The Woman Who Stole Ten Years

The First Stolen Hours

Elias had always trusted the mountains.

For as long as he could remember, they had been his shelter and his livelihood. He knew their paths, their moods, the way the fog settled before rain and how the birds fell silent when danger crept too close. But that morning, something about the mountains felt unfamiliar; watchful, almost calculating.

He left the house before sunrise.

Elena was still asleep, her breathing slow and steady. Elias paused by the doorway, watching her for a moment longer than usual. A strange tightness settled in his chest, as if he were leaving something unfinished behind. He brushed the thought away and stepped outside.

The climb felt shorter than usual.

That alone unsettled him.

The path he had walked countless times seemed to fold in on itself, trees appearing closer together, the air thicker, heavier. The mist hovered low, brushing against his skin like cold fingers. And then—there it was again.

The sound.

Not loud. Not clear. But unmistakable.

A bell.

It did not ring the way bells should. It pulsed, slow and deep, like a heartbeat echoing through stone and water. Elias stopped walking, his breath catching in his throat.

“Not again,” he muttered.

He turned back.

Or at least, he tried to.

The forest looked different behind him. The path was still there, yet something about it felt wrong—longer, darker, as if it no longer led home. Elias swallowed hard and forced himself to continue forward, telling himself he was tired, imagining things.

When he finally reached the clearing, the sun was already high.

Too high.

He frowned and checked the shadows. They stretched at an angle that made no sense. His stomach twisted.

“How long have I been walking?” he whispered.

There was no answer.

By the time Elias descended the mountain, his legs ached and his head throbbed. The village came into view, bathed in the warm colors of late afternoon.

Late afternoon.

His heart sank.

He hurried through the fields, ignoring the curious stares of neighbors. When he reached his home, Elena stood at the doorway, pale and rigid, as if she had been carved from stone.

“Where were you?” she asked.

Her voice trembled—not with anger, but fear.

“I—” Elias stopped. “I left at dawn. I should’ve been back by noon.”

“It’s almost evening,” Elena said quietly.

The words hit him harder than any blow.

“That’s impossible.”

Elena stepped aside and pointed to the sky. The sun hovered low, casting long shadows across the ground. The air carried the scent of night.

“I waited,” she continued. “At first, I told myself you were just late. Then I felt it.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Like something was pulling you away from me.”

Elias opened his mouth to reassure her, but nothing came out. His memories felt incomplete—blurred at the edges. He remembered walking. He remembered the sound. But the hours in between were gone.

That night, Elias could not sleep.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw water flowing backward, heard the bell beating beneath it. His body felt heavy, as if time itself had wrapped around his bones.

Beside him, Elena lay awake.

She had not told him everything.

Earlier that evening, while washing their clothes, she had dropped one into the basin—and froze. The water rippled outward, though her hands were still. For a brief moment, she thought she saw white fabric beneath the surface, drifting like a ghost.

She had pulled her hands away, heart racing.

Now, listening to Elias’ uneven breathing, her fear deepened into something sharper; worrying that gnawed at her chest.

The next morning, Elias awoke exhausted.

His reflection in the basin startled him. Dark circles framed his eyes, his face drawn, older somehow. He shook his head, telling himself it was lack of sleep.

But time betrayed him again.

Tasks that should have taken minutes stretched into hours; or vanished altogether. He would blink and find the sun had moved, the day slipping away from him without permission.

By midday, whispers spread through the village.

“He looks unwell.” “He’s been near the waterfall again.” “Has anyone heard the bell?”

Elena overheard them all.

She went to the oldest woman in the village, her heart pounding. “What happens,” she asked carefully, “when time goes missing?”

The woman studied her for a long moment. Then she crossed herself.

“It means the guardian has noticed,” she said.

“Elena’s breath caught. “Guardian?”

“The Woman in White,” the old woman whispered. “She does not kill. She takes what men never think to protect.”

That night, as Elias stood outside staring at the mountains, Elena watched him from the doorway. She felt it again—that pull, stronger now, threading through her chest, tying her to him… and to something else.

Somewhere far above them, beneath rushing water and ancient stone, the Golden Bell remained silent.

But time had already begun to disappear.