The Past That Leads to the Present

The car was a heap of jagged metal and shattered glass so mangled it was a miracle anyone survived. Aria’s parents were ruled deceased almost immediately after emergency services arrived. She understood little of what had happened—her body was in complete shock.

“Gone? But I was just— We were talking about—”

“I’m afraid they passed upon impact. It’s a miracle you escaped with so few injuries,” the ambulance attendant said. “Aria, was it? Why don’t we take you to the hospital—just to observe you overnight and make sure everything’s alright?”

She shook her head. “No. I just want to go home. We’re going to make cookies and—”

The EMT pulled her in and gave her a firm hug—the reality of the situation finally hit her. She sobbed like a small child. Hot tears warmed her cold cheeks. Her heart was in pieces and her mind was a jumbled mess of terror and adrenaline; she didn’t know where to begin or, really, how to piece her life back together in the slightest. Everything had been taken from her in an instant.

“I know I’m only witnessing what happened, but it feels so real. When she left the mall that night, I had no idea this is the hell she would be living in…” Brendan looked on, witness to a past only Aria knew.

He watched as her once color-filled world washed away with the rain and crimson stains on her hands. The life in her eyes was gone—a hollow shell all that remained. No one said life was fair, but this was excessive, he thought.

“How do you take the lives of her parents, but spare hers?” He walked over to the heap of scrap metal that was once a car. “This must have been immediately after the drunk driver hit them, but I don’t see the other vehicle. Was this a hit and run?”

“Aria?!” an elderly woman shouted. “Oh, Aria… This never should have happened…” She walked up to the ambulance where she sat, receiving treatment for a couple of small cuts and bruises on her face.

“Are you her grandmother?” the EMT asked.

“Yes. Thank you for taking care of her. I can’t imagine what’s going on in her head right now.” She took a breath. “My daughter and son-in-law…”

The attendant shook her head, face full of dismay. “I’m very sorry, ma’am.”

Aria’s grandmother remained stoic. “Don’t be. We can’t change the rules of fate. What’s most important right now is getting this girl away from here. I’m not sure she’s even aware of what happened.”

“They won’t let me go home…” Aria’s voice was monotone, but her words were scathing.

“The doctors will run a few tests tonight and make sure she’s alright physically, but I’m afraid mentally…” The EMT’s face was full of doubt.

Brendan walked up to Aria. He knew she couldn’t see him, but he wanted nothing more than to hold her and tell her he was going to make everything alright. “How did we go from shopping and dinner to this monstrosity? Why doesn’t this make sense to me?”

The scene abruptly changed. Now, Aria was in bed with the curtains drawn, hoping to block out as much light as possible. She rolled over on her side, away from the door, buried in thick, weighted blankets. In her arms was a family photo and a stuffed bear—likely a favorite comfort object.

Clothes were strewn across the foot of the bed and much of the floor turning the bedroom into a treacherous maze of underwear, tops, and socks of varying lengths. On the desk were several magazines and old books, all opened face-down as if she’d tried to distract herself from reality and gave up. Her bed seemed to be the only place she found any kind of solace and her stuffed bear the only thing she wanted to talk to. Her room was a depiction of her current mental state.

“This is why she never came back to school and why I couldn't reach her. No wonder the teachers were so secretive about Aria—they knew the whole time.” Sniffles came from beneath the mountain of blankets. “She’s crying,” Brendan realized, “and there’s no one around to comfort her.”

Her phone let out a tiny bzzt; a notification dimly illuminated the dark room. The screen displayed a multitude of missed calls, text messages, and voicemails. She was popular and avidly social, but many of the text messages lacked substance. Most were just a simple, “Missing you!”, or “Is everything okay?” Specifics of the accident were scarce, she understood that, but no one had even bothered to ask what happened or where she was.

A soft knock came at the door. It was her grandmother. “Aria? Brendan is here to see you. He even brought your favorite snacks.”

“Tell him I’m not here,” she mumbled. “I… don’t have the energy for people right now.” She paused, fighting back tears. “Even him.”

