she brought me here first—to rip off the bandage and get the worst of my discomfort over with.

Elizabeth just rattles something off about having a growth spurt and needing new clothes, but her words barely register. Inside, it feels like a battle is raging—a tug-of-war between Lilith and Kyle, two voices demanding control. Part of me, the ancient Lilith, is curious, even excited by the lush fabrics, the sensuality in the air, and the promise of new beginnings. But Kyle’s presence is loud and panicked, shouting that this is all wrong—men don’t belong in places like this, and every instinct screams to turn around and bolt for the exit.

Thoughts jumble together: embarrassment, fascination, discomfort, intrigue. I can almost feel Kyle’s ghost pushing me to look away, to shut down, but Lilith pushes back, refusing to yield. The need I’m feeling isn’t truly my own—it’s a phantom ache, a memory of awkwardness and shame clashing against pride and self-assurance. My hands tremble as I pretend to be interested in the display of panties, my heart thudding as if I’m doing something forbidden. I focus intensely on the shelf in front of me, willing myself to drown out the noise in my head.

When Elizabeth starts holding up panties of different cuts, I just nod at her choices, not trusting my voice. I close my eyes, taking a long, shaky breath, and try to center myself—reminding myself that this is my life now, and that eventually, one voice will win out.

As I stood there, a wave of calm washed over me, and I felt the Lilith part of me surge forward, stronger than the echoes of Kyle’s discomfort. For the first time since entering the store, I let myself lean into curiosity and embrace the sensuality in the air. I started to see the displays through new eyes—not as an outsider or an imposter, but as someone who belonged here. I remembered Elizabeth’s earlier explanation about how clothing was more than just fabric; it was a tool, a way to express power, confidence, and allure.

I realized now what she meant: it wasn’t about the clothing itself, but what it promised—what was hidden and what was revealed, the game of suggestion and anticipation. I could use these silks and laces not just to blend in, but to shape desire, to control the narrative of who I was and what I wanted. My desire to be attractive and to enjoy my own sensuality bloomed, not just for my love, but for the thrill of being seen. A slow, genuine smile spread across my lips, reaching my eyes. For the first time, I wanted this for myself, for the power and pleasure it could bring, and I felt a little more at home in my new skin.

To my surprise, somewhere between the racks of delicate lace and the rows of colorful dresses, I started to enjoy shopping. The initial awkwardness melted away as I let myself explore—touching fabrics, holding clothes up to the light, and giggling with Elizabeth over the stranger outfits. There was something liberating about picking out things that made me feel bold or beautiful, trying on new identities along with the outfits. It became less of a chore and more of an adventure, each store a new world to discover.

Before we stopped for lunch, we went to an electronics store and picked up a new laptop. I didn't understand all the features on it as the gentleman attempted to explain them to me. I finally just told him to give me the best one. While there, I got my new iPhone as well. We walked out of the electronics store with what he called a MacBook Air and a synced phone, and for the first time, I genuinely felt a little thrill at having these shiny new tools in my hands—like I was truly stepping into this new life.

Elizabeth handed me the slim, gleaming iPhone and fixed me with a serious look. “That iPhone is the most important thing in any teenager’s life now. So keep a close eye on it and make sure you try to act like you absolutely love using it.”

I turned the device over in my hands, marveling at its weight and sleek design. From Kyle’s memories, I understood that a cell phone was more than just a way to make calls—it was a lifeline to the world: social status, friendships, gossip, entertainment, and even schoolwork all flowed through this tiny screen. Teenagers didn’t just use their phones; they lived through them. I’d seen how people panicked if they misplaced theirs, and how quickly you could become an outsider if you didn’t answer texts or keep up on social media. It was almost as if the phone itself were proof of belonging—a badge of modern identity. I made a mental note to keep it close and learn its secrets fast.

As I looked over the bustling food court, the sheer number of choices was overwhelming—pizza slices as big as my head, towering burgers dripping with cheese, sushi rolls artfully arranged behind glass, spicy noodles, and endless lines for coffee and bubble tea. Elizabeth was busy programming phone numbers into my phone, so I wandered over to the brightly lit Greek stand, drawn by the savory aroma of grilled meat and warm pita. According to Kyle's memories, Greek food had always been his favorite, so I ordered a chicken gyro stuffed with crisp lettuce, juicy tomatoes, red onions, and slathered in tangy tzatziki sauce, with a side of golden, seasoned fries. The first bite was a burst of flavor: the tender chicken, the cool sauce, the soft, pillowy bread—every taste felt heightened by my new senses and the novelty of the experience. I ate slowly, enjoying each bite, careful not to make a mess or draw attention. For a moment, sitting at that plastic table under the mall’s bright lights, I felt oddly content—savoring both the food and my new place in this world.

