I slept deeply on the softest mattress, surrounded by a scent so calming it nearly lulled me back to sleep. But a flicker of fear crept in—this wasn't my room. My mattress was never this soft, and my room had never smelled this sweet. My heart pounded fiercely, racing with thoughts I wasn't ready to face. As I slowly opened my eyes, I found myself lying in a luxurious Victorian bedroom.
I pinched my cheeks, hoping to wake from this dream. Nothing happened—except the sharp sting of my pinched skin. Then, a sudden knocking sounded at the door.
"Miss Margaret, are you awake now? Dinner is ready." I heard from the voice outside the door. "Ye..yes", I replied.
I opened the door and found the butler waiting for me. I followed him to the dining room, where the two sisters and Arthur were already seated at the table.
"Are you feeling better now?" Arthur asked.
Before I could answer, the older sister said softly, "Margaret, please take a seat." Her voice was calm and soothing.
I grabbed a chair and sat beside Arthur. The table was laden with food—soup, meat, side dishes, and desserts.
If this is a dream, I don't want to wake up, I thought as I ate. It was the best dinner I'd ever had in my life.
Suddenly, new memories flooded my mind—memories that weren't mine. They belonged to Margaret.
She was the oldest of the four siblings but born to a different mother. Their father had only brought her into the family a month ago. Though she was fully accepted, she felt something was missing—an unspoken duty or purpose—and yet, she struggled to truly connect with her siblings.
One day, Eleanor, her sister closest in age, asked Arthur to gather water-lilies from the lake. She was asked if she could help Arthur. Eager to make herself more useful, she accepted it even though she hadn't learned how to swim. As Arthur paddled through the lake, Margaret heard a whisper coming from the cluster of water-lilies.
"Pick me, Margaret." a soft voice seemed to call.
As Margaret reached for the perfectly blossomed water-lily, a sudden warmth pulsed through her fingers—soft at first, like a heartbeat, then stronger, as if the flower itself was alive. The lake's gentle ripples froze in place, the breeze stilled, and for a moment, time itself seemed to pause.
In that instant, the world shimmered.
The water-lily wasn't just a flower.
With her touch, something stirred—a force bound to the lake. Whispers rose on the hush of the wind. Not just voices, but memories: sorrow, regret, and desperate plea for help.
That was the last memory of Margaret.