Chapter 5 – Temptation

I opened my eyes. A white light blinded me.

A steady, insistent beeping filled the room. I tried to move and found my body invaded: probes in my arms, wires tangled across my chest, bandages soaked with blood. The smell of disinfectant mixed with iron made my stomach turn.

“W-where… where am I?” I whispered. My head felt like lead.

A dull ache throbbed at my temples.

“Mari…” my voice cracked. “Where is my little girl?”

A doctor in a blood-streaked coat leaned over me.

“Ma’am, you were in a severe accident. You must stay calm…”

A machine that seemed to be following my heartbeat began to malfunction, shrieking with an irregular beep.

“Mariiiiiii!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. The cry spread like a siren, drowning out everything else.

…

Darkness.

I opened my eyes again. The ceiling was wood, not white plaster. Light came from an oil lamp that flickered in the gloom. The scent was no longer disinfectant but damp earth and dried herbs.

I lay on a rough futon, covered by a heavy blanket. Beside me, an elderly man with gray hair and a simple robe sorted bottles on a shelf.

“Calm down, Mizuno-san,” he said in a hoarse voice without even looking at me. “We found you unconscious by the lake. You’re safe now.”

I brought my hand to my face. My skin still stung; the echo of my own scream vibrated in my throat.

What had been real?

“A lumberjack happened to pass by the lake,” the man continued. “You were lucky. You could have caught a chill.”

I sat up slowly. That’s when I saw it: the scrape on my arm. Exactly where Mari had scratched me while we were playing… it was still fresh.

“It wasn’t a dream…” I murmured.

I jumped up and headed for the door. The man calmly lit a cigarette, watching me between puffs of smoke.

“I’d avoid the lake if I were you,” he said, exhaling a gray cloud. “I don’t know who told you to go, but it’s dangerous.”

I paused on the threshold, though my curiosity tugged harder than his warning.

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir…”

“Dr. Kōshi Nagato.”

“Thank you, Mr. Nagato,” I replied without looking back.

The old man turned toward the window, indifferent, and muttered, “Tourists…”

I crossed the village in a matter of minutes beneath the puzzled stares of the locals. I hurried down the steep path; the sun was already setting behind the mountains, but I was determined to see if it had all been real.

The scrape, the sense of fullness, the scent… even though my world remained gray, those traces lingered. Tangible proof—scars and fragrances that shouldn’t exist. An invisible force pulled me again toward the lake. I was beginning to believe it was a magical place.

This time I passed beneath the torii with care. I didn’t slip. I didn’t fall. The water wasn’t deep enough for that.

“Mari! Oda! Love!… anyone?”

Only my reflection answered, staring back—pale, lifeless, devoid of warmth.

“Stupid lake!” I shouted, striking the surface. Water splashed everywhere, fracturing my face into a thousand ephemeral shards.

“Give me back my family…”

“Mari… Oda… and…”

A sharp pain stabbed through my skull, like a pin pressing deep into memory.

“Why… can’t I remember their names?” I gasped. “Not even… my husband’s face?”

A delicate metallic sound broke through my confusion—the tinkle of a furin, a glass wind chime, seemingly floating in the air.

“…Elizabeth.”

I froze.

“Where do I know that name from?”

The dusk thickened; the sun had slipped behind the mountains. A figure approached from above, holding a lamp. A middle-aged man called out in a deep voice through the mist:

“Miss Mizuno! Dinner time!”

I looked back at the lake one last time. My reflection remained there: cold, dim, soulless.

“Maybe… it only works during the day,” I murmured. “I’d better rest.”

And so I did.

The next day I returned, and there they were again… my family, smiling, waiting for me. That day we wandered through the aquarium together. The day after, we watched a movie—children laughing with popcorn in hand. Another day, Tokyo Tower glowing beneath our feet. A Sunday spent drawing at home with Mari and Oda, comparing our childish scribbles. An afternoon in Akihabara, buying silly things we didn’t need.

Days passed like that.

The lake convinced me my family was alive, returning perfect scenes—pages torn from a life that no longer existed.

But I could never stay longer than it permitted.

There was always a limit.

There always came the moment when the water spat me back into the void—into bitter reality.