Chapter 11
Amira barely slept. The image of the three figures — especially the girl with violet eyes — stayed etched in her mind. Even Elias, usually calm in his melancholy, seemed shaken. He stared at the altered photograph as though it had rewritten his entire past.
"She was never there," he murmured. "At least… not that I can remember."
But the sea remembers what the living forget.
That evening, a dense mist rolled in. Not fog — mist, heavy and humming with static. The villagers said the sea was restless again. Boats refused to go out. Lights flickered. Animals hid.
Inside the lighthouse, Amira felt the air shift. The temperature dropped. And then… music. A soft lullaby, coming from the old radio in the storeroom — one that hadn't worked in years.
Amira and Elias followed the sound down the creaking steps.
The radio played a broken tune, warbling and low. Then, a child's voice crackled through the static.
"You lied."
Elias froze.
"I remember that voice," he said.
He knelt and pulled out an old, rusted box beneath the shelves. Inside was a journal — small, water-stained, and childlike. The first page read:
> Property of Mirabelle
Amira turned the fragile pages. Drawings. Doodles. Scribbled entries:
> Selene says we'll run away together.
Elias watches us sometimes. He doesn't smile anymore.
I think he wants Selene to himself.
And then, the final entry, smeared with water:
> If I disappear, will anyone notice?
Tears blurred Amira's vision. She looked at Elias. His jaw was clenched, fists shaking.
"I don't remember this," he whispered. "But what if I chose to forget?"
That night, the lighthouse light didn't flicker.
It turned off entirely.
And through the darkness, the sea glowed violet.
Mirabelle had returned — not for vengeance.
But for recognition.