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Fragments of Time (Chapter 1.3)
Scene 3 - The Mirror’s Pull
The cookies had come out fine, but her attempt at reading had failed to quiet her restless thoughts. Melody sighed, closing A Clash of Kings with a soft thud. She tossed the book aside and stood up, deciding to call it a night. The peacefulness of the countryside felt suffocating tonight, her mind swirling with too many thoughts—Renly, the new town, the heaviness of starting over.
Upstairs, the sound of running water filled the silence of the house. Melody let the warmth of the shower soothe her, washing away the tension that clung to her muscles. After drying off, she slipped into her pajamas, crawled into bed, and pulled the blanket over herself.
Sleep came quickly, but it didn’t last.
She awoke in the dead of night, a chill creeping into her room. Blinking groggily, Melody turned her head toward the open window. She hadn’t left it open, had she? The curtain was dancing in the cool breeze, its delicate fabric veiling the soft glow of the moon.
The room was bathed in a pale light, shadows moving across the walls as the curtain swayed. Melody squinted, and, for a moment, she thought she saw something—a shadow, darker and more solid than the others, moving just outside her window.
She sat up, her heart quickening. The air felt colder now, and the hair on her arms stood on end. Slowly, she got out of bed, padding across the floor toward the window. She leaned out, scanning the garden and the fields below, but there was no one there. Just the rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl.
Melody exhaled, shaking off the uneasy feeling creeping up her spine. Her parents were probably asleep by now, but just to be sure, she tiptoed across the hallway and peeked into their room. It was dark, and the faint sound of her father’s snoring told her they were home, safe.
Her throat felt dry, and she figured some water might help calm her nerves. Moving silently, Melody headed downstairs, careful not to disturb the house’s quiet. As she poured herself a glass of water in the dim light of the kitchen, her gaze drifted toward the basement door.
That tugging sensation she’d been feeling since they moved in was back, stronger than before. The air around her seemed to thicken, and Melody felt a deep sense of longing and unease, emotions she couldn’t quite place.
Unable to resist, she set the glass down and crossed the room, her hand brushing the basement door. It creaked open, just as it had earlier that evening. The air inside was cool, a stark contrast to the warmth of the house above.
Why now? What was it about this house, this place, that made her feel like she was chasing something just beyond her reach?
The stairs groaned under her weight as she descended, each step echoing in the quiet. The dim light from above barely reached the corners of the basement, casting deep shadows over the piles of old boxes and furniture. And then she saw it—standing in the same corner where she’d noticed it earlier.
The mirror.
It was antique, its frame intricately carved and worn with time. The wood was dark, rich with age, and the details of the carvings hinted that it was more than just a century old—definitely older than the house itself, which her family had only bought a month ago. It stood there, seemingly untouched, like a remnant of a past life that still lingered in this space.
Melody stepped closer, her breath catching in her throat as she gazed into the glass. It was slightly fogged, its surface imperfect, but she could still make out her reflection—hazy, as though the mirror wasn’t quite showing her exactly as she was.
She hesitated, but something about the mirror called to her, a pull she couldn’t ignore. Slowly, almost without realizing it, her fingers reached out and brushed the surface.
The moment her skin made contact with the glass, the air around her seemed to shift. The reflection wavered, rippling like water, and before her eyes, the room changed.
It was no longer her basement she saw in the mirror, but another room entirely—old, dimly lit by candlelight, with heavy curtains drawn over the windows. And in the center of that room, a woman stood. She looked like Melody, almost exactly like her, but not quite. There was a tiny mole beside her lips, something Melody didn’t have. The woman wore a long, elegant dress from another time, her eyes filled with something Melody couldn’t name—grief, perhaps, or longing.
Melody’s breath hitched as she stared at the woman, her own reflection nowhere to be seen. She leaned closer, her hand still pressed against the glass, heart racing as she tried to understand what was happening.
And then, the woman in the mirror turned and looked at her.
“Who are you?” Melody whispered, her voice trembling in the silence.
The woman’s gaze was piercing, and Melody felt a jolt of emotion rush through her—curiosity, fear, and something deeper, something she couldn’t explain. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the figure in the mirror, as if the woman was holding her there, drawing her in.
Suddenly, the room around her snapped back into focus. The reflection returned to normal, showing only Melody standing there in the basement. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her hand dropped from the glass, the connection broken.
She stumbled back, breathing hard, feeling as if she’d just witnessed something she wasn’t meant to see. The mirror, still and quiet now, sat as it had before, but Melody knew it wasn’t just an ordinary antique.
Something was hidden in its depths—something connected to her, to the house, and to the woman who looked just like her.
