The walls of the manor breathed with a silence that only memory could disturb. I stood at the edge of the rose garden, the same one Mother had once tended before sickness took her. The petals were vibrant and untouched, their scent clinging to the air like ghosts with unfinished stories. This time, everything was the same—yet I was not. I was a shadow walking amongst the living, a girl with a future buried beneath a grave of betrayal.
Michael. He was alive—somewhere.
Carina and Davis were still children. Still manipulators. Still snakes, only hiding their venom behind innocent masks they hadn't yet learned to sharpen. And me? I was seven again, but my mind was sharp with scars far beyond my years.
I could still taste the poison on my tongue.
"Az?" The voice was soft, uncertain. I turned slowly. Davis stood a few paces behind me, barefoot in the morning dew, tousled hair shining gold in the sun. He looked unsure, like he didn't know whether to approach or walk away. A boy playing the role of a brother he never truly wanted to be.
I narrowed my eyes. I remembered too well how he had left me. How he had stood by when Carina ordered the guards. How he chose to remain silent while I bled.
He didn't deserve forgiveness.
I said nothing. Let the silence stretch.
He stepped forward hesitantly. "You're up early," he said, glancing at the thorn-lined path that led through the garden. "Couldn't sleep?"
"I had dreams," I replied flatly.
He perked up. "Bad ones?"
"All dreams are bad when you wake into a lie."
Davis blinked at me, caught off guard. "What's that supposed to mean?"
I met his eyes with the same look I remembered giving him from the floor of my prison, when he turned his back. "It means I remember more than you think."
He frowned, unsure how to respond. I saw the flicker of guilt there, even in his twelve-year-old face. The beginnings of the boy who would betray me. I turned away from him.
"I want to be alone."
"Az," he said again, voice gentler now, as if trying to reach across a chasm that had already swallowed our future. "I don't know what's wrong, but—"
"You don't need to know," I snapped, and the fire in my voice startled even me. "You'll only pretend to care until someone tells you not to."
He looked hurt, but it was the kind of hurt that fades when no one is watching. I didn't flinch. He stayed there a moment longer, then quietly walked away.
Good.
I would not fall for his sympathy again.
That night, I lit a candle and sat at the edge of my bed, the silence pressing in from every corner of the room. The house creaked around me with the wind, but it wasn't the weather that chilled me.
It was the past that hadn't happened yet.
I slipped from my bed and crossed to the wardrobe. There, hidden beneath the folds of old shawls and forgotten toys, was the letter.
Michael's letter.
It was still sealed in the same wax, unbroken, untouched. I traced the mark with my fingers. He had left it for me, and now, more than ever, I needed to understand what he had feared.
I cracked the seal and unfolded the parchment with trembling hands.
Azriel,
If you find this, it means things have gone wrong. I pray they haven't. But if they have, Az—listen to me carefully. You cannot trust anyone in this house but yourself. Not even Davis. Not even Father. Especially not her. You know who I mean.
There are things about our family you do not yet know. Things about Father. About Carina. About Davis. Be careful who you trust. Be even more careful with what you reveal.
Some will use you, and some will fear you. And both will want you gone.
You are not weak. You are not forgotten.
You are mine, Az. My sister. And I believe in you.
Burn this after reading. They must never know it exists.
—Michael
My fingers clenched the paper so tightly that I nearly tore it. His words wrapped around my heart like armor. Not forgotten. Not weak.
I was seven. But I was ready.
The next day, Carina appeared in the hallway like a specter summoned by cruelty. She twirled once in a deep green dress covered in gold jewels, too fine for a girl of ten.
"What do you think, sister?" she asked. "Isn't this color just too die for?"
I stared at her for a long moment. "You wore gold last time."
She tilted her head. "What?"
I smiled faintly. "Nothing. Just remembering the future."
She didn't respond—her smirk faltered for just a moment, and she narrowed her eyes. "You're acting strange lately."
"Maybe I'm finally seeing clearly."
Her expression twisted. "Careful, Azriel. Mother's gone. Michael's not here. That means you don't have anyone to protect you anymore."
I took a step forward. "Maybe I don't need anyone to."
She blinked. The words had surprised her. They should. I was no longer her fragile little sister playing with dolls and dreaming of thrones. I was a ghost in her timeline. A ghost that walked.
And I had come for vengeance.
Later that evening, as I watched the candlelight flicker across the ceiling of my room, I whispered to the shadows:
"I'll burn every lie they've ever told. One spark at a time."
Somewhere beyond the horizon, Michael was alive. I would find him.
