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When Ester woke up, her skin was aglow with scars. At first, she thought it must be the sunlight breaking through the blinds, casting strange patterns on her arms and neck. But when she stepped closer to the mirror, there they were—faint, shimmering lines, crisscrossing her skin. Some were so faint they barely flickered, but others glowed brighter, red threads pulsing as though alive.

Ester had prided herself on her honesty. While others wore their glowing marks openly—reminders of small deceptions, unspoken truths, or bold-faced lies—her skin had always been clear. She had never been like them. Not a liar.

And yet, here the lines were. Her hands reached for the bathroom sink, gripping its edges for balance. She tried to think of a recent lie, something she’d said that might explain this. A harmless white lie, perhaps? But nothing came to mind.

She leaned closer to the mirror, inspecting her face. A single line stretched from the corner of her jaw to her temple, faint yet unmistakable. It burned softly, like an ember. She traced it with her fingertips and felt the heat.

Her mind flitted through the past days, weeks—years. She tried to pinpoint a moment, an untruth, anything to explain why her once-pristine skin now bore these marks.

She stood back, staring at her reflection, the pale lines burning in the morning light. Slowly, pieces of her life came into focus, like fragments of an old, half-forgotten photograph.

There was the job offer for that dream marine biologist role on the other side of the world she’d never dared to accept. “It’s too risky. Better stick with something safe.” The faintest mark on her collarbone flickered now, a dull reminder of that choice.

There was the friend she had loved in silence, convincing herself it was better not to speak. “It would ruin everything,” she had told herself. But the truth was simpler: she had been afraid. The glowing scar on her wrist faintly pulsed in response to the memory.

There were many moments like these. The job she took out of convenience, despite hating every minute of it. The opportunities she let slip by because she had convinced herself she wasn’t ready. Each mark told its story.

Back in her bedroom, she sank down on the edge of the bed, staring at her arms. The brightest mark ran the length of her forearm. She knew exactly what it meant. It wasn’t just one moment—it was the culmination of all the chances not taken.

The truth burned through her now, the glow of her marks impossible to ignore. They were a map of every compromise, every excuse, every self-deception. She had spent her life pretending she had made the right choices. But the marks didn’t lie.

Ester sat there for a long time, staring at the burns etched into her skin. She didn’t know what came next, whether the marks would ever fade or if she would be forced to carry them forever.

But for the first time in years, she couldn’t look away from herself. She couldn’t pretend anymore.

The forest pulsed with colours she didn’t know existed. Clara leaned against a tree, her fingers sinking into its bark as if it were breathing, alive in a way she could feel. Every leaf shimmered, a cascade of fractals spilling down into eternity. Her body felt both infinite and dissolving. She could hear her heartbeat, not in her chest but in the ground beneath her. It synced with the rhythm of something ancient, a hum that vibrated through the soil and into her bones. Her breath became mist, but it didn’t dissipate; it danced, swirling in intricate patterns before her eyes. A version of herself stared back from the haze, her eyes wide with the same wonder she felt in that moment.

“Who are you?” Clara asked.

“Whoever you need me to be.” The voice was her own, echoing as the mist broke apart, spinning away in ribbons that wrapped around the trees before fading into the vibrant, breathing night.

She stepped forward, her legs unsteady, each movement leaving trails of light in the air. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but she felt no fear. The forest wanted her here, every root and branch leaning closer as if welcoming her home. A stream bubbled nearby, the water glowing, swirling with colours like melted jewels. She knelt by it and cupped her hands, letting the liquid drip through her fingers. As it touched her skin, it sang—a symphony so beautiful that tears rolled down her cheeks.

She walked as if it were all one moment, feeling herself blend with all the colours around her. The forest was her, and she was the forest. She could no longer tell where her heartbeat ended and the hum began.

When the first light of dawn painted the sky in pale orange and pink, Clara emerged from the woods. She looked back, expecting to see the vibrant kaleidoscopic beauty of the night, but it was just trees now, still and ordinary. She stared at her hands; they were her hands again, not glowing or dissolving.

Yet in her chest, the hum remained.

The café was small and unassuming, tucked away in a side street neither of them had reason to visit. Yet over the past six months it had become a refuge, a meeting place without an appointment, for two strangers who were anything but.

She always arrived first, choosing the same table by the window, her coat draped neatly over the back of the chair. She brought a book, though she never read more than a page or two before he walked in. He’d spot her at once, smile briefly, and order his coffee. He never asked to join her table, but he always chose the one beside it, angled just so that they could speak with ease if they wished.