Her grandmother sighed. “I’ll tell him you’re not feeling well, but you will have to come out eventually. This is hard for both of us, dear.”

Aria remained silent, her only response the soft sound of moving sheets as she turned over in her bed. Brendan listened as her grandmother was forced to turn his younger self away.

Aria’s cold shoulder stung, but he didn’t understand the reason back then. He listened to the soft clunk of the recliner in the living room where Aria’s grandmother spent most of her time sewing. She was hurting just as much, having just lost her daughter, Aria’s mother, but she put on a brave face for her granddaughter.

“How is it you cared so little for anything else? This is a side to you I’ve never seen.” Brendan turned towards the door then back to Aria. “It was wrong of me to feel guilty, like somehow something I did caused all of this. I let my own self-pity swallow me whole. I should have kept coming back until you answered the door.”

                                                                                ***

Two days passed in the blink of an eye. Aria remained in her bed for a majority of the time, getting up only to use the bathroom or for a drink. On the night of the second day, she grabbed an empty suitcase and began to pack. She would start slow, fill the suitcase, dump it all out, and start over. Brendan lost count of how many times she’d break into tears after repeatedly emptying the suitcase.

“This isn’t what I wanted for myself, my life. What did I do that was so awful to deserve this?” She kicked the open suitcase across the floor in frustration. “What am I doing? I can’t even decide if I want to curl up and die or try to move forward. Nothing makes sense anymore.” She sank to her knees, defeated.

She threw herself back onto the bed and shoved her face into a pillow for over a minute before deciding there were better ways to go about giving up. A pile of clothes slid off the bed and onto the floor from her haphazard return to its sheets. She stared at the new pile, lost in thought until the corner of a plastic card glinted in the light—an old library card. It was riddled with scratches and the barcode had faded some, but it looked like it was still in usable condition.

“How did you get there?” she wondered aloud. “I haven’t seen you in years, yet here you are now, right in front of me.” Aria glanced at the clock on her nightstand: 6:15pm. “The library closes at seven— If I go now, I can make it in time to find a new book or two… Maybe that’ll help.” She threw on a sweater and some sweatpants before walking out the front door with a promise to return home before it got too dark.

Brendan followed along. It felt… strange, walking in the shadow of the past of the girl he loved. He hadn’t forgotten what the whispery voice told him, about this being his most harrowing trial yet, but something told him he wasn’t the trial’s primary target. Moreover, it seemed it would be Aria, but what would be so harrowing he’d yet to discover.

The April air was still warm thanks to the fringes of sunlight that lingered on the horizon. Streetlights illuminated the sidewalk, casting an artificial spotlight upon the first weeds of the season as they forced their way through the cracks in the cement; they’d likely be sprayed or pulled before long.

“I can feel the air, the ground beneath my feet. I feel like I’m here, with her, yet I still feel so far away.” Aria’s voice snapped Brendan out of his amazement.

“A weed: that’s what I feel like right now. I don’t belong anywhere and I’m just a bother,” she mumbled. She kicked a rock down the sidewalk—an unlikely, but welcome, companion. “I need to just uproot this life and start over. Someone pull me up like a weed.”

She reached for her phone in her pocket, but realized she’d left it on her desk. It wasn’t like she had anyone she was desperate to talk to anyways though. The thought of Brendan flooded her mind causing her to stumble over a curb ramp. She was fortunate enough to regain her balance before faceplanting into the cement. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk, she did, but there was no one to talk to about any of it. Psychiatry sounded like a nightmare and school was the last place she wanted to be, somewhere she would have her personal space invaded without consent.

Her relationship with Brendan wasn’t just surface-level—she had honest feelings for him, but she refused to involve him in any part of her messed up life. Dragging him down with her wouldn’t be fair—she refused to involve anyone she loved in something so harrowing.

The last few days were nothing but guilt and depression; she repeatedly blamed herself for the accident. She lived, they didn’t. What else was there to say? Her grandmother would come by her room every so often to let her know that, when she was ready to talk, she’d be there. That was the problem, though. She didn’t want to talk about it, any of it: the accident, her miraculous survival, even Brendan.

