Jon sat at the table numbly, still dressed in the rumpled clothes from last night, across from his aunt Sharon, currently five years old and a bit of a brat, from what he was seeing.
He toyed with the eggs, using a hand that felt like his, only it looked much different. All of him...or rather her did.
He tried to remember his mother talking about when she was in school. He hadn't been paying much attention. He vaguely remembered a conversation after Zoe started to go Goth the previous year, that she understood, because she'd had a depressed period when she was Zoe's age and...
A lightbulb went off in his head. When she was Zoe's age, and a friend of hers died in a car accident...
