The Box
1242 Words
Chapter 10: The Box
Elara
The metal box was cold in my hands.
Rusted. Heavy. Buried beneath the earth at the base of my mother's grave. I stared at it, my breath caught in my throat.
Kael leaned closer, his grey eyes scanning the box. "There are two keyholes."
I looked down. He was right. Two keyholes, side by side. Identical in size.
My mother's key. My father's key.
"They were meant to be used together," I whispered.
Kael nodded slowly. "Your parents hid something. Something they both had to unlock."
I turned the box over in my hands. No markings. No engravings. Just the rusted metal and the two keyholes.
"Should I open it?" I asked.
Kael was quiet for a moment. "Do you want to?"
I looked at the box. My mother had hidden this. My father had hidden this. They'd both died with secrets.
And now I held the keys to unlock them.
"Yes," I said. "I want to."
I pulled out my mother's key first. S.V. 1987. It slid into the left keyhole perfectly. A soft click echoed in the silence.
I pulled out my father's key. K.V. 1987. It slid into the right keyhole. Another click.
I looked at Kael. He nodded.
I turned both keys at the same time.
The box opened.
Inside was a letter.
Yellowed. Faded. Folded carefully, as if it had been placed there with reverence. I lifted it out, my hands trembling.
Beneath it lay a faded photograph. I couldn't see the image clearly in the darkness, but I tucked it into my pocket to examine later.
I unfolded the letter.
The handwriting was familiar. My mother's. Looping and elegant, even in its urgency.
My dearest Elara,
If you're reading this, I'm gone. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you the truth before I left. But you need to know who you really are.
Your father and I loved you more than anything in this world. Everything we did, we did to protect you.
The Nacht family is dangerous. Your stepfather is dangerous. But there is someone else someone worse who has been watching you since the day you were born.
His name is Dorian Cross.
He is not who he seems.
He knows what you are. He knows what you can become. He will stop at nothing to use you.
I tried to protect you. I tried to hide you. But I couldn't do it alone.
Your father died trying to protect you.
I will die trying to protect you.
I'm so sorry, my love.
I'm so sorry I couldn't be there for you.
But you need to know the truth about who you are.
You are not Elara Vance.
You are not the daughter of Seraphina Vance and Michael Vance.
I'm sorry.
The words blurred in front of me.
You are not Elara Vance.
You are not the daughter of Seraphina Vance and Michael Vance.
I read them again, my mind refusing to accept what I was seeing. My hands started shaking. The letter trembled between my fingers.
"What does that mean?" I whispered. "What is she saying?"
Kael took the letter from me. I watched him read it, his grey eyes scanning the page. His jaw tightened. When he looked up, his expression was careful. Guarded.
"Elara," he said slowly. "I don't know what this means."
"You don't know?"
"I'm reading the same words you are. I don't have any more answers than you do."
I shook my head, backing away from him. "But she says I'm not her daughter. She says I'm not my father's daughter. How can that be?"
"I don't know."
"You keep saying that."
"Because I keep meaning it."
I stared at him, my chest heaving. My mind raced, searching for explanations. Was I adopted? Was my mother hiding something? Was there another family I never knew about?
I thought of my father Michael Vance. The kind-eyed man in the photographs. The flash of warmth I'd felt when I saw his face.
Was he not my father after all?
I looked at the letter again, my eyes burning. You are not the daughter of Seraphina Vance and Michael Vance.
Then who was I?
We sat in silence for a long time.
The cemetery was dark around us, the gravestones casting long shadows in the moonlight. I couldn't bring myself to move. The letter was still in my hands, the words burned into my mind.
You are not Elara Vance.
I didn't know who I was anymore.
"Elara," Kael said finally. "We should go."
I shook my head. "I can't leave."
"We can't stay here."
"I can't leave her." My voice cracked. "She's my mother. She's"
He reached out, his hand hovering near mine. "That letter doesn't erase the woman who raised you."
I looked at him, my eyes burning.
"But if I'm not her daughter"
"She raised you. She loved you. She died trying to protect you." His grey eyes held mine. "That makes her your mother. No matter what a letter says."
I stared at him, my heart pounding.
"I don't know if I want to know," I whispered. "I don't know if I want to find out who I really am."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he spoke, his voice soft. "You deserve the truth. Whatever it is."
I looked at the letter again. You need to know who you really are.
My mother had wanted me to know the truth. She'd hidden this letter for me. She'd trusted me with her secret.
I couldn't let that trust be in vain.
"Okay," I said quietly. "Let's go."
The drive back was silent.
I sat in the passenger seat, the letter clutched in my hands. Kael didn't speak. He just drove, his grey eyes fixed on the road ahead.
I stared out the window at the passing darkness. My mother's words echoed in my mind.
I'm sorry.
What did she have to be sorry for?
We arrived back at the house, and I went straight to the guest room. I sat on the edge of the bed, the letter spread out before me.
I read it again.
You are not Elara Vance.
You are not the daughter of Seraphina Vance and Michael Vance.
I set the letter down and reached into my pocket. The photograph. I pulled it out, my hands trembling.
It was old. Faded. The image was grainy, but I could make out two figures.
A woman. And a man.
The woman was my mother. Younger. Her arm wrapped around the man beside her.
The man was tall, dark-haired, with eyes that seemed to pierce through the photograph.
I stared at his face.
I didn't recognize him.
But something about him felt familiar.
I turned the photograph over.
On the back, in faded ink:
Seraphina and Dorian. 1987.
I stared at the words, my heart pounding.
Dorian Cross.
The man in the photograph was Dorian Cross.
And he was standing with my mother, his arm around her, in the year 1987.
I felt something cold settle in my chest.
He is not who he seems.
He knows what you are.
He will stop at nothing to use you.
My mother had warned me about him.
But she'd also been close to him.
Close enough to be photographed with him.
Close enough to touch him.
What had happened between them?
And what did it have to do with who I really was?
- Writer
