Chapter 3: Whispers of the Past
The Turner Cottage – A Few Days Later
The scent of freshly baked bread filled the small cottage as morning light streamed through the window. Lucia sat at the wooden table, staring at the cup of tea in her hands.
She had been here for days, yet nothing felt familiar.
Mrs.Turner
(gently) You should eat something, dear.
Lucia glanced up, offering a small, apologetic smile. The elderly woman had been nothing but kind, yet a deep sense of unease still settled in her chest.
Lady Lucia Sinclair / FL
(softly) I… I don’t feel hungry.
Mrs.Turner
(sitting across from her) It will take time. You’ve been through something difficult.
Lucia nodded, but inside, she felt lost. Each time she closed her eyes, flashes of fire and distant voices haunted her, but when she reached for them, they slipped away like mist.
Later that evening, as she lay in bed, she absently traced the delicate embroidery on the dress Mrs.Turner had washed for her. It was torn and stained, but it was the only piece of her past she had left.
And then—her fingers brushed against something.
A small lump in her pocket.
Frowning, Lucia sat up and carefully put her hand in the pocket of the dress. A folded piece of parchment slipped into her hands.
She opened it with trembling fingers. The ink was smudged from water damage, but some words remained readable
Lady Lucia Sinclair / FL
(Reading loudly) "My beloved daughter… If anything happens to me… you must never forget… the truth is hidden… trust no one but…"
Lucia’s breath hitched. She pressed the parchment to her chest, trying to remember—but her mind was still a fog.
What truth? Who had written this?
A sharp headache pulsed through her skull, and she squeezed her eyes shut. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remember.
But a deep feeling in her heart told her this letter was important.
The Village Market – Two Years Later
The small village bustled with life. Vendors called out their wares, children ran through the cobblestone streets, and the scent of roasted chestnuts filled the air.
Lucia walked alongside Mrs.Turner, carrying a small basket of vegetables. She had grown accustomed to village life, yet a part of her still felt incomplete.
She had remembered her name, bits of her childhood, even the warmth of a mother’s embrace—but not why she had ended up in that river.
And then there were the nightmares.
Dark figures. Flames. The feeling of running, always running.
She stopped in front of a mirror at one of the stalls. Her reflection stared back—a young woman with striking green eyes, her long dark hair braided neatly. She looked ordinary. And yet…
Lady Lucia Sinclair / FL
(thinking) Who was I before all this?
Her fingers brushed against the small pouch she carried under her dress. The parchment was still there, kept close to her at all times.
She didn’t know why, but she had to keep it safe.
Mrs.Turner noticed her hesitation and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
Mrs.Turner
Still thinking about the past, dear?
Lady Lucia Sinclair / FL
(softly) I have to know, Mrs.Turner. I need to find out where I came from.
Mrs.Turner sighed, as if she had expected this day.
Mrs.Turner
Then you must go to the city. Someone there might recognize you.
Lucia nodded, determination filling her heart.
She would return to the world she had forgotten. And she would uncover the truth.
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