Whispers of the Forgotten

Evelyn's breath hitched at Lucien's words. A past they weren't supposed to remember? The weight of his statement settled deep in her chest, intertwining with the countless unanswered questions already plaguing her mind.

She took a step closer, searching his face for clarity. "What do you mean? How could we have a past if I only just arrived here?"

Lucien's gaze flickered toward the door where the council had exited moments ago. His jaw tensed. "This isn't the place to talk."

Before Evelyn could protest, Lucien reached for her wrist. A shiver ran through her at the contact—a strange, fleeting sensation, like an echo of something familiar. He led her through a side door, away from the grand study, down a dimly lit corridor lined with ancient paintings. The air carried the scent of parchment and something faintly floral, like a memory on the edge of recognition.

When they reached the end of the hallway, Lucien opened another heavy wooden door, revealing a private chamber. The space was lavish yet restrained—bookshelves lined every wall, and a large window overlooked a vast, moonlit garden. A single candle flickered on the desk, casting long shadows.

Lucien shut the door behind them and exhaled slowly. "Sit."

Evelyn hesitated but eventually perched on the velvet-lined chair near the desk. "No more cryptic answers," she said, gripping the book she still held. "Tell me everything."

Lucien's fingers brushed the edge of the desk as he leaned against it. His eyes darkened, the usual sharpness replaced with something heavier. "The council—Aldric, especially—believes in keeping the balance of time. They dictate who belongs in which era, which events should unfold without interference." He paused. "And they believe that you don't belong here."

Evelyn's stomach twisted. "I never asked to come here. I don't even know how I ended up in this world."

Lucien let out a mirthless chuckle. "That's the thing, Evelyn. This isn't the first time you've been here."

The room seemed to tilt for a moment. "That's impossible."

Lucien met her gaze, unwavering. "You don't remember, but this isn't the first time you've crossed into this world. You and I… we have met before."

Her grip on the book tightened. "How? Why don't I remember?"

Lucien pushed off the desk and paced, running a hand through his dark hair. "Because the council ensured it."

Evelyn's heart pounded. "They erased my memories?"

Lucien stopped, turning to face her fully. "They erased everything. Every trace of you. Every moment you spent here before. But something went wrong. You weren't supposed to return, yet here you are."

Evelyn's pulse roared in her ears. If what he was saying was true, then her entire existence—her entire history—had been tampered with. She suddenly felt as though she were standing on the edge of a precipice, looking down into an abyss of forgotten truths.

"What did I do to make them erase me?" she whispered.

Lucien's expression darkened, his hesitation stretching long enough that she almost wasn't sure he'd answer. Then, in a voice barely above a breath, he said, "You fell in love with me."

Silence crashed over them like a tidal wave.

Evelyn felt like the air had been knocked from her lungs. She stared at Lucien, trying to process his words, but all she could see was the quiet intensity in his gaze, the way he was watching her as if expecting her to run.

"And that…" Lucien murmured, "was the greatest crime of all."