The air smelled of salt and decay when Lila first saw the girl in the mirror. It was 3:17 a.m., and the bathroom light buzzed like a trapped wasp. Lila’s reflection stared back, but the girl in the glass had a scar she didn’t recognize—a thin, silver line tracing her collarbone. She touched it, and the skin felt warm, pulsing like a heartbeat. The mirror fogged instantly, but the scar remained.
She ran to her bedroom window, flinging it open to let in the night air. The town of Marrow’s End lay sprawled below, its streets empty except for the flicker of streetlights casting long shadows. Lila’s fingers curled around the windowsill, nails biting into wood. Her breath came fast, uneven. The scar wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.
But the next morning, she found the note.
It was tucked beneath her door, a single sheet of paper folded into a crane. The origami wings were crisp, the creases precise. Inside, a message scrawled in smudged ink: *They’re watching. Don’t trust the water.*
Lila’s hands shook. She crumpled the note and tossed it into the trash, but when she looked down, the crane was still there, wings fluttering faintly.
—
The town of Marrow’s End had always been quiet, its people like ghosts lingering at the edges of memory. Lila had moved here six months ago, chasing a job at the library and the promise of a fresh start. But the town clung to her, its secrets seeping into her bones.
She met Jace at the diner on Main Street, where the coffee was bitter and the jukebox played static. He leaned against the counter, sleeves rolled up to reveal tattoos of constellations. “You’re new,” he said, not looking up from his soup.
“Yeah.” Lila studied him. His eyes were the color of storm clouds, and there was something in his posture—tension, like he’d been waiting for her.
“You should stop looking in mirrors after dark,” he added. “They’ll find you if you do.”
She didn’t ask how he knew. Something about him felt familiar, like a memory she couldn’t place.
—
The library was Lila’s refuge, its shelves towering like sentinels. She spent hours among the books, losing herself in stories of far-off places. But one afternoon, she found a book that didn’t belong. *The Veil of Marrow* sat on a shelf marked *Local History*, its spine cracked and pages yellowed. The cover bore no author, just a symbol—a crescent moon pierced by a dagger.
She opened it, and the scent of wet earth filled her nose. The text was in a language she didn’t recognize, but the illustrations were clear: people standing at the edge of a forest, their faces blurred. A line of text ran along the bottom of each page, written in English: *The veil thins where the water remembers.*
A sound behind her. She spun around. No one was there.
—
Jace found her in the library that night. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice low.
“I could say the same about you.”
He hesitated, then pulled a key from his pocket. It was rusted, its teeth jagged. “This opens the cellar beneath the old mill. But don’t go alone.”
“Why?”
“Because the water remembers,” he said. “And it doesn’t forget.”
—
The cellar was colder than the air outside. Lila’s breath fogged in the dim light of her flashlight. The walls were lined with jars, each containing a different liquid—some clear, others swirling with colors that didn’t exist. At the center of the room stood a stone pedestal, etched with the same symbol as the book.
A voice echoed from the darkness. “You shouldn’t have come.”
Lila froze. The flashlight flickered.
“Who’s there?”
A figure stepped into the light. A woman, her hair white as bone, eyes hollow. “The veil is thinning,” she said. “And you’re the key.”
“I don’t understand.”
The woman smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You will.”
—
The next day, Lila returned to the library. The book was gone. But on the shelf, a new entry had appeared: *The Veil of Marrow*—but the text was different now. The illustrations showed a girl standing at the edge of a lake, her reflection staring back with hollow eyes.
She didn’t know what to do. But the scar on her collarbone throbbed, and the note in her pocket whispered *Don’t trust the water.*
—
Jace met her at the mill that night. “You found it,” he said, his voice tight.
“I didn’t mean to.”
He looked at her, really looked. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means the veil won’t let you go,” he said. “Not until you remember.”
Lila’s heart pounded. “What happened to me?”
Jace didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled her into the shadows, where the water lapped at the edges of the mill. “Listen,” he whispered.
She did. And she heard it—a voice, distant and broken, calling her name.
—
The water was cold. Lila stepped into the lake, the chill biting through her clothes. The surface rippled, and her reflection stared back—different this time. Her eyes were hollow, her skin pale.
“You’re not real,” she whispered.
The reflection smiled. “But you are.”
A hand gripped her wrist. Jace pulled her back, his face grim. “Don’t let it take you.”
“What is it?”
“A memory,” he said. “One you forgot.”
—
The town of Marrow’s End had always been quiet, but now Lila understood why. The water held memories—fragments of lives lost, of promises broken. And she was part of it, a thread in a tapestry she couldn’t yet see.
She didn’t know what came next. But as the sun rose over the lake, she felt something shift inside her. The scar on her collarbone faded, and for the first time in months, she felt… whole.
—
The end.
