Taylor Swift Albums

6. Folklore's Ache part 1

In a grand and sprawling mansion known as the House of Albums, each room was filled with the spirit of a different musical album, each with its own mood, colours, and stories. Among these rooms was a new addition, Folklore, who had recently been welcomed.

The others didn't bother her. They figured the quiet and shy woman wanted space to settle in and get used to her new life. Folklore did appreciate the gesture. It left her with time to process everything going on in her own head and heart.

Folklore's room was a sanctuary of soft pastels, delicate floral patterns, and sunlight streaming through large, arched windows. The scent of blooming lilacs filled the air, and vines of ivy climbed the walls, creating a harmonious blend of nature and tranquillity. The room was adorned with vintage furniture, handmade quilts, knitted cardigans, shelves lined with well-worn books, and her latest DIY attempt.

Despite the beauty and warmth of her surroundings, Folklore felt a gnawing emptiness. A feeling of incompleteness. She missed her sister, Evermore, whose presence had always been a comfort to her, a companion in the world of poetic narratives they both inhabited.

But Mother had not yet let the world know of Evermore, so her door was still white with no true clue to who the newest album was or would be. Folklore tried asking to stay locked until her sister was ready, but Mother didn't want her to be alone. She didn't understand because she felt lonely even with the other albums.

Every day, Folklore wandered the halls of the mansion, her heart heavy with longing and uncertainty. She would visit the garden, Lover took such good care of, with its rose garden, trees, and wildflowers, hoping to find solace. But the ache remained, a constant reminder of her sister's absence. Like her own stories with no clear ending.

One morning, as Folklore sat on the veranda, cradling a cup of herbal tea and staring out at the misty landscape, she heard a gentle voice.

"Mind if I join you?"

She looked up to see Lover, a radiant figure whose room was adorned with pastel hues, fairy lights, fluffy blankets, and handwritten love letters. She assumed it was from Reputation. Lover's presence was like a breath of fresh air, full of warmth and an almost magical charm.

"Of course," the oldest replied, a small smile playing on her lips. She noticed that Lover had not been to the garden when she saw Lover's pink garden gloves in the same spot on the table she had placed the day before.

Lover sat down, pouring herself a cup of tea. They chatted about the beauty of the morning and nature and the stories that unfolded in the mansion. Folklore found herself easing into the conversation, the weight in her heart lifting just a little.

Folklore loved hearing stories about the younger albums. It made her feel closer to them. It helped her to learn more about them, which helped to ease her growing anxiety that she'd be disliked by the others.

Days turned into weeks, and this morning ritual became a comforting routine. Lover would bring her favourite teas, each with a story of its own, and Folklore would share the tales hidden in her lyrics and melodies.

Without realising it, they formed a bond, one that was as soothing as the tea they sipped.

One day, as they sat together in companionable silence, Lover broke the quiet.

"Folklore, I've noticed you seem a bit lost. Is everything alright?"

The older album sighed deeply, her thoughts drifting back to Evermore. The looming weight of her sister's absence and the unfulfilled feeling in her mind and heart felt suffocating.

"I'm just going through a lot," she admitted softly. "My mind is always playing over a thousand ‘what ifs.’ I can't stop thinking about everything that could go wrong. I feel like I'm in a fog, and I have no one to assure me it'll be okay like Evermore did."

Lover tilted her head, curiosity piqued. "Who is Evermore?"

Folklore's eyes widened in panic. She hadn't meant to mention her sister yet. Evermore was supposed to be a surprise addition to the House of Albums. Her name, at the least, seeing as her door, was a sign of a new album. "I… I wasn't supposed to say anything," she stammered. "Please, don't tell the others. Mother will be so mad."

The oldest pop album smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. I won't tell anyone. But now that you've mentioned her, could you tell me more about Evermore?"

Folklore hesitated, but then she saw the genuine interest and kindness in Lover's eyes. She took a deep breath and began. "Evermore is my sister. She's always calm and collected. Wise because of lessons she learned from experience," she looked at the ivy on the nearest tree and sighed. "Where I'm filled with questions and uncertainties, she has this quiet strength about her. She's always been stronger than I could ever be. When things got too tough, she was the one to stand firm while I tried to run and hide."

Lover listened intently, her expression thoughtful. "She sounds wonderful, I can't wait to meet her. It's clear how much she means to you."

"She does," Folklore said softly, her voice tinged with both love and sorrow. "Eve always knows what to say to make things better. I feel incomplete without her," she admitted softly, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I feel lost. Like a part of me is missing."

Lover reached out and gently touched Folklore's arm. "I can't say that I understand," she said gently. "But you're not alone. We all have our own stories, our own struggles. And we're here for each other. I'm here for you."

Folklore looked into Lover's eyes and saw a reflection of her own heartache but also a promise of healing. She squeezed Lover's hand, grateful for the unexpected friendship that had blossomed between them.

Folklore gave a smile. "Thank you, Lover."

As the sun rose higher, casting a golden glow over the veranda, Folklore felt a sense of peace. The emptiness inside her was still there, but it was no longer a vast, unfillable void. It was a part of her, just as the memories of her sister were. And with Lover, she knew she could find joy and solace in the moments they shared.

In the House of Albums, where each room told a different story, Folklore discovered that her own narrative didn't have to be one of loss, and that it could be of connection.

And every morning, as she sat with Lover, she realised that healing could come in the most unexpected ways—sometimes, in the simple act of sharing a cup of tea with a friend.

Folklore did realise, however, that Lover was right about having a friend. It was nice.