Elia didn't remember stepping forward.She didn't remember reaching for the frame.But somehow, her fingers were already brushing against the edge of the open door, the one thathadnever had a handle, the one that should have stayed closed forever.
The wood felt… soft. Not warm. Not cold. Just soft, like it wasn't finished being real yet.
"You left her."
The memory flashed, uninvited.A girl's voice. Young. Flat. Not angry worse , Disappointed.
She stepped inside.
The room was wrong.
It was too large, like the kind of space you only see in dreams wide enough to echo, tall enough to forget there was a ceiling.But still familiar.
Like something she'd seen once, from behind a locked door, when she wasn't supposed to look.
The walls weren't walls. They were screens, or maybe mirrors. They flickered but not with light. They flickered with scenes.
Elia saw herself.At different ages.Sitting on a swing.Reading under her blanket.Screaming into a pillow.Leaving someone behind in the hallway.
She turned sharply away, heart slamming her ribs like fists. But the images followed her. Reflected on every surface she tried to avoid.
One image froze her.
A version of her maybe six or seven pointing at the screen. Not at Elia. Past her.
She spun around.
The mirror behind her had cracked.
Not shattered just cracked enough to show something beneath it.
She stepped closer.
And saw herself, still.But not quite.The girl's eyes were darker. Her expression older. And in her hand — something metal. A key.
Not to the mirror.Not to the house.
To memory.
Elia leaned in, almost whispering.
"Who are you?"
The reflection smiled, slow and unfamiliar.
Then her mouth moved.
"You're early."
Behind her, something clicked. Like a lock being undone.The entire room tilted.
Not physically. Not visibly. But her stomach dropped like the floor had betrayed gravity.
The mirror faded.The door was gone.
She turned in slow circles. The walls were melting, the scenes warping. Her birthday party played in reverse. Her mother's voice was muffled, rewinding itself. Then static.
Then darkness.
And then, she heard it.
Humming.
A child's hum. Simple. Off-key.
Coming from somewhere behind the dark.
She walked toward it.
The sound grew louder, clearer.
It wasn't random. It was a song.
A lullaby.
She knew that song.
She used to sing it to
She stopped.
No.
Her brain tried to pull away, like a hand yanked back from a burning stove.
But the memory slipped through anyway.
The stairs.The door.The girl on the floor."Stay here," she said.But she didn't stay.She ran.
A light flickered.
She was in a different room now. Still inside the house , maybe. But this room was real. Dusty. Old. Full of toys.
Elia turned slowly.
A music box sat in the center of the room. Still humming. Still open.
Next to it, a small twin mattress.Sheets still tucked.A small figure under them. Not moving. Not breathing.
Elia stepped closer, throat dry.
She didn't want to look.But she had to.
She reached for the sheetHer hand stopped.
The music box stopped too.
The room fell into pure silence.
Then the small body sat up in a single motion.
And said, without looking:
"You said you'd come back."
Elia didn't scream.
She couldn't.
Her voice had left her.
She stepped back, shaking, eyes wide. The figure turned. It wasn't a corpse. It wasn't a ghost. It was her.
A younger version.
But with eyes too empty, like someone had pulled out the soul and left the shell behind to rot in time.
"I waited," the girl said again."But you never did."
Something cracked deep in her memory.Something she couldn't hold back anymore.
It wasn't a dream.She had left someone behind.And not just figuratively.
Someone real.
Or worse…
Some version of herself.
She turned to run.
But the door was gone again.