The Memory Thief’s Curse

I had spent eighteen years believing I knew exactly who I was. My name was Elara Voss. I knew where I lived, the house I had grown up in, the school I attended, and the birthday I celebrated every year. I had never had a reason to question any of it until the morning I walked into the city archives. The building was older than most of the streets surrounding it, with tall gray walls and narrow windows that barely allowed sunlight inside. I had never liked the place. It always felt too quiet, as if the building itself was holding its breath. I walked up to the front desk and placed my identification card on the counter. “I need a copy of my birth certificate.” The elderly clerk took my card without looking at me. “Name?” “Elara Voss.” He typed my name into the computer. I waited. A few seconds passed, then a few more. His fingers suddenly stopped. I frowned. “Is there a problem?” He didn't answer. He typed my name again, then entered my date of birth. Nothing. His expression slowly changed. “That's strange.” “What is?” He finally looked up at me. “There’s no record of you.” I blinked. “What?” “No birth record,” he said. I gave a nervous laugh. “That can't be right.” “I checked the database.” “Check again.” He did. Still nothing. I leaned over the counter. “Maybe the system is down.” “It isn't.” “Then maybe the record was filed under my mother's name.” The clerk looked at me. “What's your mother's full name?” I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. I knew my mother's name. At least, I thought I did. But suddenly, the answer felt strangely far away. I could remember her hands. I could remember a silver bracelet around her wrist. I could remember the smell of cedarwood. But when I tried to picture her face, my mind gave me nothing. “Mrs. Voss?” the clerk asked. I swallowed. “I don't remember her full name.” The clerk stared at me. “You don't remember your mother's name?” “I know it,” I said quickly. “I just… can't think of it right now.” I stepped away from the counter. Something was wrong. Very wrong. I pulled out my phone and opened my gallery. There were photographs of Ashwood House, photographs of myself as a child, birthdays, Christmas decorations, and school uniforms. But there wasn't a single photograph of my mother. Not one. My fingers went cold. I searched my messages. Nothing. Contacts. Nothing. Old emails. Still nothing. It was as if someone had carefully removed every trace of the woman who had raised me. “Elara.” The clerk's voice pulled me back. I looked up. “The physical records from your district were transferred years ago.” “To where?” “The old courthouse.” My stomach tightened. “What courthouse?” The clerk pointed toward the window. “The one on Raven Street.” I followed his gaze. In the distance, I could see the courthouse tower. For some reason, the sight of it made my chest ache. “I've never been there,” I whispered. The clerk frowned. “You're sure?” “Yes.” But even as I said it, something inside me disagreed. I left the archives without my birth certificate. Outside, the wind was cold. I stood on the sidewalk staring at the courthouse. I didn't know why I felt drawn toward it. I only knew that something was waiting for me there. By the time I reached the courthouse, the sky had turned gray. The doors were heavy bronze. I placed my hand against one of them. And suddenly, I wasn't standing on the street anymore. Rain hammered against tall windows. Gas lamps flickered along the walls. People in old-fashioned clothes hurried through a courthouse that looked exactly like the one in front of me. A ledger lay open on a wooden table. I stepped closer. My name was written across the page. Except it wasn't Elara. Evelyn Voss. My breath caught. A date was written beneath the name. October 14, 1887. Someone grabbed my wrist. A young man stood beside me. He had dark hair, sharp features, and eyes that looked painfully familiar. He wore a black coat with a silver crest pinned to the collar. Three silver feathers. “Elara,” he whispered. I stared at him. “Who are you?” His expression broke. “You promised me you would remember.” The room shook. A woman's voice screamed from somewhere behind us. “Evelyn, don't let them make you remember!” I turned. A woman stood near the doorway. Her face was blurred. But somehow, I knew her. My mother. Then everything disappeared. I stumbled backward onto the courthouse steps. The rain had stopped. My hand was still pressed against the bronze door. I pulled it away, breathing hard. Someone was standing behind me. “You always come back here.” I froze. I turned slowly. A young man stood beneath the courthouse awning. Dark hair. Black coat. Cold expression. And the same eyes I had just seen in the memory. My heart stopped. “You,” I whispered. He looked at me for a long moment. “My name is Kael Raven.” I stared at him. “Do I know you?” Kael's expression didn't change. “You don't remember me.” “What is that supposed to mean?” He stepped closer. “You don't have a birth record, Elara.” My stomach dropped. “How do you know that?” “Because this isn't the first time you've discovered it.” Silence. Kael looked toward the courthouse doors. “You always come back when your memory starts disappearing.” I felt a chill run through me. “What are you talking about?” He looked directly into my eyes. “Go home.” “Why?” “Because the answers you're looking for are already there.” “Where?” Kael's gaze shifted toward me. “Behind the blue curtains.” I frowned. “What blue curtains?” For the first time, something like fear appeared in his eyes. “The ones in your bedroom.” He stepped backward. “Look beneath the floor.” Then he turned and walked away to. I stood frozen on the courthouse steps. I didn't know who Kael Raven was. I didn't know why he knew me. And I certainly didn't know what was hidden beneath the floor of my bedroom. But one thing was suddenly clear. The life I remembered might never have been real. And someone had gone to great lengths to make sure I never discovered why.