“If I could grab my younger self by the collar and drag him back to that house, I would. I claimed to love her, but I couldn’t even bother to come back to try and make an appearance.” He walked past Aria and seated himself on the front of the library steps. “What would it take to reach out and hold her right now?” he wondered.

She slapped herself once on each cheek which turned out to be a terrible idea—her jaw was sore. Wincing as she walked up the steps to the library entrance, she headed for the fiction and fantasy section but decided to surprise herself in the bathroom mirror first.

“Do I look as awful as I feel?”

An audible gasp escaped her lips. Her hair was full of knots, unable to decide which direction it wanted to go, a large scrape on the side of her neck had scabbed over, and the bruises under her eyes made her look like she’d lost a boxing match. She backed away from the mirror before regaining enough composure to think straight.

“You came here for a reason, Aria. Get a grip, fix your hair a little, and try not to get Child Services called on you.” She splashed her face with cold water, adding a little to her hair to tame the matted mess. “That’s what being curled up in bed for nearly a week will do to you, I guess. I’ll… uh… fix myself up when I get back…”

Before she could react, the bathroom door swung open, startling her. A girl, about her age, walked in. Aria scrambled to hide herself in a stall until she left, but it was too late—they’d already locked eyes. She started to cry; social interaction was the last thing she needed right now.

The new girl looked around nervously. “Hey, don’t cry! Let’s do this…” She draped her jacket around Aria’s shoulders.

“Huh? Why?” she sniffled.

“You look cold, first of all, and second of all, this jacket has a special story to it. I was in a similar situation to what we’re in now once, and a girl about our age did the same thing for me: she took off her jacket and draped it across my shoulders. She said, ‘A little goes a long way. If you ever find someone in need, I hope that you pass this jacket along to them.’ It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me.”

“That’s so strangely sweet,” Aria said, half crying.

“It’d be weird for some random stranger to just hand their jacket off to you without introducing themselves first though,” she laughed, “so, my name’s Lyra.”

Brendan was posted up outside the wall to the bathrooms as he heard Lyra introduce herself for the first time. Astonishment hit him like a brick. Aria never mentioned how she met her, nor had she ever described the relationship they had in any detail. He suddenly understood why Lyra’s death was so impactful. He listened on.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lyra. My name is Aria.” She loosely held the jacket around her shoulders. “I’m sorry we had to meet like this. It’s just— I—”

Lyra shook her head. “If you’re not up to the task, you don’t have to tell me anything. I’m just glad I could help in the little way that I could.” She gave Aria a reassuring smile. “I know this is sudden, but how about we exchange phone numbers? I just have this feeling that meeting you was supposed to happen. Of course, you can refuse!”

“I feel the same. I can’t really explain it, but I’d be happy to, amidst everything else that’s currently going on.”

Aria gave Lyra a bear hug as thanks for her understanding and the jacket before promising to text her later. Finally, a real friend. She took another minute for herself before venturing out into the library.

“I almost wish I could explore all three floors of this place,” Brendan thought as he watched Aria wade into the sea of books. “There are desks for studying, couches in the back for a comfortable place to read, and even semi-private rooms for even more peace. This place is incredible.”

Rows of books passed like speeding cars as Brendan struggled to keep pace with Aria. There was a special section in the back corner she used to visit when she was little, always filled with some of the most unique finds. She once found a book about flower language where she designated “the withered flower” as her first and foremost favorite. As she grew up, she found interest in things aside from the library: boys, clothes, and more flowers. She still loved her secret corner hidden in the books, but she didn’t have much use for fourteenth-century recipes and ancient poetry that riddled the shelves this visit.

“If there’s still an entire other half to her past, then this must be where she comes across the essays she mentioned two years ago.” The lack of mention regarding how she ended up with the devils themselves remained Brendan’s biggest question. “So, what exactly happened after you find those essays?” he wondered.

