world we created, paul lahote

Chapter 07

The piano keys felt smooth and familiar under Lucia's fingers as they glided across them. The sweet, melodic tune of "Howl's Moving Castle" filled her bedroom, transporting her back in time. As she played, Lucia could picture herself at age 11, curled up on the couch with her mother, enthralled by the magical film unfolding on the screen.

Her eyes remained closed now, lost in the memory. She recalled leaning into her mother's side whenever things got scary, feeling safe and protected in her warm embrace. Her mother would softly reassure her, "It's alright, darling. It's just a story." Lucia could still smell her mother's favourite rose-scented perfume, mixed with the buttery popcorn they had made for their movie night snack.

Each key Lucia pressed was like turning another page in their storybook of memories together. But as the song swelled, so did the ache in her heart. Her fingers faltered slightly on a high note as a tear escaped down her cheek. It had been 4 months since the accident that took her mother's life, but the pain of loss still felt as fresh as the day she got the call even though some days it was dimmed completely.

Lucia played on through her tears, needing the catharsis of losing herself in the music. But it was becoming harder to see the sheet music through her blurred vision. In her mind, she was small again, safely nestled in her mother's loving embrace as storms raged outside. But now the storm was inside, and no one was left to shield her from the howling grief.

As the final notes of the song faded into silence, Lucia gazed sadly at the family photo once more. She was just a toddler then, perched happily on her father's strong shoulders. Her mother stood beaming beside them, proudly clutching her husband's arm.

They all looked so full of joy and promise in that snapshot frozen in time. But she knew all too well how quickly life could change. Within a few short years, both of her parents would be gone.

"Why did you have to leave me?" she asked them through fresh tears.

Lucia wished more than anything that she could rewind to that carefree birthday, before their deaths. She'd give anything to feel her father's sturdy hands lifting her up one last time or hear her mother's sweet laugh ringing through the kitchen as she baked her cake.

But no matter how loudly she begged, those happier days refused to be reopened. All she had left now were fading memories and photographs that did little to ease the ache of loneliness.

Lucia sighed shakily as she wiped her tears away with the worn sleeve of her lavender hoodie. The familiar soft fabric was comforting against her skin, like an old friend offering solace in a time of turmoil. She took several deep breaths, trying to steady her frayed nerves after becoming overwhelmed by bittersweet memories.

The intensity of her grief had taken her by surprise; she thought she had neatly packaged those painful emotions away, not expecting them to crash over her with such force. But nearly losing her life in yesterday's accident thanks to Bella's recklessness had shattered whatever fragile walls she'd erected. It served as a stark reminder of just how fleeting everything - and everyone - could be.

Lucia was pulled from her thoughts by a rhythmic knocking on the hatch above her. She took a steadying breath and crouched to swing it open, blinking against the brightness flooding into her attic room.

"Hey, Charlie," she greeted him softly. "Is everything alright?" she asked, taking in his drawn expression - the same worry lines her mother would get seeming etched even deeper these days. In this instance, she couldn't help but notice her mother in him - worrying about everything even when they didn't need to.

"I was here to ask you that, Lucy," Charlie replied gruffly. "You haven't been out of your room in two days. What happened in the woods with Bella?"

Lucia paused, not wanting to relive those terrifying memories or place more stress on her frazzled uncle's shoulders. "It... nothing happened," she lied evenly, waving him off. "I was just overreacting."