We finished our shopping trip at the shoe store, and somehow, I got roped into another passionate lecture from Elizabeth on why women needed at least ten pairs of shoes. She perched on a display bench, holding up ballet flats and pumps, enthusiastically describing the subtle differences between sandals for summer, boots for winter, sneakers for comfort, heels for special occasions, and the all-important “statement shoe” for when you needed to feel invincible. I listened, my feet aching and my patience thinning, as she explained that shoes could change an entire outfit, boost my confidence, and even shape how people perceived me. By the time she finished, I was half convinced that owning only one or two pairs bordered on criminal neglect.

Honestly, I was so tired from walking around the mall all day that all I wanted was a nice sit-down, but there was no rest for the weary. After dropping all the clothes off at the motel, we headed right back out to get the next most important things: women's hygiene products and cosmetics. I barely had time to catch my breath before I was ushered into a tall, bright chair in front of a long mirror at the beauty counter, Elizabeth beaming with excitement while the beautician prepared her brushes and bottles.

The tutorial began with a dizzying array of products—foundation, primer, concealer, powder, blush, highlighter, bronzer, eyebrow pencil, eye shadow, mascara, eyeliner, lipstick, lip gloss. The beautician explained each step in a cheerful, practiced voice, demonstrating how to blend, dab, swirl, and contour. My reflection shifted with every stroke: first a blank, pale surface, then a transformation as colors and shadows brought out cheekbones, eyes, and lips. I tried to keep up, asking questions and mimicking her movements, but mostly I just felt overwhelmed by the sheer amount of effort it took to look "natural."

I kept thinking the whole time the beautician was caking my face with makeup, why do I need makeup? Will this really help me live here? Yet, as she handed me the brush and let me try for myself, I realized there was a strange sense of power in the ritual—in learning to control how others saw me, in the artistry of creating a different version of myself.

After finally getting everything we needed and getting back to the motel, I was so ready to take a hot shower and just lie down. As the hot water pounded over my skin, I let my mind wander back through the day—store after store, bag after bag, swiping the credit card without a second thought. It wasn’t until I was alone, stripped of the excitement and distractions, that the reality hit me: I had just spent more money in a single afternoon than I had ever seen in my life. Fifteen thousand dollars, gone in a blur of shiny gadgets, armfuls of clothes, and bottles of perfume.

A strange mix of guilt and awe settled in my chest. Kyle’s memories screamed at me about budgets, bills, and the fear of overdrafts, but now, it had all felt so easy—almost like the rules of the world didn’t apply to me anymore. How quickly I’d adapted to this new reality, tossing shoes and electronics into my cart as if they were nothing. The power to buy whatever I wanted was intoxicating and a little frightening.

After I got out of the shower and started getting dressed, I finally turned to Elizabeth. “How much did you put in my account that I can spend all this money, and you act like it's not a problem?”

Elizabeth looked at me with a sly, almost amused smile. "I only put fifty million in your account just to get you started," she said, as if we were talking about pocket change. "I have all sorts of money stashed all over the world in different accounts. So, like you said, that little shopping spree was nothing." Her tone was breezy, but I caught the glint in her eye—a mix of pride and nonchalance that came from centuries of carefully stashing away fortunes in every corner of the globe.

I stared at her, stunned, as the number sank in. Fifty million. My mind reeled as I tried to comprehend it. I could see how three thousand years of careful planning, investments, and maybe a little supernatural cunning could add up to that kind of wealth, but it was still staggering to hear it so casually. The idea that today’s extravagance barely even made a dent in her resources was enough to make my head spin.

"How?" I squeak out.

"Come on, Mother, you know how long I've been alive." Elizabeth gave me a look—eyebrows raised, lips pursed, as if she couldn't quite believe I needed to ask. "Do you really think I’d be so foolish not to stash money all over the place and build up a fortune in three thousand years?" Her tone was half amusement, half exasperation, but her eyes sparkled with the kind of self-assuredness that only comes from centuries of experience.