She flipped through the pages of a supposed forgotten playwright’s autobiography before digging into the shelves for something with a little more substance. A small smile lined her face for the first time in days as she let out a small giggle.

“Who would ever name their child Rimran Timseth?” She read the title on the front cover of the book, as if the author’s name wasn’t bad enough: “Why People Thought the Earth was a Balloon: An essay by Rimran Timseth.” She couldn’t help but feel like whoever Rimran was, he’d wasted his life writing a several-hundred-page thesis trying to explain how the world wasn’t a balloon and why people thought it was. “Yeah, you’re going back on the shelf.”

Rummaging around a little more, she came across a loosely bound leather notebook. Inside were a series of essays, this time written by D. Stemmer, whoever that was. The journal smelled like it had been sitting there for years, unopened, as the inky pages festered. Though it had faded in many places, the ink remained just legible enough that the essays were still readable.

“These essays… I feel like whoever D. Stemmer is, the world didn’t want their work to see the light of day. All of this feels so planted to me—this entire situation: the accident, the essays...” Brendan couldn’t help but notice the lack of discussion over the identity of the drunk driver and potential lawsuits for liability and driving under the influence. “Why is no one talking about this? What ever happened to the police report? Someone or something buried this, deep.”

A series of shadows danced in the back corner of the library, relishing the dim light. Brendan ignored it at first, figuring it was probably just a couple of patrons, but the shadows became increasingly agitated, striking eerie poses. He watched carefully, intently, as they grew. Aria was now fixated on the mysterious essays, oblivious to the enigma that lurked behind her.

Eyes as red as rubies pierced Brendan like an arrow, sending shivers down his spine, but it was a shiver he remembered well. His eyes widened in shock. “Now I understand what happened,” he said aloud, though it seemed no one else could hear him. “Looks like it’s time to dance with the devil. Isn’t that right, Azael?”

“You do not fear me, Greyriter boy? The second in command of the Reverse Royalty, only mere steps behind our king?” Azael’s form continued to grow as the shadows of featherless wings and bony fingers inched up the walls. “Do you not wonder why, after all this time, I am only just now presenting myself to you?”

Brendan didn’t waver. His irises sparkled like stars in the sky; the look of determination proved he was prepared to defend Aria—past, present, or future. “No, because I know why you’re here. You just didn’t plan on me being here. You just want to watch Aria get sucked into your lies; those essays were never written by an actual human—you wrote them.”

“Perceptive, as Mikaun said,” Azael’s shadow continued to expand, “but you’re missing an integral piece of information.”

“It doesn’t matter what kind of information I’m missing because there never was a way to bring the dead back to life. You played on the emotions of a poor girl who’d just lost everything. Is it because you’re actually afraid of her?”

Azael hissed insidiously.

“See,” he said, locking eyes with the devil, “we continue to complete your little puzzle game the more time passes and here’s the next piece you missed.” Brendan manifested a series of documents also bound in a leather journal. “The Searing Wounds event, something Licht never got to fully explain, was more than just an accidental conflict between two mage families.” He opened the cover to the first page.

“What is this? A history lesson?” the devil growled.

Brendan began to read: “The Searing Wounds event, as the surviving members of the Lhumin and Greyriter families have come to know it, was more than just an accident. The world may come to tell the story of a conflict between two magical families, yet the truth remains far more complex. This was an attempted Rezertia led by the devils of the Reverse World against the princess of Earth.”

Azael launched a shadowy hand towards Brendan, attempting to entrap him in icy despair. “Excuse me,” Brendan said, clearing his throat, “I wasn’t done yet.” A powerful field of mana repelled the attack with ease. “You devils have played games with our minds too many times now; this past and these memories will play out as they’re supposed to and I will not allow you to interfere further.”

“Then consider this a warning, Greyriter,” Azael growled. “When we meet in the present, you will know fear unlike any other you’ve known before. You can’t keep yourself and the girl safe forever.” The devil’s form began to shrink as its shadow coalesced into a smaller form. Devilish laughter boomed like thunder. “Her heart is as cold as the ice around your—”

An arrow of light struck the devil’s shadow, nailing it in place with a metallic clink sound. “Another mage?” If that were the case, why couldn’t he sense their presence? Another arrow pierced Azael’s shadow dead-center.

