SONG RECOMMENDATION: DAYLIGHT BY DAVID KUSHNER.
She was surrounded by darkness pitch-black, suffocating darkness and an eerie, deafening silence. Her heart began to hammer loudly in her chest as confusion washed over her in waves. One moment she had been in her room with Allan, his head on her shoulder, her hand touching his transformed fingers… and the next moment, this.
A void.
A nothingness that swallowed everything.
Did I fall asleep? Am I dreaming? she wondered. But if it were a dream… Allan would be here. She would feel him beside her. Yet she felt nothing. No warmth. No presence. Just darkness stretching endlessly in every direction.
"Allan?" she called out, her voice trembling and thin.
Silence answered.
"Allan?" she yelled again, louder this time, desperation creeping in.
Still nothing.
Not even an echo.
She took a hesitant step forward, then another, walking though she had no idea where she was going. Her thoughts crowded and tangled, threatening to overwhelm her, when suddenly ligh, soft at first, then spreading and growing, peeling back the darkness inch by inch. She froze, staring unblinking as the endless blackness retreated and melted away. Slowly, the world reshaped itself around her.
She was standing outside.
It was night.
And directly before her stood a tall, breathtaking Victorian era mansion
The mansion towered over her like a relic pulled out of a different age. Its massive white pillars rose proudly from a stone staircase, carved with elegant spiral designs that caught the moonlight. The exterior walls were a pale, ghostly white ornamented with intricate moldings, towering arched windows, wrought-iron balconies, and ivy crawling upward like veins of time. The rooftop was steep, layered with dark slate tiles, sharp and commanding. Everything about the mansion whispered wealth, status… and secrets.
Elaine stared, unable to look away. The air felt colder here, heavier, as though the mansion itself held centuries of whispers.
Before she could gather her thoughts, the sound of approaching hooves broke the silence. A carriage rolled toward the entrance.
Panic hit her. She looked around, searching for somewhere anywhere to hide, but the surroundings were vast and open. She was exposed.
The carriage stopped, and a refined woman stepped down gracefully. She looked to be in her early thirties, dressed in elegant Victorian fashion, her violet-colored skirt brushing the ground like flowing silk. A feathered fan rested delicately in her gloved hand. Everything about her was polished, poised, almost otherworldly in her beauty.
A small boy followed after her.
Black, slightly curly hair. Dull grey eyes. Shoulders slumped. No more than seven years old. Sadness hung around him like a heavy fog. Even from where Elaine stood, she could feel it deep, real, and suffocating.
"Adrian," the woman called gently.
The boy's head lifted immediately, and he forced a smile. A thin, fragile smile.
"Yes, mummy," he said.
Elaine felt her heart ache. How did the woman not see the sadness bleeding through the boy's expression? Or… was she choosing not to?
The realization hit her neither the boy nor the woman could see her. She was a ghost drifting in someone else's memory.
"Come," the woman said with warmth, and the two walked into the mansion.
Elaine followed, unsure why, but certain that she was meant to see this.
Inside, her breath caught.
The mansion's interior was magnificent gold-trimmed walls, crystal chandeliers that sparkled like stars, velvet drapes, polished marble floors. Everything glowed with luxury and history. She nearly lost track of the woman and the boy as her eyes darted from the paintings to the statues to the intricate architecture.
She followed them through corridors, watching servants arrange the dining table for an elaborate family dinner. When the family finally gathered, Elaine saw them all, Adrian's father, his seven older siblings, more stepmothers… a house full of people, and yet somehow empty.
By the end of the dinner, she understood.
The woman he called "mummy" wasn't his real mother. She was a stepmother. But she loved him genuinely more genuinely than the rest of the household, who seemed content to overlook him.
Dinner ended. Chairs scraped back. Conversations faded. One by one, everyone left the dining room.
Except Adrian.
He sat alone at the large table, small hands on his lap, his sadness almost tangible. Elaine felt her chest tighten painfully as she watched him. Why isn't anyone seeing this? Why isn't anyone helping him?
Eventually, the boy slid off his chair and went to his room. She followed behind him, silent as a shadow.
Then he stopped.
He turned sharply, staring directly at her.
Elaine's heart stopped.
"Can he see me?" She thought it herself eyes wide
But after a moment, he turned away and continued walking. Relief washed over her, though confusion remained.
He got into bed and fell asleep almost instantly. Minutes turned into an hour. Elaine wondered what she was meant to witness here when suddenly—
Adrian moved.
He sat up, pushed aside the blankets, and slipped out of bed.
Elaine followed, stepping lightly, her instincts warning her that this was important.
The boy walked up a grand staircase, his small hand brushing along the cold, black iron railing. The walls were lined with paintings family portraits, war scenes, landscapes but Adrian's eyes stayed forward.
He reached the top floor.
There were no rooms here.
Just a long, silent hallway.
Elaine's confusion deepened, but she didn't stop. She followed him until she saw it at the very end of the hallway, a single door.
He entered it.
Elaine stepped inside after him and froze.
The room was swallowed in darkness thick and complete except for a single spotlight in the center.
Beneath it stood a piano.
Large, elegant, polished to a perfect shine. The only object in an ocean of shadow.
Adrian approached it with small, steady steps, climbed onto the seat, and placed his tiny fingers on the keys.
A single note rang out.
Sharp. Piercing. Echoing.
She flinched. Surely someone would hear that? Surely he wasn't allowed here?
But her thoughts vanished the moment he began to play.
A soft melody drifted into the air haunting, heavy with melancholy, yet achingly beautiful. It felt like a cry disguised as music. Something in Elaine broke.
Tears streamed down her face before she even realized it. And then she saw it, a tear rolling down Adrian's cheek. Then another. And another. He cried silently as he played, but his face remained expressionless, as if he had learned to hide everything long ago.
Elaine's heart clenched painfully. She wanted to hold him. To comfort him. To tell him he wasn't alone.
And then a thought struck her.
He reminded her of someone.
Allan.
The small boy reminded her so much of Allan the same hair, the same eyes though Allan's were brighter, the same face shape. Adrian lacked Allan's freckles, but the sadness… the loneliness… the quiet suffering…
It was the same.
They were the same.
More tears spilled down her cheeks.
"Allan…" she whispered soft, fragile, like a prayer.
The boy's fingers stilled.
His eyebrows drew together.
He heard her.
His head snapped up, eyes locking directly onto hers.
The world exploded into white.
Elaine gasped.
She was back in her room sitting beside Allan, her hand still on his transformed hand. Her face was wet with tears. Her chest hurt.
Allan stared at her, confusion and concern flickering in his eyes.
Without thinking, she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around him in a tight, desperate hug as a sob tore out of her.
"Allan… I'm so sorry," she cried into his shoulder.