Echoes of the Script

12: Script Without a Name

And yet...

Someone had placed candles around it.

Wax ran in small rivers over jagged stones, still warm. They had been lit recently. A single chair sat center stage, facing the sea.

Michelle's breath caught when she saw what rested on the seat.

The script.

She climbed onto the platform, ignoring the way the boards creaked and shifted under her weight. Her fingers trembled as she opened the worn pages.

New lines had appeared.

Not typed. Not printed. Handwritten.

But this time, they weren't in her handwriting.

They were in someone else's.

Act II — Scene One: "Recognition"
The Girl Without a Part returns to the place of her forgetting.
The Mirror speaks in the voice of someone she once loved.
But if she answers, she forfeits her name.
If she remains silent, the sea will claim her instead.

"What does that mean?" she whispered aloud.

"You really don't remember, do you?" a voice said softly behind her.

Michelle spun around, nearly falling from the stage.

A figure stood just beyond the candlelight. Male. Slightly older than her. Wearing a dark coat, collar turned up. His eyes were shadowed, but his voice—

"Christian?" she breathed.

He stepped forward.

"I told you not to read the script," he said.

She backed away. "How are you here? You weren't supposed to be—"

"I've always been here. Ever since the first performance. You just forgot your lines."

Michelle's heart slammed against her ribs. "You sound like the journal."

He nodded. "Because it's your journal. All of it. Even the entries you think haven't been written yet."

"I didn't write those!"

"Not yet," he said. "But you will."

She reached for the journal in her coat. It felt hot. Unnaturally so. When she opened it, the pages fluttered of their own accord, landing on a blank spread.

Except it wasn't blank anymore.

Words appeared one by one, as if being typed in real time.

Scene Two: The One Who Watches arrives wearing a borrowed name.

Michelle looked up sharply. "You mean... me?"

Christian shook his head. "Not you."

Behind him, another figure stepped into view.

A girl.

The one from the mirror.

Dressed in pale gray. Her expression unreadable. Her eyes wide with the stillness of deep time.

"Her name is Clara," Christian whispered.

Michelle's blood turned cold.

"But I thought Clara vanished in 1926."

"She didn't vanish," Christian said. "She traded places."

Clara stepped onto the stage. Her presence made the air heavier. The sea pulled back again, as if holding its breath.

Michelle's voice was hoarse. "Traded with who?"

Clara smiled, lips thin.

"With you."

Michelle shook her head, stepping back. "No. I wasn't even alive then."

"Time folds here," Christian said. "It's not about age. It's about roles. You stepped into hers. That's why the journal knows you. That's why the script keeps changing."

"But I'm not her."

"You will be," Clara said gently, "unless you finish the play."

She stepped closer. Her eyes were dark and endless.

Michelle clutched the mask in her coat pocket.

"What happens if I wear it?"

"You remember your lines," Clara replied.

"And if I don't?"

Clara tilted her head.

"Then the sea takes you instead."

Michelle looked down at the script. The final line on the page was already fading.

Final Cue: Choose the voice, or lose your name.

Her fingers hovered over the paper.

The wind shifted. A low humming filled the air—the sound of curtains rising somewhere just out of sight.

Christian turned to her. "It's almost time."

"But I don't know what to say."

He met her eyes.

"You already did."