A Promise Across Time [Completed]

The Morning of Silent Fears (1965)

April 1965
Sweden

*Frida

The morning arrived softly on a beautiful Saturday, sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. But something was off. The usual morning kiss and snuggles from a certain twelve-year-old were absent. My heart quickened.

"Raven Ciaran?" I called out, my voice hoarse from sleep as I sat up. The other side of the bed was empty, cold. A panic began to swell in my chest, the dreadful thought that she might have disappeared—gone back to her time—without us saying proper goodbyes crossed my mind.

"Raven?" I yelled louder, fear tingling up my spine. My alarm must have been evident because I heard hurried footsteps, followed by my grandmother rushing into the bedroom.

"What's happening, Frida?" she asked, her voice tight with worry.

"It's Raven! She's not here," I said, frantic. "Do you know where she went?"

Grandma Arntine shook her head. "I haven't seen her this morning. She wasn't in the kitchen brewing coffee when I woke up."

Without wasting time, we both started searching the apartment, my heart pounding louder with each passing second. As I neared the bathroom, I froze. There, lying on the cold floor, was Raven, her small body curled up, her face flushed. She was semi-unconscious, and my heart nearly stopped.

"Raven!" I shrieked, rushing to her side. I scooped her up, feeling the heat radiating from her fevered body. "Grandma, hail a cab! We're going to the hospital, now!" My voice trembled, fear gripping every word.

I started to lift her, but suddenly, Raven's small, trembling hand grabbed my arm. Her grip was weak, but it stopped me in my tracks. She tried to speak, her voice faint, barely audible. I leaned closer, straining to hear her.

"Don't... don't take me to the hospital," she whispered, her breath shallow. "It's just a cold... I'll be fine with milk and aspirin."

"Raven, you're burning up!" I protested, my voice tight with worry.

"Please," she begged, her eyes pleading with mine. "If I have a hospital record... there will be consequences in the future. I know this... it's just a cold."

I hesitated, my mind swirling with fear and uncertainty. But her gaze—steady despite her weakened state—reassured me. She knew her body, knew what was happening.

"You've had this before?" I asked, my voice softening as I studied her fevered face.