Invisible Strings II

Chapter 7: Twisted Silver

It was hers.

She didn't remember writing it, but her body did. The loopy curve of the letters. The way she slanted her titles. The tiny stars in the margins.

She smiled softly, like she'd just found a photograph she didn't remember taking.

Music notes lined the pages. Old songs she had written. Melodies preserved in ink she didn't recall making, but somehow understood all the same.

There were doodles, too. Careless, half-finished sketches of the music classroom she'd snuck into at Nevermore. The crooked piano bench. The high window with peeling paint.

And then-

Rings.

Pages and pages of them. Simple bands. Twisted silver. Floral carvings.

Hannah's breath caught.

"Isadora rings..." She whispered to herself as her finger traced along the graphite drawings. Her smile softened into something fragile.

She set the journal beside her.

Then came the music sheets. Worn thin, corners curled. And on them, Isadora's handwriting, scattered and bold and certain. Notes in the margins. Changes. Cues.

Hannah could barely make out the original music beneath it all. Yet somehow, she was sure Isadora still could.

Last-

The envelope.

Her fingers slid beneath the lip of it.

Footsteps.

Hannah startled so hard her heart slammed against her ribs.

She shoved the envelope into her back pocket on instinct, barely thinking, then slid the box back into the closet and shut the door just as quickly.

She stood, pulled the blanket tighter around herself, and smoothed her face into something neutral before walking back into the living room.

The fire glowed warmly.

The storm raged on outside.

And Hannah carried a secret in her pocket that already felt too heavy not to matter...

Hannah returned to the couch slowly, like she hadn't come back empty-handed at all.

Isadora was already there with two mugs, steam curling lazily into the air. She handed one to Hannah without a word, fingers brushing just barely in the exchange.

Hannah wrapped both hands around the mug and took a careful sip.

Warm. Good.

"Better?" Isadora asked. "Warmer?"

Hannah nodded.

She didn't trust her voice. Because she was holding too much now. Not her memories, not yet, but questions.

Why did Isadora have her journal? Why were there songs in there that belonged to Hannah? Why were there drawings of rings Isadora still wore?

And what was in the envelope pressing warm and heavy against her back pocket like a second pulse?

Isadora tilted her head a little, eyes narrowing just enough... noticing things Hannah hadn't said. "You sure?" she asked quietly. "You're... quiet."

Hannah forced a small smile. "Just tired."

Isadora didn't look convinced.

She shifted closer on the couch until only half of the cushion between them remained, then hesitated and moved again. That space disappeared.

"Are you cold?" she asked. "Do you need another blanket?"

Hannah shook her head, clutching her tea tighter. "No. I'm okay."

Isadora studied her for a long second, soft concern written clearly across her face. "You look like you're somewhere else," she murmured.

Hannah swallowed.

She was.

She was in ink and paper and music she didn't remember writing. She was in the rings drawn too many times to be a coincidence. She was in an envelope she hadn't opened, but knew would change something once she did.

Isadora reached out, fingers just barely brushing Hannah's sleeve. "Hey."

Hannah looked at her then.

And that's when Isadora knew.

Not what.

Just that something had happened.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" she asked gently.

Hannah stared down into the dark swirl of her tea, her reflection warped and unrecognizable in the liquid. Her eyes stung with tears she didn't understand. She didn't know why she wanted to cry so badly.

Maybe it was because she was standing on the edge of something she couldn't see.

Maybe it was because the only person who should've been able to help her had told her she couldn't.

Her fingers tightened around the mug.

"Hannah?" Isadora whispered.

Hannah looked up. And the words slipped out before she could stop them, quiet and fragile and terrifying all at once.

"Do I... love you?"

The fire cracked loudly in the silence.

Isadora didn't answer.

And Hannah didn't breathe.