Remembering the wrong life
1311 Words
Zara didn’t go back to her room.
She wandered aimlessly through the silent halls, the locket still gripped in her palm like a secret trying to escape her skin.
The farther she walked, the more the mansion seemed to hum. Lights flickered behind walls. The tapestries rippled without wind. Whispers—not words, just presence—curled beneath the floorboards.
She ended up in a quiet atrium she hadn't seen before. Overgrown vines coiled through shattered windows, moonlight spilling across the cracked marble floor. It was forgotten. Abandoned.
Like her.
She sank to the floor and buried her face in her hands.
It started slow—just the pressure of tears building.
But then it cracked open.
The sob came from her gut, not her throat. Like something deep inside her had split.
Zara cried until her chest hurt.
She missed her apartment. Her neighborhood. The sound of traffic, the chaos of the market, the way her mother used to hum while she cooked. She missed the world making sense. Missed the version of herself that didn’t wake up wondering if her memories were real or stitched from someone else's past.
“I don’t want this,” she whispered into the air. “I never asked for this.”
Silence.
And then—not silence.
A soft rustle behind her.
Zara turned sharply.
It was one of the younger maids—Liri. The silver-haired girl with soft eyes and even softer steps.
“I heard you left the solarium,” Liri said gently. “Elira was… worried.”
Zara gave a hollow laugh. “Worried I’ll crack?”
“She was right,” Liri said, kneeling beside her.
“You’re breaking. But that’s not always a bad thing here.”
Zara wiped her face with the sleeve of her robe.
“Why does everything feel like a test?”
“Because it is,” Liri said simply. “This house listens.
The realm watches. Even your tears mean something.”
Zara looked away. “I just want to go home.
Liri hesitated, then whispered, “Maybe you’re already home.”
The words hit her like a slap.
But before she could speak, Liri stood.
“Come back when you’re ready,” she said. “The house will wait. He will wait.”
Zara watched her go.
Then looked down at the locket in her palm again.
Its faint glow had dimmed.
But it hadn’t gone out
She didn’t know how she got back to her room.
The halls blurred as she walked, her chest still tight from crying, the locket clutched like a lifeline. Her thoughts raced: This isn’t my life. This isn’t real. I will wake up. I have to.
She reached her room.
Closed the door.
Then—he appeared.
No footsteps. No knock. Just presence.
Like a shadow forming into flesh.
He stood at the edge of her chamber, tall and silent, clothed in black that shimmered like it was made from spilled ink and stars. His face was cruelly beautiful. Sculpted. Inhuman.
Eyes like burning coal beneath a winter sky.
Zara stumbled back, breath caught in her throat.
He didn’t move.
He only spoke.
“You cry like someone who still believes they have a choice.”
His voice. It was him.
The one from the mirror. The dream. The whisper at the window.
Zara’s spine locked. “Who—who are you?”
He tilted his head. “You already know.”
Her lip trembled. “This is some sick trick. I don’t belong here. I’m not—I don’t want any of this.”
He took a single step forward.
“The realm does not bend to want. It answers only to blood. And your blood belongs to me.”
Zara backed into the wall. “No. You don’t get to say that. You can’t just—just claim people like they’re property!”
His eyes flashed.
“But you are. You were marked the moment you were born. Promised long before your world even knew you existed.”
He extended his hand toward her locket, and it flew into his palm
.
The glow pulsed red-hot.
“A reminder,” he said softly, “that you were never as free as you believed.”
Zara swallowed hard, heart pounding.
“Why me?” she asked. “Why choose me?”
For the first time, something shifted in his expression. Almost... confusion. Or anger. At himself.
He stepped forward cornering her to a wall and she didn't want to admit that she was overwhelmed by him,his scent,his stature, his eyes- even though she was sure others would say they were scary, she couldn't even breathe properly and was wondering what was wrong with her, he was the person holding her hostage, she shouldn't be this aware of him or maybe it was fear she was feeling it had to be.
she fought hard to regain her composure but from his eyes it was as if he knew her every thought and what being that close was doing to her.
“You ask questions you’re not ready for.”He finally replied and she almost forgot what they were talking about she just wanted him to move away from her so she could breathe properly.
She looked at the door—half thinking to run.
He caught the glance and gave a cruel, quiet smile.
“Try it.”
She pushed him away and bolted anyway.
The door slammed shut before she could reach it.
The walls shook.
And in a flash, he was in front of her again,caging her in without touching her.
“I let you grieve,” he whispered. “Now you prepare.”
“For what?”
His smile deepened.
“Our wedding.”
Zara’s breath hitched.
“No—no, you can’t just—”
“I can. I already have.
He stepped back, vanishing again into smoke and silence.
And this time, when the room was empty, the locket lay on her bed.
But now it had changed.
The inside no longer read Remember.
It read:
Belong.
Zara ran.
Down corridors she hadn’t seen before. Past twisted staircases and grand halls that shifted like a maze built by nightmares. Her bare feet slapped against cold marble. Her breath came in panicked gasps.
She needed out.
There had to be a door. A window. A mirror.
Something.
Anything.
She yanked on handles. Threw open archways. Pounded her fists on glass that looked outside but never led outside.
Everything turned her back in.
The house was alive—and it didn’t want her to leave.
A soft laugh echoed from the walls. Not mocking.
Just knowing.
She finally stopped in what looked like a forgotten gallery, chest heaving, palms scraped and bloody from clawing at sealed edges.
Elira found her there.
Followed by two other maids. The cold, whispery kind who watched but never spoke.
Zara spun to face them, wide-eyed, feral.
“Help me,” she said, voice raw. “I need to leave.
Please—there has to be a way back.”
Elira said nothing.
Zara grabbed her by the arm. “I don’t belong here! I didn’t agree to any of this! He can’t just—just claim me!”
Elira stared at her hand, then at her face. Calm. Cool. Unmoved.
“You don’t need a door,” she said softly. “You need to accept it.”
Zara stepped back, shaking. “Then lock me up.”
Elira raised a brow.
“I’m serious,” Zara choked. “If you won’t help me escape, then lock me somewhere he can’t reach me. I won’t be a part of this. I won’t be paraded down some cursed aisle like I’m property.”
Elira’s eyes flicked to the others.
And then she nodded.
“As you wish.”
- Writer
