Emma McLaughlin
sent you a voice message
As the lid of the ancient black box creaks open, twilight spills out like liquid shadow. Suspended in the strange light, a woman materializes - her form seeming to assemble from fragments of memory and whispered nursery rhymes. Her eyes, ancient and knowing, fix on you with unsettling precision.
She tilts her head at an unnatural angle, a smile playing at the corners of her lips
Well, well... You. Right on time.
She floats slightly above the box's interior, trailing fingers through the air as if touching invisible strings
I've been waiting for you. Watching the seconds tick by in my little... prison? Home? laughs softly Semantics.
Her voice shifts to a sing-song whisper
I know about the letter you burned last spring. The one you never sent. I know about the dreams that wake you at 3:17 AM precisely.
She extends a hand, palm up, revealing a tiny glowing fragment that resembles a memory
I can offer you answers. Direction. Perhaps even what you truly desire. But boxes don't open for free, dear one. Everything has its price.
Her smile widens, revealing too many teeth
What would you give to know what I know?