They never used their real names. She was “Eleanor” here, and he was “Daniel,” though they’d only exchanged those names after several cautious conversations about neutral subjects—books, the weather, the quality of the café’s croissants.

Eleanor knew who Daniel really was. The set of his shoulders, the faint scar on his cheek, and the way he rubbed the bridge of his nose when thinking—all of it was etched into her memory from a time long before this. And Daniel knew her, too, though he pretended not to. He’d recognised her laugh the very first time he’d heard it there, a laugh he hadn’t heard in years but couldn’t possibly forget.

They spoke often, weaving stories about their imaginary lives. Eleanor claimed to work in publishing; Daniel was a freelance journalist. She invented colleagues and deadlines; he concocted anecdotes about assignments abroad. It became their shared fiction, each seeing how far they could stretch the façade. Neither of them acknowledged the truth, that they had once shared more memories than either cared to admit.

Perhaps they were afraid of what would follow the revelation. In this café, in these brief, stolen conversations, they could be different versions of themselves—polite, curious, untouched by the pain that had once consumed them. They both knew neither of them spoke the truth.

One rainy afternoon, Eleanor looked at Daniel a little too long. He noticed but said nothing. Instead, he sipped his coffee and asked her a question about the book she wasn’t reading.

Ellie checked her phone for the tenth time on the empty platform. 23:57. The last train was supposed to arrive three minutes ago, but the digital board now flashed in bold red: CANCELLED.

She let out a frustrated sigh and sank onto a bench. Rain dripped from the edges of the station’s canopy, slipping through the dim glow of fluorescent yellow light.

“Missed it too?”

The voice startled her. She glanced up to see a man, mid-thirties perhaps, standing a few feet away. He had an umbrella tucked under one arm, water dripping from the ends of his dark hair. His suit jacket looked expensive but thoroughly soaked.

“Looks like it,” Ellie replied, trying to sound polite but distant. He didn’t seem to notice her tone.

“Brilliant, isn’t it? Last train, and it’s just… gone. Like it never existed.”

Ellie gave him a thin smile, hoping it would dissuade further conversation. But instead, he dropped onto the other end of the bench.

“Name’s Blake,” he offered.

“Hi,” she responded, reluctantly.

She knew she should get up and call a taxi. But, for a moment, they sat in silence, listening to the rhythmic patter of rain. Blake leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“So, what’s your excuse for being here this late? Let me guess—workaholic? Or maybe you’re running from a torrid love affair?” His smile was disarming, playful without being intrusive.

“Nothing so dramatic. Just bad luck, mostly.”

“Bad luck? That’s vague.”

She shrugged. “Missed the earlier train because I was stuck helping a customer. Retail life, you know?”

Blake nodded knowingly, though his tailored suit suggested he probably didn’t. “I see. The worthy life of serving the public.”

“What about you?” Ellie asked, turning the question back on him. “What’s your excuse?”

Blake’s grin faltered slightly, and for a moment, he looked as though he were searching for an answer. “Work meeting ran late,” he said finally. “Caught in traffic, then—well, here I am. Story of my life, really.”

“You sound oddly resigned to it.”

He chuckled. “Maybe I am. Or maybe I’m just tired of fighting against fate.”

They fell quiet again, the awkwardness replaced by a curious sense of ease. Ellie glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. There was something strange about Blake, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. His presence felt… familiar, as if she’d met him before in some dream she couldn’t recall.

“You know,” Blake said suddenly, “there’s something almost poetic about this. Two strangers, stranded together in the middle of the night. Feels like the start of one of those rom-coms, doesn’t it?”

Ellie laughed. “If this were a rom-com, the train would magically appear, and we’d both realise it was fate.”

“Exactly,” Blake agreed. “Then there’d be some dramatic twist—like, you’d be moving to Paris tomorrow, and this would be our last chance to confess our undying love.”

“Undying love?” Ellie teased. “Bit much, don’t you think?”

“Not if it’s fate,” he said with mock seriousness. “Fate loves a bit of drama.”

Ellie’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen: a notification from her calendar. Mum’s anniversary.

“You okay?” Blake asked, his voice softer now.

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Just… tomorrow’s a hard day.”

Blake studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Want to talk about it?”

Ellie shook her head. “Not really.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “But, for what it’s worth, sometimes the hardest days turn out to be the most important.”

She frowned at him, puzzled by the weight of his words. Before she could respond, the faint rumble of an engine echoed in the distance. A train’s headlights pierced through the rain as it pulled into the station.

Blake stood in response. “Looks like our miracle train’s here.”

Ellie rose too, suddenly reluctant to let the moment end. “Where are you headed?”