She regarded me as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world, and for a moment, I felt a little foolish for doubting her. Of course, she had money to spare—more than most people could imagine. The way she could just toss out a number like fifty million and not blink made me realize that, to her, wealth was just another tool, something as reliable and ever-present as air. I did realize this, but still, seeing someone blow through money like that as if it were nothing was an experience I had never had before. I knew how much fifty million was—Kyle would never see anything close to that amount, even after working his whole life.

"Sorry," I said, letting out a small, embarrassed laugh. "Of course you’d plan ahead. I should have known better than to doubt you, after all these years. You’ve always been the careful one, always thinking seven steps ahead and keeping something stashed for every possible outcome. It’s just hard to wrap my mind around being able to blow through money like we did today." I shook my head, feeling both chastened and oddly reassured by her competence. "Forgive me," I say, looking thoroughly admonished by her, but also a bit in awe.

Elizabeth’s face softened as she saw how overwhelmed I was. "Don't worry, mom, I was only teasing you," she said gently, crossing the room and wrapping her arms around me. The hug was warm and reassuring, lingering just long enough for me to feel some of the tension drain from my body. She pulled back a little, her hands still on my shoulders. "Honestly, it’s a little unnerving how easy having those memories from Kyle is making it for you to understand the modern world. But I want you to know—no matter how strange things get, or how different everything feels, I’m here for you. You’re not alone anymore. I’m so happy that you’re back. I missed you, and I never gave up hope that you would come back to us one day."

We held each other for a while, and in that long, gentle hug, everything else seemed to fall away—the confusion, the fear, the sense of displacement. I could feel her heartbeat against mine, a steady reminder that I was no longer alone. Elizabeth’s arms were strong, but it was the warmth in her touch and the whispered reassurances she offered that soothed me most.

We laughed softly about old memories, tears pricking my eyes as she squeezed me tighter, promising that no matter how strange this world became, we had each other again. For the first time since waking up in this new life, I felt truly grounded—safe and cherished in the arms of the daughter I’d somehow found again. The happiness was overwhelming, a sweet ache in my chest, and I realized this reunion was the true anchor I’d been longing for.

"Do I get to meet your family tomorrow when we go back to your house?" I say with a smile on my face.

Elizabeth lowered her voice, her words meant only for me. "I told David that I was away for my sister's funeral. I said I was bringing her daughter—my niece—home with me. He knows I was close to my sister and that I felt responsible for her child now that she's gone. It was the simplest story with the least amount of questions." She glanced at me, her eyes searching mine for understanding. "If anyone asks you about your mother, or your past, just say it's too painful to talk about right now. Most people won’t press further. And if you need to, think about Mum—let that ache be your shield."

She squeezed me gently, as if promising to shield me from the world’s scrutiny, and I felt a rush of gratitude for her careful planning. It was a simple but clever lie, and I marveled at how easily she could weave stories to protect us both.

That evening, we curled up on the sagging motel bed, sharing takeout and laughter as the hours slipped by. Elizabeth told me stories about her life while I was gone—how she wandered for years, sometimes centuries, searching for meaning and belonging in a world that never quite felt like home. Her voice grew animated as she recounted adventures, mishaps, and the quiet ache of loneliness that followed her until she met David. I saw her eyes light up with every mention of him, the affection in her tone unmistakable. She described their courtship with a mischievous grin, and then, with a mother’s pride, began to tell me about her son James: his cleverness, his stubborn streak, and the way he made her laugh even on her hardest days.

As I listened, warmth and wonder blossomed inside me. The realization hit me with a jolt—somewhere along the line, my little girl had grown into a mother herself. I couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling up with disbelief and joy. "I can’t believe it. I’m a grandma," I whispered, half in awe, half in panic. The thought was both thrilling and terrifying. "Oh, goddess, I hope no one calls me that while we’re trying to pass me off as a sixteen-year-old," I added, rolling my eyes.

Elizabeth’s laughter filled the room, bright and unguarded. We stayed up late, swapping tales—her stories of the mortal world, mine of ancient times—and for those precious hours, the weight of centuries melted away. For the first time, I felt the joy of family returning, fuller and richer than I’d ever dared imagine.