---
© reddragonfly
#MelodyxRenly #timetravel #rebirth #romance #lovehate #collegelife
The cookies had come out fine, but her attempt at reading had failed to quiet her restless thoughts. Melody sighed, closing A Clash of Kings with a soft thud. She tossed the book aside and stood up, deciding to call it a night. The peacefulness of the countryside felt suffocating tonight, her mind swirling with too many thoughts—Renly, the new town, the heaviness of starting over.
Upstairs, the sound of running water filled the silence of the house. Melody let the warmth of the shower soothe her, washing away the tension that clung to her muscles. After drying off, she slipped into her pajamas, crawled into bed, and pulled the blanket over herself.
Sleep came quickly, but it didn’t last.
She awoke in the dead of night, a chill creeping into her room. Blinking groggily, Melody turned her head toward the open window. She hadn’t left it open, had she? The curtain was dancing in the cool breeze, its delicate fabric veiling the soft glow of the moon.
The room was bathed in a pale light, shadows moving across the walls as the curtain swayed. Melody squinted, and, for a moment, she thought she saw something—a shadow, darker and more solid than the others, moving just outside her window.
She sat up, her heart quickening. The air felt colder now, and the hair on her arms stood on end. Slowly, she got out of bed, padding across the floor toward the window. She leaned out, scanning the garden and the fields below, but there was no one there. Just the rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl.
Melody exhaled, shaking off the uneasy feeling creeping up her spine. Her parents were probably asleep by now, but just to be sure, she tiptoed across the hallway and peeked into their room. It was dark, and the faint sound of her father’s snoring told her they were home, safe.
Her throat felt dry, and she figured some water might help calm her nerves. Moving silently, Melody headed downstairs, careful not to disturb the house’s quiet. As she poured herself a glass of water in the dim light of the kitchen, her gaze drifted toward the basement door.
That tugging sensation she’d been feeling since they moved in was back, stronger than before. The air around her seemed to thicken, and Melody felt a deep sense of longing and unease, emotions she couldn’t quite place.
Unable to resist, she set the glass down and crossed the room, her hand brushing the basement door. It creaked open, just as it had earlier that evening. The air inside was cool, a stark contrast to the warmth of the house above.
Why now? What was it about this house, this place, that made her feel like she was chasing something just beyond her reach?
The stairs groaned under her weight as she descended, each step echoing in the quiet. The dim light from above barely reached the corners of the basement, casting deep shadows over the piles of old boxes and furniture. And then she saw it—standing in the same corner where she’d noticed it earlier.
The mirror.
It was antique, its frame intricately carved and worn with time. The wood was dark, rich with age, and the details of the carvings hinted that it was more than just a century old—definitely older than the house itself, which her family had only bought a month ago. It stood there, seemingly untouched, like a remnant of a past life that still lingered in this space.
Melody stepped closer, her breath catching in her throat as she gazed into the glass. It was slightly fogged, its surface imperfect, but she could still make out her reflection—hazy, as though the mirror wasn’t quite showing her exactly as she was.
She hesitated, but something about the mirror called to her, a pull she couldn’t ignore. Slowly, almost without realizing it, her fingers reached out and brushed the surface.
The moment her skin made contact with the glass, the air around her seemed to shift. The reflection wavered, rippling like water, and before her eyes, the room changed.
It was no longer her basement she saw in the mirror, but another room entirely—old, dimly lit by candlelight, with heavy curtains drawn over the windows. And in the center of that room, a woman stood. She looked like Melody, almost exactly like her, but not quite. There was a tiny mole beside her lips, something Melody didn’t have. The woman wore a long, elegant dress from another time, her eyes filled with something Melody couldn’t name—grief, perhaps, or longing.
Melody’s breath hitched as she stared at the woman, her own reflection nowhere to be seen. She leaned closer, her hand still pressed against the glass, heart racing as she tried to understand what was happening.
And then, the woman in the mirror turned and looked at her.
“Who are you?” Melody whispered, her voice trembling in the silence.
The woman’s gaze was piercing, and Melody felt a jolt of emotion rush through her—curiosity, fear, and something deeper, something she couldn’t explain. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the figure in the mirror, as if the woman was holding her there, drawing her in.
Suddenly, the room around her snapped back into focus. The reflection returned to normal, showing only Melody standing there in the basement. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her hand dropped from the glass, the connection broken.
She stumbled back, breathing hard, feeling as if she’d just witnessed something she wasn’t meant to see. The mirror, still and quiet now, sat as it had before, but Melody knew it wasn’t just an ordinary antique.
Something was hidden in its depths—something connected to her, to the house, and to the woman who looked just like her.
---
© reddragonfly
#MelodyxRenly #timetravel #rebirth #romance #lovehate #collegelife
