Page 73 of Barbie: Dreamscape

It isn’t just the whisper of the woman’s words in the back of my head, of her claiming I’ve been here before… no.

This land looks like Heartland.

For one, there’s the color: pink. And then there’s the glittering sheen of magic, touching everything.

The more I look around, though, the more I register the differences between the two places. Unlike in Heartland, the mist clears the moment we step foot off the bridge. The sky is wide and unobstructed. There’s a rainbow arching above, seeming to stretch across the entire land, bookending it, made up only of different shades of pink, from the palest peony to rich cerise.

Streets of buildings in coordinated hues are grouped together beginning from one end of the arcing rainbow, as if birthed from the rainbow itself. Each section seems to have its own purpose. The lightest shades house what look like offices, the strawberry hues resemble all types of shops, rose shades seem to be homes, and the darkest pink color of all forms a towering building across a large lake.

The pink path weaves through all these various structures to the very center of the town: a glorious fountain with a statue in the middle made up of the six stars from the necklaces. People mill around happily, wearing bright smiles and pastel pinks.

I grip the charms while I look at the town center in wonder.

“You said this was my home,” I say to the woman haltingly as my eyes drink everything in. “What… what did you mean by that? I’ve never been here before.”

She glances at me. Hesitates. “How much do you know?” she finally asks.

My fingers tighten around the charms. Unease settles across my skin.

“Nothing, I guess?”

Because Robin never told me.

She kept me safe behind the walls of Swancrest, and the mist around Heartland. She always said it was for my protection, but now, for the first time…

I wonder if there’s another reason.

Why was Robin so desperate for me not to reach Dreamland? What does she not want me to know?

Whatever this woman is about to tell me… I don’t know if I’m prepared to hear it. Still, I roll my shoulders back, bracing myself. I press firmly against the necklaces and let a new outfit spill over me, created from various pieces in my wardrobe—a patchwork blazer of pinks, pants with glittering stitching, and solid heels.

I’m ready.

I turn to face the woman fully.

“Please—” My face scrunches as I realize I never got her name.

“Lune,” she supplies.

It doesn’t sound familiar at all. Robin never mentioned her.

“Lune. Tell me everything.” I remember what she said just a few minutes before. “Show me.”

For a moment, she pauses. Seems to waver.

But then she raises her hand—and pink glitter begins to swirl from her fingers.

I’m looking at a little girl wearing all black, dark hair pulled into a severe-looking low bun at the nape of her neck.

She’s exiting a house that has cobwebs for windows and a door that doesn’t fit its frame. The bricks making up the exterior look unsteady, halfway to becoming rubble. When she slams the door shut, the entire facade rattles.

The home hardly looks livable. Also: It looks haunted.

And it doesn’t fit in at all with the rest of the perfectly pink houses around it.

Storm clouds circle in a crown atop the triangular, lopsided roof, even though everywhere else the weather is sunny and shining.

When the girl walks past a group of other kids her own age, they scuttle back, as if afraid to be close to her.