The Buried Past

It had barely been a few seconds since Lucy dozed off to sleep, finding herself in a completely different place.

She stood in a long hallway, her naked feet pressing against cold marble floors.

'…is this a dream?' The girl wondered, everything around her looked unfamiliar at first—too clean, too grand, too expensive. White walls stretched tall above her, decorated with golden frames holding paintings she couldn't name.

The light around her glowed in a soft hue, the kind that poured in through tall windows covered in silk curtains.

It was warm here, she thought.

Her eyes darted around, confusion sinking in slowly.

Where was she?

Then the smell hit her.

Vanilla, with a trace of something older, like aged leather and faint cologne.

And it was right then, when Lucy recognized it.

This was her old home.

The one she and her father had left behind years ago, back when she was only nine.

The memory of this place had faded with time, blurred and jumbled with the chaos that followed by her father leaving for god knows where.

But standing here now, it all came rushing back…the grand chandelier above the staircase, the long velvet curtains, the way the floor always squeaked near the kitchen.

She turned, hearing the soft murmur of voices.

"…I didn't want her to find out like this." It was a man's voice, deep and stern.

Lucy followed it, her heart beating loud.

As she turned into the corner, her figure froze.

There, in the middle of this lavish living room, stood her father.

Mikael V. Kincaid.

He was a towering figure, probably at the height of 7 feet, body built like a soldier carved out of stone.

Pale skin, black eyes, and of long jet-black hair pulled into a low tie.

The man in front of her was wearing his usual black coat over a dark shirt and slacks.

He wasn't facing her, but she could tell something was wrong.

And then she saw herself.

Or rather, a much smaller version of herself. Nine-year-old Lucy, sitting cross-legged on the plush carpet, gripping a stuffed fox in her hands like it was the only thing holding her to the ground.

Her hazel eyes were wide, filled with fresh tears, her face pale.

Lucy—the older one, felt her throat tighten as she realised what exactly was happening here.

She had forgotten this day.

"I'm sorry, pumpkin," The black haired man said, his voice quieter now. "Your mother… she's gone."

Young Lucy blinked. "Gone where?"

Mikael opened his mouth, then closed it.

He looked like he didn't know what to say.

The man could only clench his jaws, speaking with a grave tone, "She died, Lucy…There was an accident. A bad one."

Silence followed.

Then came the sound of a sob. Not from Mikael but from the small child on the floor. She covered her mouth with her hands, shaking.

"You're lying!" the little girl screamed suddenly, standing up. "She promised me! She promised she'd come back!"

"She didn't mean to break her promise, baby…" Mikael replied, his voice heavy.

"You let her leave! You always let her go when she's tired, when she's sad! You never made her stay!"

"I couldn't—"

"You didn't even care she was hurting! You just pretended everything was fine!" the girl shouted, and the air in the room seemed to shift.

Something was wrong.

The older Lucy, standing in the corner, felt her skin prickle.

The nine-year-old Lucy had dropped her stuffed fox.

She clenched her fists, her small face trembling as tge air arouud her rippled in a controlled pattern of cols waves.

It was in no time that Mikael's eyes widened as the nine year old Lucy's feet began to rise in the air.

Just an inch off the ground at first.

Then two.

Her hair swayed lightly, even though there was no wind in the room while her hazel eyes, once dull with sadness, had begun to glow, a soft, golden light that pulsed with each heartbeat.

"What…?" The real Lucy's eyes widened in shock. "I… I don't remember this…"

Young Lucy floated a few inches higher, screaming through her tears. "I hate you! I wish it was you and not her!"

"Lucielle, calm down—" Mikael took a step forward, reaching out.

"No!!" the little girl screamed.

A sharp spike of wind burst outward, knocking a vase from the table bearby, shattering the window glasses apart.

Light continued to shine around the girl in bright pulses.

Mikael didn't look afraid, only…sad.

He lowered his hand, watching his daughter cry mid-air.

The expression on his face was unreadable—part guilt, part pain, and something else…something like regret.

"You'll forget this," he muttered under his breath. "You have to."

The older Lucy backed away, horrified.

None of this had ever been in her memory. None of it.

She only remembered that her mother had died and her father had told her calmly, maybe even coldly.

She remembered crying.

She remembered yelling.

But floating?

Eyes turning gold?

Lucielle V. Kincaid remembered nothing of that sort.

The girl stumbled back into the hall, breathing heavily.

And that's when the dream started to break.

The lights flickered.

The golden glow dimmed.

The white walls cracked like glass, and the chandelier above twisted and blurred.

Her vision grew dark as the lavish apartment began to break into cracks of her own imagination.

She heard a voice again—not her father's this time.

Not her own.

Just a low whisper, crackling like static in her ears.

"You were never meant to remember all this."

Lucy jumped and sat up in her bed, sweat beading at her forehead.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly and for a moment, she even forgot know where she was.

The dream had been too vivid.

Too detailed.

She could still feel the weight of it in her lungs, the echo of her own childhood voice yelling at her father out loud.

Looking around, the girl realised that she was back in her bedroom.

The place was dim and quiet.

Kaito, the said black cat lay curled by her side, unaware of her panic. His small chest rising and falling peacefully.

Lucy pressed a hand to her heart. "What the hell was that?"

She wiped her forehead, feeling cold.

That dream…It hadn't felt like a dream at all. It had felt like a memory.

A real one.

But that couldn't be possible.

Could it?

She slowly stood up and walked to the bathroom, turning on the sink and splashing cold water on her face.

"Golden eyes…a floating body… that couldn't have happened," Lucy whispered to her reflection.

But her reflection didn't answer.

And in the still air of the quiet apartment, something pulsed faintly beneath the surface.

A memory sealed.

A truth long buried.

And Lucy, staring into her reflection in the mirror, she just couldn't stop the shiver that ran down her spine.

***