And when I did, this house of traitors would finally fall. I climbed out my window to the garden, by quiet space.
The garden was quieter at dusk.
It was the only time the house didn't breathe with the chatter of plotting children and hollow adults. The wind moved slowly here, curling through the hedges and across the stones like it remembered things the world had forgotten. I sat on the cold lip of the old fountain, trailing my fingers through the still water. The roses were half-closed for the night. Even they had the sense to hide when darkness came.
I watched the ripples bloom and fade.
Nothing in this place knew I remembered the future. Not the stones, not the air, not even the sky that painted itself in the same dying colors it always had. But I knew.
I remembered the weight of chains biting my wrists.
I remembered the way Davis looked away when the guards came.
I remembered Carina's smile as she poured the poison.
They walked the halls now, unaware that the girl they betrayed was watching them through older eyes. I was among them again, a child in skin and size only. A mistake I would never make twice.
I leaned back, letting the stone press into my spine, and looked up at the stars.
Was Michael looking at the same sky?
Was he still fighting? Still breathing?
Still hoping?
I reached into the folds of my dress and pulled out the letter again. I hadn't burned it like he said. Not yet. I needed the words. Needed his voice in my head to fill the silence this place carved into me.
"You are not weak. You are not forgotten."
I mouthed the words like a prayer. My breath fogged in the cooling air.
They thought I was a child. They all did. But ghosts don't age. And I was no longer Azriel-the-girl. I was Azriel-the-memory. Azriel-the-warning.
Something rustled behind the hedge.
I didn't flinch. Just watched the fountain and waited. A squirrel bounded out and darted across the grass. I released the breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
Every sound felt like a threat now. Every shadow felt like it was watching.
I hated that.
I hated what they made me.
But I would not become the broken girl they left in that dark room.
I would not lose myself again.
I stood and walked slowly to the rose bushes. The thorns caught at the hem of my dress, but I didn't pull away. Let them bite me. Let them draw blood. That pain was real, and real pain meant I was alive. Not dreaming. Not dead. Not forgotten.
I knelt by a patch of white roses and gently ran a hand across one bloom. It bent under my fingers like it remembered me. I used to come here before the world ended. Before Carina sharpened her smile into a knife. Before Davis buried his spine beneath cowardice.
The wind stirred again.
I whispered to the garden, "I know what you saw. I know who you remember. But I'm not her anymore."
The petals shifted, soft against my hand. I wondered if the garden would keep my secrets. If the soil could remember the blood I planned to spill. Or if it, too, would betray me in the end.
But for now, it listened.
And in that listening silence, I made a vow.
"I won't forgive them," I said softly. "Not until Michael comes home. Not until they see what it feels like to lose everything."
The garden did not answer.
But the thorns seemed to nod.
The stars had thickened above the trees by the time I stood.
My legs ached a little from sitting too long on the fountain's stone edge, but I didn't mind the discomfort. It made me feel real. Alive. Here. I brushed the dirt and leaves from my dress with slow, deliberate hands and took one last look at the garden.
The moon hadn't risen yet, and in the half-light, everything looked like a memory. Pale outlines. Soft silhouettes. Ghosts that walked in flowers and ivy.
I turned away.
The house loomed ahead, its windows glowing faintly with candlelight. I stepped softly, my bare feet whispering across the path, careful not to let the gravel crunch too loudly. I didn't want them to know I'd been outside. Not yet. This night was mine.
Inside, the halls smelled of old wood and wax. The quiet clung to the walls, wrapped around the banister as I climbed the stairs. I didn't hear Davis or Carina. Not the other children in their rooms. Just the creaking of the old boards beneath me and the low thud of my heart.
My door gave a tiny sigh as it opened.
I closed it again, gently, and locked it.
My room was still and shadowed. The dollhouse in the corner stood untouched, its tiny windows as dark as my own. I moved past it and slipped into bed, letting the sheets cocoon around me.
The silence felt softer here.
Safe.
But it was the kind of safety you find in the eye of a storm—temporary, delicate, destined to break. I didn't close my eyes right away. Just stared up at the ceiling, tracing the cracks I'd memorized in the other life.
They were the same.
Everything was the same.
Except me.
And that would be the difference that shattered everything.
I turned on my side, facing the window. The garden was just a shadow now, its secrets folded into the dark.
My hand found the letter beneath my pillow.
I didn't open it.
I just held it.
And finally, I let my eyes close.
Tomorrow, I will begin.
But tonight, I would rest. Just long enough to remember how.