The Love Written Before Time

Manila, Philippines – 2022 I always believed that the dead deserved peace, the past deserved to be forgotten, and family secrets buried. Unfortunately, my family apparently did not subscribe to that particular philosophy. "Seraphina, if you're going to stare at the boxes all morning, at least open one." I glanced at my grandmother, who was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. Behind her, sunlight streamed through the capiz curtains, illuminating the fine particles of dust that floated lazily in the air. This room smelled of old wood and dried flowers, and the faint perfume of sampaguita clung to the very walls of our ancestral home. __ "I am being useful, Lola. I'm investigating."Investigating what exactly, the art of procrastination?" I gave her an innocent smile. "Indeed." Grandmother only shook her head, muttering something about how youth these days had no respect for hard work before leaving me alone with the boxes. I sighed and turned back to the wall of belongings that had been stacked precariously against it. The Lucero family had owned Casa Lucero for as long as anyone could remember, a large ancestral house in Manila, filled with antique furniture and dark, brooding portraits that seemed to follow you with hungry eyes as you passed their frames. My grandmother had decided to clean the library, as there were certain documents that needed organizing before the house could be renovated. Naturally, the task had fallen to me. At twenty-four, I was old enough to understand the importance of preserving family heirlooms, although I was definitely too young to be trusted with something as simple as actually cleaning. Still, I had always been curious about what exactly went on in the library. Our family had a number of odd gaps in our known history, which were conveniently covered up by my grandmother whenever I asked. Names were missing from certain family portraits, letters had vanished from old envelopes, and certain branches of the family tree had inexplicably cut off, as if the people who had once lived there had been wiped from existence. Whenever I confronted Lola about it, she would only give me one of those grandmotherly smiles and say that some things were best left forgotten. Which, of course, made me determined to uncover the truth. I reached for the final box at the foot of the writing desk and dragged it into the light. Unlike the others, there was no name carved into the wood, only a small brass lock at the front that had long since rusted shut. "Now, what have we here?" It took a few minutes, but I eventually pried it open, revealing a bundle of yellowed letters, a tarnished silver pendant, and a leather-bound diary wrapped in ivory fabric. I pulled out the book, noting the dark brown cover and the intricate golden emblem at the front, a circular design that vaguely resembled the face of a clock with delicate markings running along its edge. Turning the book over in my hands, I saw an unfamiliar name etched onto the first page. Isadora Marquez December 27, 1898 My curiosity was piqued. Isadora Marquez was clearly not someone directly related to our family, although the date marked on the page was certainly strange considering that I was currently sitting in the middle of the 21st century. I opened the diary to the first page and began reading. The first few entries were simple musings about the family business and various social functions they had attended, followed by preparations for a wedding. I frowned as I read the last entry before the date marked on the page. December 28, 1898 My wedding is in three days, and somehow, I cannot seem to will myself into excitement. All the townsfolk have been nothing but generous in their compliments to Don Alejandro de Villareal, a man of impeccable character and outstanding connections, if his family's reputation is anything to go by. They say that he will bring nothing but prosperity to our family, and that his father is one of the most influential men in Santa Aurelia. ... But whenever I find myself wondering if this is truly the life I want, I am met with an overwhelming sense of dread. Perhaps this is what it means to be born into a family of staunch traditionalists. I shook my head at the absurdity of it all before turning the page. The next entry was even shorter than the last. If there is a God, I pray that I will see him again. And if fate grants me a second chance, I swear I will never make the same mistake I stared at the words on the page, my heart pounding in my ears. Something about them seemed...off. Like they didn't come from a woman who was simply having second thoughts about getting married. More like the desperate ramblings of someone who was trying to convince themselves to live through yet another day. I turned the next few pages, finding them all empty except for one final entry. When the stranger arrives, do not let Alejandro remember her. I blinked at the words, my stomach twisting into knots as I read and re-read them. "What on earth..." Suddenly, a gust of wind howled through the library, rattling the windows and sending loose papers on the writing desk tumbling to the floor. I looked up in surprise, finding that the windows had somehow opened despite the thick curtains blocking out most of the wind. When I turned back to the diary, the last page was no longer blank. My eyes widened in shock as fresh words began appearing on the page, slowly and steadily as if being written by an unseen hand. Seraphina Lucero I stared at the words, my lips parting in alarm as realization finally dawned on me. "Okay. Very funny." I turned to the window to see if I could spot anyone who might have snuck in and planted the note, only to find the room completely empty. "Lola?" No answer. I quickly pulled out my phone to check the time, only for the screen to flicker and die instantly. "Seriously?" I tried pressing the power button again and again, but the phone remained stubbornly unresponsive. Then, I heard someone chuckle from behind me. "Curiosity has always been your family's greatest weakness." I whirled around, finding an elderly nun standing near the doorway.