Echoes of Time

Chapter 1

London was alive in the way that only autumn could bring, its cool air crisp and bright, cutting through the usual haze of the city. Elara Bennett breathed it in, savoring the fleeting moment of calm before stepping into the bustling museum entrance alongside her best friend, Sarah. Today was supposed to be a casual outing—a break from Elara’s long hours as a research historian, yet she found herself practically buzzing with excitement.

“Oh, look at you,” Sarah laughed, nudging her as they handed over their tickets.

“You’re practically skipping. I can’t believe this is your idea of having fun.”

Elara grinned. “What can I say? Nothing gets the blood pumping like the thrill of ancient artefacts and dusty old relics.”

“You mean nothing gets your blood pumping. Most people would prefer a coffee shop, maybe a little shopping. But no, Elara drags me to a museum on my day off.”

“You know, you kind of love it,” Elara quipped, linking her arm with Sarah’s as they walked inside. “Besides, you could use a little culture.”

“Culture?” Sarah scoffed with mock indignation. “I’ll have you know I’ve seen Pride and Prejudice…twice. The one with Colin Firth, obviously. And for the record, I’m doing this because of the love I have for you.”

Elara rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her smile. “You’re impossible.”

Sarah gave her a knowing smile. “Yeah, I am. Now, lead the way, professor.”

They began their tour, moving slowly through the museum’s collection of Regency artefacts. Elara’s gaze sharpened with interest as she paused to admire an embroidered silk gown encased in glass, the fabric worn but still beautiful.

“Now that,” Elara said, pointing, “is a work of art. The stitching alone would’ve taken weeks. Such an elegant craftsmanship.”

Sarah leaned closer, squinting. “Weeks to make a dress she’d wear, what, once? Twice?” She shook her head. “Imagine the poor seamstress cursing every stitch because Lady Whoever wanted another gown.”

“It’s more than just fabric,” Elara countered, her voice softening. “This dress… it was someone’s story. Someone’s memory.”

Sarah gave her a look. “You know, you make history sound romantic. And here I was thinking it was just a lot of old stuff.”

“It’s always romantic,” Elara said, her eyes still on the dress. “You just have to know where to look.”

“Uh-huh,” Sarah said, smirking. “I’m telling you, El, you were definitely born in the wrong century. Maybe you were a duchess or something in a past life.”

They moved from display to display, Elara unable to help herself from slipping into professor mode. She explained the coded language of a lady’s fan, the peculiar ways gentlemen tied their cravats, and even the significance of tiny embroidery details on handkerchiefs.

“Okay, I get it,” Sarah finally said, laughing. “You’re a walking encyclopedia. But if you don’t let me at least pretend I know something, I’m going to start making up my own facts.”

“Be my guest,” Elara said, smirking. “But if I catch you lying about Regency etiquette, I’m disowning you as a friend.”

“Fair,” Sarah replied, nudging her shoulder.

Eventually, they reached a grand miniature mirror standing alone at the centre of an exhibit hall. Its elegant frame of gold scrollwork surrounded a tall, flawless glass that seemed to draw the eye. The card beneath it read:

“The Duke’s Mirror, c. 1811. Once belonging to the House of Montrose. Rumoured to show glimpses of the past to those who dare to look closely.”

Sarah spotted it first, tugging on Elara’s sleeve with a grin. “El, look at that! I think I’ve found the pièce de résistance.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “And apparently, they say it’s magical. Care to test it out?”

Elara stepped forward, her chest tightening as she took in the mirror’s beauty. “Magical, huh? That’s just for content. It’s just a mirror, but…” She trailed off, unable to pull her eyes away. “It’s incredible.”

Sarah shrugged. “It’s shiny and enticing, I’ll give it that. But it’s also just glass, right?”

Elara nodded, stepping closer to study the carvings on the frame—vines, flowers, and heraldic symbols so intricate they almost seemed to move. Her pulse quickened as her reflection in the mirror caught her eye. But it wasn’t just her.

It was her, but not her. Dressed in an elegant gown of soft ivory and rich emeralds, her hair swept up with delicate pins, she stood in a grand ballroom. Flickering candlelight surrounded her, and the other version of herself stared back, her expression distant and knowing, as though she were inviting Elara to cross some unseen boundary. She blinked but the image remained, the otherworldly woman staring right back at her. Suddenly, she felt the world around her blurring and the sound of the museum fading to a distant hum.

“El?” Sarah’s voice broke the spell as she shook Elara’s shoulder gently.

Elara blinked, her reflection snapping back to reality—modern clothes, casual ponytail, and all. “What?” she asked, her voice shaky.

“Are you okay?” Sarah asked, giving her a concerned look. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I… I think I saw something. Or someone,” Elara said hesitantly. “It was me, but not me. I was dressed… differently. In a silk dress. I looked different... like a royalty.”

Sarah arched a brow. “Are you serious? Did the magical mirror get to you already?”

Elara shook her head, her voice quieter now. “I’m not joking, Sarah. It was… strange. I was in a ballroom, and I was staring right at myself.”

Sarah stared at her for a long moment, then laughed. “You’ve been reading too many historical novels. It’s messing with your brain.”

“Maybe,” Elara said, though she didn’t sound convinced.

They moved on, but Elara’s mind remained stuck on what she’d seen. Every few steps, she glanced back at the mirror, feeling a strange pull she couldn’t explain. Finally, she stopped, turning to Sarah.

“Could we… go back?” she asked.

Sarah tilted her head. “Seriously?”

Elara nodded. “I know it sounds crazy, but I just… I need to see it again.”

Sarah sighed, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “Fine. One more look. But after this, we’re getting coffee, and you’re buying.”

“Sure.” Elara replied. They made their way back to the exhibit, Elara’s heart racing. She stepped closer to the mirror, leaning in again as if daring the reflection to change. This time, the pull was stronger. The air around her seemed to shift, the museum fading into a blur of light and sound.

“Elara?” Sarah’s voice was distant now, barely audible.

Elara gasped as the world tipped, a rush of cold air swirling around her. She heard the faint strains of music—violins, laughter, the hum of a distant ballroom. And then, as if waking from a dream, she was gone. No longer in the museum.

She was somewhere else entirely.