Chapter 4: The Girl Who Forgot

Maren hadn't spoken since they left the library.

It was morning now—overcast, with gray clouds crawling across the sky like bruises. She sat in Elior's room, curled up on his desk chair, knees to her chest, staring blankly at the letter he'd found on his windowsill.

> "The girl remembers more than she knows."

The words haunted her. Not because they were ominous, but because… they felt true.

"I keep seeing flashes," she whispered at last. "Not dreams. Not exactly. More like pieces. Of something I'm supposed to remember."

Elior sat across from her on the bed. He didn't say anything, just waited.

"There's a room," Maren continued. "Small. White walls. One window. And a music box." She closed her eyes. "It's playing a melody I know by heart, but I've never heard it before. I'm sitting in a chair. I'm… younger. Maybe seven or eight."

She paused. Her voice dropped lower.

"There's a man standing behind me. But I can't see his face."

Elior leaned forward. "Do you know where the room is?"

Maren shook her head. "No. But it feels close. Like I've been near it recently."

Elior thought for a long moment. "What if it's real? What if that memory is from this town—this house, even?"

Maren looked up. "I don't live here anymore. We moved back when my grandmother died. But before that, we used to visit once a year."

She stood slowly, pacing.

"I think my family was part of this," she said, voice trembling. "I think… I was part of a ritual."

Elior swallowed. "The book said you were the seventh key. What if they did something to you when you were younger—something to lock away whatever they needed for that final gate?"

Maren nodded. "That would explain the memory loss. And the letters waking it all up."

She looked at him, a cold certainty in her voice.

"I need to find that room."

---

They started by returning to Maren's old house—the one her grandmother had left behind.

It was empty now. Boarded windows. Rusted mailbox. The garden overtaken by weeds and thorny vines. But the back door, oddly enough, was unlocked.

Inside, the air smelled of mothballs and mold. The furniture was covered in white cloths, like ghosts hibernating. Maren walked through it slowly, her fingers brushing faded wallpaper, pausing on framed pictures of unfamiliar people.

Then she stopped at the hallway.

"I think it's this way."

Elior followed as she led him to a narrow stairwell hidden behind an old bookshelf.

The steps creaked as they descended.

At the bottom was a door—small, wooden, locked with a chain.

But Maren reached forward, touched it…

And the chain slid loose on its own.

Elior stepped back.

The door creaked open.

And behind it…

A small room.

White walls. One window. A music box on a table.

Exactly like her memory.

Maren stepped inside as the air grew thick. She sat in the old wooden chair in the center of the room. And as soon as she did, the music box opened on its own and began to play.

The melody was slow, sorrowful. A lullaby lost in time.

Maren gasped, clutching her head.

Visions surged back—sharp and burning.

---

She saw her grandmother standing beside her.

Candles all around. A circle of salt.

Other robed figures watching from the corners.

And in front of her—

A mirror.

But the mirror didn't show her reflection.

It showed a forest, gnarled and wrong.

And a face pressed up against the glass.

Smiling.

Not her own.

> "You are the key," her grandmother whispered.

"But you must never remember.

You must never wake what sleeps beneath."

Then—

Darkness.

Pain.

A voice screaming her name.

And everything turned white.

---

She jolted back to the present, breathing hard.

Elior rushed to her side. "Maren?!"

Her hands were trembling. Her eyes wide.

"I remember now," she said softly. "They used me to seal the seventh gate. That's why I forgot. The ritual—they hid the memory. Locked it with the music."

Elior's mind reeled. "But the letters—"

"Are unlocking it," she finished. "One by one. And when the last letter comes…"

She looked up at him, her voice cracking.

"The gate will open."

---

That night, she slept at Elior's house.

But sleep didn't bring peace.

Instead, they both dreamed the same dream.

They stood at the edge of a dying forest. The trees were blackened, as if burnt from within. And through the smoke, a figure watched them.

Not Lucien.

Someone older.

Something deeper.

It had no eyes. No mouth. Only a crack in its chest, pulsing with light.

And behind it—seven stones. Floating. Spinning slowly.

When it spoke, it did so without words. It was like being buried in sound.

> "You've begun to remember.

But memory is not mercy.

Truth does not forgive."

The ground shook.

> "Three nights remain."

They both awoke with a scream.

---

At school the next day, things were… wrong.

Everyone was too quiet. Eyes were dull, like students were sleepwalking. Teachers spoke in strange tones, their voices echoing too long after words ended.

When Elior checked his locker, he found something tucked inside.

Another letter.

No envelope this time. Just torn paper. Scribbled in black.

> "The others are waking.

You are not the only ones who carry the mark.

Look for the girl with the broken name.

She remembers the silence.

She will show you the second grave."

Beneath the writing:

A drawing of a withered tree.

Maren read it with him after class.

"A girl with a broken name?" she whispered. "What does that mean?"

Elior shook his head. "I don't know. But if we're not the only ones… then this isn't over."

They were being pulled deeper into something ancient, something carefully forgotten.

But the past, once disturbed, does not go quietly.

It screams.