“Let the boy finish,” a woman’s voice spoke. The devil growled menacingly as Brendan spun on his heels at the sound of his newly unannounced company—and hopeful ally.

She was cloaked in a peculiar garment of lavender and red; the top was that of a shrine priestess, yet it had its obvious differences. Sleeves nearly draped the ground like curtains and an oversized hood shielded much of her face from view; her red lips stood out like roses in the snow, however. The skirt of the garment was an even length and came to about mid-thigh, allowing her legs to don a set of opaque white stockings. One was held up by a garter belt as the other, adorned by a similar white stocking, was held up by a ribbon.

Gleaming arrows were nestled snugly inside a series of small pockets that resembled the barrel of a handgun. Before Brendan could even blink, she had already begun to nock another arrow. “Please continue,” she said, squaring her next shot.

He cleared his throat. A quick glance back at Aria reassured him she was safe, or as safe as reading a devil’s journal gets. He returned his attention to the woman before him and then Azael.

“It has been said time and again that history is written by the victor; that is true in this sense as well—we were horribly defeated. Our only saving grace was that Chiipha’s princess at the time took up the fight with us, but even together, the two princesses were still outmatched. We were able to flee at the behest of Chiipha’s princess. Sadly, she took her own life to prevent the devils from acquiring her power. Earth’s princess was utterly defeated, humiliated, and then killed.” Brendan looked up from the journal for a moment.

“Please, read a little more, if you would,” the woman coaxed. “There’s more for you to learn.”

He nodded but decided to address Azael before continuing. “See, I know that you are the most unique. Azhef has the power to give and take life, the Binary Twins fight together, Kuria can transform as she pleases, and Lucifero gains strength by eating dreams, but you,” his mouth curled around the final vowel, “you can transform past and present realities so long as there is no written record, am I correct?”

The devil roared, sending shockwaves through Brendan’s body. The mysterious woman grabbed him by the collar, simultaneously pulling him backwards as a large shadowy hand clawed the air in front him, barely grazing his clothes, now torn in the front.

He continued upon regaining his balance. “However, if the record does exist and can be manifested, that power is rendered obsolete. Once it has been presented, you can no longer alter that specific reality’s past or present. It’s frightening,” he admitted, “but not something that can’t be countered.”

Azael’s chuckling tore through the library. “You fail to understand one thing, Greyriter. I can erase your entire reality with just a single word.”

“Absolutely not,” the woman stated. “He has a written record here.” A journal floated before her, and something was being furiously scribbled down inside. “You will not be exerting your will so long as I’m here. Everything has been recorded in this very journal. The only thing you can do is manifest your true self and attempt to subdue the two of us.”

Her red lips formed a smirky smile. “But you can’t do that here as this isn’t a true reality anymore. This is the past, one that wishes to be forgotten so desperately.” She nodded at Brendan, his queue to keep reading.

“To our surprise, however, the devils left something behind—a human child. We did not know who her mother was, sadly. That night, we decided to name her Aria, in reference to the stars above. We were fortunate, but the child even more so. We knew she was special, but we also knew the devils would not return for some time to come.”

The woman recounted several key details. “Two decades ago, the princess of Chiipha was forced to submit to the devils during a subsequent attempted Rezertia. Like Earth’s princess during the Searing Wounds, she was also humiliated and then mercilessly killed. Earth was without a princess at the time; a specific ceremony had yet to be enacted, therefore the duties could not be inherited.” She put a finger to her lower lip in thought. “Really, it was more like the future princess’s mother was too ill to enact the duties required of her, hence why the ceremony could not be performed. Mind you, this was quite some time ago, if you recall.”

Azael’s shadow began to shrink once more, this time without interference. “You think you understand us, but you are far from understanding just how close your world is from annihilation—reconstruction without the need for dreadful humans.” The devil fled, leaving only a couple haunting lines.

