The space was amazing. I had been to the Crystal Cathedral once in my late teens. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life. But this? This made the Crystal Cathedral look like the home of the Flintstones!

The room, itself, was massive. Huge beams of oak supported the structure. And wherever there wasn’t oak, there were windows of pure amethyst, lending a purple hue to the entire room.

Dozens, no, hundreds of shelves, themselves made of rose quartz, with boxes on them. Each box held memories. Mine took up one shelf, with the boxes labelled in 2 year increments.

I started looking at her memory boxes. The weren’t labelled by years, but by names. Lifetimes. Most of the names I didn’t know. But some I did know. The things she had seen! The people she had been!

Hannibal.

Florence Nightengale.

Scheherazade. (I thought she was a legend!)

Nefertiti.

I heard her come up behind me, and turned to ask her how many lives she had lived.

And was struck by the beauty before me. Struck speechless.