I remained frozen, staring at the woman with bright red hair and molten-gold eyes, trying to force words out of my mouth… only to realize nothing happened.
My lips didn't move.
My breath didn't hitch.
My hands didn't twitch.
I wasn't in my body.
Right.
Of course.
This was a memory. a completely sealed part of my mind. And I was only a watcher, not a participant.
The version of me sitting in the booth, young, unscarred, bright-eyed, and painfully earnest, moved instead.
Memory-Belle inhaled, steady and composed in a way I definitely wasn't right now, and opened her mouth.
"Master Stella," she said gently, "why did you call me here? Aren't you busy with the war?"
My throat tightened.
Hearing her voice again my old voice, softer, lighter, untouched by curses or grief, felt like a punch through the ribs. I hadn't realized how much weight I carried now until I heard the version of me who didn't carry it yet.
Across the table, Stella smiled.