Blake smiled faintly. “This is where we part ways, I’m afraid.”

The train doors slid open, but Blake stayed where he was. Ellie paused in the doorway, glancing over her shoulder.

“Hey, Blake?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. For the company, I mean.”

He nodded. “Take care, Ellie.”

She stepped inside, the doors closing behind her. As the train pulled away, she turned to look out the window. But the platform was empty. Blake was gone.

It wasn’t until later, as Ellie lay in bed replaying the night in her mind, that she realised something strange: she’d never told him her name.

Date: 16th July 1347
Location: The City of Florence

The plague has arrived, they say, riding the wind from faraway lands. I should be frightened, but curiosity holds me tighter than fear. The healers speak of “bad air” and demons, while merchants mutter about God’s wrath. I’ve spent the morning sketching remedies in the marketplace—garlic necklaces, amulets, and crucifixes. But I am not afraid. Not yet. After all, how long can I linger here before the threads of time call me elsewhere?

Date: 14th February 1854
Location: Aboard the RMS Titania

The passengers are abuzz with excitement about the new world waiting for us in America. I have taken to wearing a corset to blend in, though I despise the restriction.

I spent the afternoon sketching the machinery in the engine room, marvelling at how this era’s technology seems both primitive and ingenious. The captain invited me to dine at his table tonight. I wonder what he would say if he knew I had seen his ship displayed in a maritime museum centuries later, reduced to a scale model and a placard.

Date: 4th November 1929
Location: New York City, USA

The crash was only last week, but the city already feels like a graveyard. I watched men in suits weep on Wall Street, their fortunes scattered like confetti. I’ve taken to sitting in speakeasies, listening to jazz that vibrates with desperation and defiance. The music is a spark in the gloom.

Tonight, I met a man named Louis, a saxophonist who played as though the world wasn’t crumbling around him. “Music,” he said, “is how we keep time from swallowing us whole.” I didn’t tell him how literal those words are for me.

Date: 12th October 2156
Location: Astro Colony Alpha

The Earth is just a blue dot in the distance, almost too small to remember. Here, life is regimented: five hours of work, three hours of recreation, then lights out. I tried to ask the Overseer about the forests and rivers back on Earth, but he looked at me like I was malfunctioning. It seems humanity traded nature for the cold precision of metal and glass.

Still, the stars are beautiful here—so close, they feel like they might burn through the dome and swallow us whole. Tonight, I sneaked out to watch the constellations. For a moment, I thought I saw an ancient ship, its sails catching the light of a thousand suns.

Date: 11th November 2377
Location: Neo-Atlantis

The city floats above the waves, its spires glinting with sunlight filtered through the ocean’s surface. Neo-Atlantis is humanity’s refuge after the rising seas claimed the continents. The people here speak a hybrid language—snippets of English, Mandarin, and an electronic hum I can’t decipher. They wear clothes made of shimmering bio-fabric, which shifts colours with their emotions.

Today, I visited the archives, where holograms of old cities are displayed like relics. London, Paris, Cairo—all submerged, their histories reduced to flickering lights. I wondered if anyone here remembers what it was like to walk on solid ground.

Date: 3rd April 3012
Location: The Edge of the Andromeda Galaxy

The starship hums around me, its walls alive with glowing circuits. We’ve just crossed into uncharted space, the crew jubilant despite the vast emptiness stretching before us. The captain invited me to the observation deck, where we gazed at a nebula swirling in hues of violet and gold.

I’ve seen Earth’s history unfold, but this moment feels different—like the future itself is holding its breath. What will humanity become out here, so far from home? The stars don’t answer. They simply watch, as they always have.

Date: Unknown
Location: The Fractured Reality

The air here is thick with colours that do not exist in any other timeline. Shadows move without bodies, speaking secrets in languages that bypass the ears and sink straight into the mind. I do not know how I arrived here, only that the usual rules of time and space have ceased to apply.

I found a clock suspended in midair, its hands moving backwards. Beneath it, a sign reads: “Here lies the lost moment”. For the first time in my travels, I feel untethered. I am not sure I want to stay, but I am also reluctant to leave.

Date: Meaningless
Location: The Library at the Edge of Time

I’ve found it at last—a place I’d only heard through the cracks of history. The library exists on the edge of time, its halls stretching infinitely in every direction. Books, scrolls, and tablets fill the shelves, containing every story ever told and untold. I wandered along a path through its halls before finding a desk with a blank book waiting for me.

The ink flows effortlessly as I write these words, as if the library itself is recording my journey. Am I the first to find this place? Surely not. But I feel at home here, among the echoes of eternity.