The dark had changed.
It was no longer hollow — no longer a silent void. Now, it shimmered. Faint. Fragile. Like a candlelit room behind thick glass. And through it, she heard something.
A voice.
Then another.
Like whispers falling through water.
She couldn't make out the words — not yet — but the sounds carried something warmer than meaning. Familiarity. Each syllable pulled gently at the edges of her sleep, like someone peeling back curtains in a sunless room.
Leon…
That one came clearer. Not because he was louder — but because he had always lived closer to her, even before she understood why. His voice curled around her chest like a thread tugging softly, asking her to come back.
Then came Elise's voice. Shaky. Thin.
It wove into her mind like an old lullaby — a comfort she didn't know she'd missed until she heard it. She didn't remember her clearly, not as a mother, not even as a woman from her past… but the way Elise spoke now, as if each word was a heartbeat, made something bloom quietly behind Ayla's ribs.
And then Jean.
Stern. Stilled. Like a mountain that never begged to be climbed. But even his silence felt like presence — like someone waiting at the edge of the cliff, hoping she'd reach the top.
She couldn't move.
Her eyelids were still sealed like petals before dawn.
But she felt their voices sinking into her skin.
And for the first time since the accident, the cold inside her began to melt.
The memory of her name — Ayla — still echoed, a soft bell in a quiet room. She held it close, curling her soul around it. And with it came a truth, whole and unshaking:
She was no longer lost.
Even if they didn't yet understand — even if they still called her something she wasn't — she had found herself in the dark. And now, the voices weren't pulling her deeper. They were lifting her.
She wanted to reach them.
To open her eyes.
But her body was still a cage, and she was only now finding the key.
Still, she tried. A twitch. A flicker. A breath just barely deeper.
Small things.
But even the stars begin as sparks.