The woman turned to Brendan as she extended a hand. “He won’t be back for a while. Besides, there is much we have to talk about later.” She glanced over at Aria who was stuffing the journal inside her sweater—a bold attempt at sneaking it out of the library. “Her too, but for now, I think we should fast forward. Wouldn’t you agree?”

He grabbed her hand, warm and buttery soft. “It may be unkind of me to say I was dragged into all of this, but I’m not sure how else to put it. If I fail to understand the girl I love, we won’t win this war.”

“Good answer,” the woman said cheerfully. “Let’s begin about two years from now.”

                                                                             ***

“Happy sixteenth birthday, Aria,” her grandmother smiled. “You’ve come a long way. Is there anything you wanted to do?” She handed Aria a neatly wrapped gift, placing a golden box on her lap.

“Thank you, Grandma, but no, not really.” Her hands caressed the smooth paper. “Really, all I want to do today is to be here.”

She nodded. “I understand. Then, let’s do something only a grandma can.” She winked at Aria who couldn’t help but crack a smile.

She began unwrapping but stopped midway through; her fingers gripped the edges of the box. “Grandma, you know I love you, right? I’ve changed a lot in the last couple of years—”

“I know, sweetheart. Trust me, I raised your mother after all; you have her same stubborn streak.” Aria looked nervous—her fingers fumbling at the edges of the gift. “Don’t worry. Your parents are looking over us right now, I’m sure. They’re probably just as anxious to see you open that and I have a feeling it’s going to help ease your mind a little.”

“Well, I just wanted you to know… I know I haven’t been the,” she paused, trying to think of a word, “easiest thing to deal with, but thank you for putting up with me.” She unwrapped the rest of the gift, revealing a white cardboard box filled with tissue paper. Taped to the inside was a small plastic baggie, but she figured she’d save it for last.

“Well, what is it?” her grandmother asked delightedly.

Aria lifted a soft-lavender dress from the paper; a gradual fade to black towards the bottom of the skirt emboldened the silky fabric. A second thinner, lighter skirt softened the harsh tones, embellishing the dress with a more refined look. Aria stood up as she held it out, her eyes running through every stitch and seam they could find. It was incredibly well-made and unlike anything she’d seen or worn before.

“The cold shoulder look too, huh? Someone really wants me out of the house,” she laughed. “Or… they want me to go to prom this weekend.” She smiled at her grandmother.

“Looks like you caught me.” She threw her hands up. “I’ve been working on that for quite some time now. Slowly at first, but I knew it would make for a great birthday present someday. You’ve grown into a wonderful young lady, Aria. Really.”

Tears filled the corners of her eyes, but she held them back; there was still more inside the box, after all. She removed the taped baggie first. Inside was a small bracelet paired with a yellow crescent moon that dangled from a metal chain—just one of multiple accessories. Several yellow stars made up the rest of its contents and with the bracelet’s adjustable strap, she didn’t have to worry about it being too loose of a fit.

“There’s still one more thing I have left to give you, but you have to close your eyes, ok?”

“Ok, ok,” she laughed, laying the dress in its box. “No crazy surprises, though. You hear… me…”

Her final gift was a hug, something which she never thought had any real significance; they were just two people pressing their bodies up against each other, but this one was different. Her grandmother hugged just like her mother did. Whenever she was upset or needed a shoulder to cry on, it was always her mother who came to the rescue—she had forgotten what that felt like.

“Shall we move on?” Brendan nearly jumped out of his skin. He was so entranced by Aria and everything he’d seen he completely forgot about the mysterious woman he’d just met. “There’s still more to see.”

“Err… Yeah, let’s go.”

The mysterious woman smiled at Brendan. “Take my hand.”

“Take your—”

The floor dropped out beneath their feet, leaving only empty space where an entire living room had been moments earlier. Brendan’s stomach dropped, half-expecting to plummet to the ground at breakneck speed, but he remained standing.

