The Changeling and the Crimson Lace

7

It had been a couple of days since her emotional breakdown in Mrs. Jackson's class, but Amra still felt the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on her. The shock of seeing Callus kiss Tess lingered, and even though she had started to recover on the surface, a quiet ache remained buried beneath her attempts to focus on school and the mundane routines of life.

Tonight, though, as she sat cross-legged on her bed, all of it—the pain, the confusion, and the lingering questions—rose to the surface again. In front of her lay the crimson lace, unfurled and glowing softly in the dim light of her room. She traced a fingertip along its edges, feeling a strange, pulsing warmth that seemed to match her heartbeat, as if the lace were alive, aware of her touch.

The lace had changed since her trip to the Fae world. It was as though it had absorbed something from that place, as though it held secrets just waiting for her to unlock. She thought of Callus, his betrayal, the kiss he had shared with Tess. The memory stung, but the questions it raised burned hotter: Did she really know him? Did he have a place in the world she was beginning to uncover?

With a deep breath, Amra carefully spread out the lace, her eyes catching on faint symbols woven into the pattern that she had never noticed before. Under her fingers, they glowed with a dim crimson light, each symbol tugging at her memory as if trying to remind her of something long forgotten. Her grandmother's voice drifted into her mind, echoing stories told by firelight of changelings, stolen children, and ancient, binding pacts with beings that walked between worlds. Amra had thought they were just stories. But now, with the lace in her hands, she could feel the truth of those tales pressing in on her, like a weight she couldn't ignore.

As she leaned closer, tracing one of the symbols, a line from her grandmother's stories whispered to her mind: "Bound to shadows, yet drawn to light, they walk between worlds, longing for what they cannot hold."

A shiver ran down her spine, and a strange familiarity welled up within her. Changelings. The word settled heavily in her mind, filling her with a mix of dread and recognition. Her grandmother had hinted that changelings weren't merely creatures of stories—that some had lived real lives, facing challenges most could never understand.

And then, without warning, the lace glowed brighter, and a vision bloomed behind her eyes.

In her mind, she saw a girl around her own age, draped in a flowing dress with a lace like hers tied to her wrist. The girl's eyes were fierce, yet haunted, as she stood at the edge of a dark forest, looking out toward a world that felt both foreign and familiar. Amra felt an unexpected pang of recognition, a sense of connection that transcended time. She could feel the girl's yearning—her desperate need to belong, to find freedom. Yet beneath it all, there was a quiet, aching despair, like she was forever bound to walk between two worlds, belonging fully to neither.

The vision shifted, and Amra watched as the girl spoke to a figure cloaked in shadows. The figure extended a hand, offering her a choice, a deal that would bind her forever to the Fae world in exchange for one last glimpse of the human world she missed. Amra could feel the weight of the girl's decision, the hope and the fear, and a deep sense of loss for what she would never be able to hold.

Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the vision faded, leaving Amra staring down at the lace with a newfound understanding. This wasn't just any fabric; it was a relic, a testament to the struggles of others like her, people who had walked the line between worlds and paid dearly for it. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes as she held the lace close. This was her legacy, her story, and the story of countless others who had stood in the shadows, yearning for a place to belong.

Just then, a knock on her door startled her. She quickly tucked the lace back into her purse, brushing at her eyes just as her mother peeked in, concern etched on her face.