Echoes of the Past
"Why is it that I no longer get greeted by you? Am I suddenly insignificant, or is it you who has grown wings all of a sudden?"
Amelia's voice pierced the air before she even located my face.
I turned toward her, keeping my expression neutral. "What brings you here, Mother? It's been a while." I offered her a polite, distant smile. Just trying to be cordial.
Apparently, my attempt wasn't well received.
"You seem to have grown a mouth now—talking back to me!" she snapped, her eyes wide with disdain, her tone sharp as ever.
"I'm merely trying to entertain my mother," I replied, feigning innocence. "What is it about my tone that upsets you so, Mother?"
"Who are you calling your mother?" she hissed, stepping forward and grabbing my wrist—hard. Her grip was like iron, sending a spike of pain through my arm. "I am not your mother. You are not worthy of being called my daughter!"
I winced but didn't pull away. Not yet. I looked her straight in the eyes.
"Well," I said, lowering my voice to a venomous whisper only she could hear, "it's not like I'm desperate to call you my mother. I'd rather call a bitch my mom."
That did it.
Her face turned crimson, twisted in rage. She shoved my arm back, and I stumbled, barely keeping my balance.
"What rather?" she snarled. "Your mother is a bitch. A bitch who abandoned her daughter. Left because she wanted freedom. You don't need to imagine it."
Her words slammed into me like a punch to the chest—sharp, suffocating. Her cruelty should've meant nothing to me. After all, the woman she was talking about wasn't even my mother.
But the words still hurt.
Why?
Why was there this ache deep inside me?
The child that woman left behind wasn't me. I wasn't born here. I wasn't Isla. I wasn't even from this world.
And yet…
Something inside me twisted violently at her words, rising in defense of someone I had never even met. My chest tightened. My breathing faltered. I felt as if I was drowning in emotions I didn't understand—rage, grief, helplessness.
Why?
Why do I feel this pain?
Why does it feel like that woman… was my mother?
No. No, that's not possible. This body isn't mine. These memories aren't mine. I'm not supposed to feel this.
And yet… I couldn't deny it.
My hands were trembling. My vision blurred at the edges. Amelia was watching me now, a wicked smile creeping across her face. Maybe she was enjoying my reaction, feeding off my confusion and vulnerability.
She took a step closer and gripped my chin tightly, forcing my face up. I winced.
"What happened now?" she mocked. "Tongue tangled? Cat got it?"
Her eyes gleamed with ridicule, and something inside me snapped.
I reached up and grabbed her wrist, yanking it away from my face with all the strength I could muster. Her eyes widened in shock.
"It would be better for you," I growled, "if you kept your filthy hands to yourself."
And with that, I turned and walked away, refusing to look back—even though every step felt like I was running. Not just from her.
But from myself.
Because the truth terrified me.
I wasn't fleeing from Amelia's venom—I was fleeing from the part of me that felt like Isla.
---
Back in my room, the weight of the encounter sat heavily on my chest.
"My lady," Sasha said gently, entering with a tray of pastries. "I brought these for you. Please eat something—you'll feel better."
I nodded in thanks, managing a faint smile as she set the tray down.
"Sasha," I said after a moment of silence. "Can I ask you something?"
She looked up at me and nodded.
I reached out and took her hand, guiding her to sit across from me.
"What… what do you think about my mother? How was she?" My voice was barely a whisper. "Please… tell me everything you know about her."
I'd avoided the question for so long. I told myself it didn't matter—that she wasn't my mother, so why should I care?
But now… I couldn't ignore it. Not after the storm of emotions I felt just from hearing Amelia insult her. Not after the ache I couldn't explain.
Something inside me was begging for answers. And I wasn't going to run anymore.
Sasha looked surprised—but not shocked. Perhaps she'd been waiting for this.
"My lady," she began softly, her voice trembling with memory, "your mother… Lady Isabelle… she was like an angel."
"She was kind to everyone, gentle in her ways, and her laughter could brighten the darkest of days. I was ten when I came here, one of the youngest maids assigned to serve her. Even though I was just a child, she treated me with such warmth…"
Sasha paused, eyes misty.
"She'd give me candies because I liked them. She'd let me rest when others worked, just because I was small. Those two years she lived here… the Duke was the happiest I'd ever seen him."
"And when she found out she was pregnant with you…" Sasha smiled through her tears. "They threw the grandest banquet. Everyone in the region was invited. Even Lady Amelia came with her husband—she was expecting Lord Edward then. She and Lady Isabelle became close during that time."
"Two months after the celebration, Lady Isabelle began searching for a necklace her father gave her. She was anxious—it meant a lot to her. But it vanished. We searched the whole mansion, but it was never found."
"After that, her health declined. Even the smallest things made her sick. No one knew why. Physicians came from all over, but there was no cure."
"When it was time to give birth… she was so weak. Everyone feared she wouldn't survive it. The Duke… he fainted from worry. But she survived. She lived long enough to hold you in her arms and feed you once."
"After you fell asleep, she called me over. She handed you to me and said, 'Be with her always. She is my precious daughter.' Her eyes… they were full of tears."
Sasha's voice broke, and she wiped her cheeks quickly.
"I took you to the nursery to rest, and when I woke up the next morning… the mansion was in chaos. The Duke was broken. And I was told…"
She swallowed.
"I was told Lady Isabelle had left."
---