“If you’d taken my hand, I could have negated that falling sensation you just experienced.”

“Ok, but you gave me like two seconds to process that. You could’ve told me we were going to be standing in the sky,” he said tapping a foot on an unseen floor.

The woman covered her mouth with her sleeve as she giggled. “He hasn’t changed.” She turned her attention towards the city below. “You see that building right there?” She pointed to a large structure, much bigger than any of the surrounding buildings. Behind it was what must have been a sports stadium.

“That is the high school Aria currently attends in this past, Miruna High, but it’s from this point on that things get rather dark, I’m afraid.”

“What do you mean?”

A puff of cloud floated under Brendan’s feet, briefly obscuring his view of the school. He followed its shadow as it rolled across the ground below until it was torn apart by the wind. Shivers rocked his body even though he stood in the direct path of the sun.

“Yes, it gives me chills, too, Brendan.” She grabbed his hands. “To answer your question—”

Another gust of wind whisked her words away. She moved a hand to secure her hood, but it was too late. Blonde streaks of hair flew back in the breeze, sunbeams transforming them into hues of shimmering gold as they caressed the backdrop of the sky. She gasped before turning away, hiding her face in her hands.

Brendan wasn’t sure if he gasped or if it was the wind. He was so nonplussed he almost didn’t believe who stood before him. The brief glimpse he caught of her face before she turned away trudged up the memory of a long-forgotten friend.

His voice was full of bewilderment. “I thought maybe, but to see you standing here, before me…”

“No, no, no, no.” She squealed in dismay. “Don’t—"

“What are you doing here, Millee? How—”

“Brendan” she cried out, “it’s too soon for you to know, so stop asking!

“No, I think it’s time for an answer, Millee. Tonight is the night of the prom, isn’t it—when Aria ran away.”

“I—”

“I always knew something felt different about you. I thought maybe you could use magic, but I never saw or felt you use it, no matter what kind of situation presented itself,” he paused before taking a step closer to her, “but I think I understand now.”

“You don’t.”

“I know you better than you think.”

“You really don’t.”

“And maybe I don’t, but,” Millee inhaled sharply at his words, “I do know that you’re incredibly talented, smart… and that somehow, you were Lyra. She was never an actual person, was she?”

Millee exhaled, slowly. “You’re right. You’ve grown, Brendan, but there’s still more to the story that you’re missing.”

“Is there, milady?”

She spun around faster than Brendan could blink. Her amber eyes and plump lips told him exactly what she was thinking. She was terrible at hiding her emotions, or her thoughts, for that matter.

“How did you know?” she whispered.

“Because it’s you, Millee. The day we were all gathered in the cafeteria, you jumped as soon as you knew something was up. Why erase everyone’s memory of you, though? Everything else is beginning to make a little more sense, but there’s so much about you that remains a mystery.”

“It was to protect you, but you got involved anyway, with those two girls and Aria,” she shouted as her lips quivered. “I have to be the intermediary because I know Earth’s princess isn’t ready for any of this! Do you know how scary that is, knowing that at any moment, the life I knew could be gone in an instant?” She lowered her voice. “Do you know how the last Princess of Chiipha died?”

“She was a victim of the devils too, right? They stole her powe— Wait.” The realization hit him like a truck. “A new ceremony was never held after her death, but that can’t be right… You’re the—"

She cut him off. “I had to embellish a bit, but I thought maybe it’d scare you off and you’d just… go home, but now you’re more motivated than ever! How am I supposed to deal with that?!”

Brendan took another step forward. “Millee, tell me the truth. How long have you—”

“Been the princess of Chiipha? Four years—approximately two and a half before the Reverse Royalty began their pursuit of Earth’s princess again.” She groaned. “Look, Brendan. In order for you to understand my story, you first have to understand Aria’s. We’re moving on.”

“Millee!”

“We,” she pointed at Brendan and then herself, “are not a thing anymore.”

The scene changed again before Brendan could react. Millee had already vanished as well. “She must’ve cursed me with terrible luck around women, too,” he muttered.