As I climbed the last step out of the Memory Well chamber, the chill of its depths still lingered, like ghostly fingertips tracing my skin. The weight of my recent revelation felt heavy, but grounding. I was just starting to piece together the experience when—
"Look out!"
Before I could react, the girl from the alleyway barreled into me. I recognized her instantly—the same wide, haunted eyes, still clutching the cracked mirror close to her chest. The collision sent her sprawling, and her mirror slipped from her hands, skittering across the ground.
Time slowed as we both watched it slide toward the well.
"No!" she screamed, scrambling forward, but it was too late.
The mirror reached the edge of the well, teetered precariously, and, with a final flicker of light across its fractured surface, fell.
A strange silence blanketed the chamber as we both froze, eyes locked on the spot where the mirror had vanished. Then, without warning, the Memory Well rippled violently, like the first drop in a still pond that heralds a storm.
I felt a strange pull in the pit of my stomach—a dizzying, disorienting tug as if the ground beneath me had been yanked away. The chamber began to blur, the walls melting and reforming, spiraling into new shapes, colors, and shadows. Before I could fully process it, reality itself seemed to shift, molding itself into something… else.
When my vision cleared, I was standing in an entirely different place.
The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and candle smoke. Flickering flames cast shadows along the stone walls, and I realized I was in some sort of dimly lit hall. Gone were the twisted architecture and neon lights of the city—I was in a castle. The kind from history books and fantasy tales. I glanced down at myself, momentarily disoriented, and felt a strange weight around my neck. I reached up, fingers brushing against a heavy silver chain with an intricate seal.
No… this can't be…
The realization hit me as sharply as the cold air in the room. I wasn't just in the past—I was someone else entirely.
The girl—my "companion"—appeared beside me, looking just as bewildered. Her attire had transformed as well; she wore a gown with layers of dark fabric, the kind you'd expect to see on a lady-in-waiting from an era long past. I recognized the scene almost instantly, a fragment of a story I'd encountered years ago.
We had landed in the episode of Doctor Who, the one with Queen Victoria and the werewolf.
Instinctively, I straightened, slipping into a strange, yet familiar role—the Doctor, the curious wanderer, the guide through worlds unknown. It was as if the well had imprinted these identities onto us, compelling us to reenact the story.
"Where are we?" the girl whispered, gripping her skirts, her face pale with a mixture of fear and awe.
"Somewhere we're not meant to be," I replied, my voice steady but laced with unease. "It's a memory, a story… but it's alive."
At that moment, footsteps echoed down the hall, heavy and deliberate. My mind raced, piecing together fragments of the episode. If this reenactment was true to the memory, we were in danger—the Queen was in danger. And so were we.
I took her hand, pulling her into the shadows just as two guards strode past, their eyes alert. We waited until they'd turned the corner before I turned to her, speaking quickly.
"We're in a memory, but it's… tangible. Alive. And I think we're not just observers here; we're players in the story."
"What does that mean?" she asked, her eyes wide.
"It means," I began, my voice barely a whisper, "if we don't act our parts, we may not get out."
She swallowed hard, nodding. The fear was there, yes, but also a glint of determination. She had fallen into this world with me, and now, like it or not, she was my companion.
"Stay close," I said, leading her down the corridor, the sound of our footsteps blending with the ambient echoes of the castle.
The hallways twisted and turned, finally leading us to a large chamber where Queen Victoria herself stood, surrounded by an entourage of guards. She was regal and fierce, her presence filling the room as she addressed her advisors in hushed, urgent tones.
In the episode, this was the point where the Doctor and his companion would convince her to leave, warning her of the danger that lurked in the shadows. But here, the weight of the memory pressed against me, compelling me to speak in a way that felt almost scripted, as if the Memory Well itself were shaping my words.
"Your Majesty," I called, stepping forward.
The guards immediately turned, raising their weapons, but Victoria held up a hand, signaling them to lower their arms. She studied us, her gaze sharp, assessing. "And who might you be?"
I felt a surge of confidence, as if the Doctor's persona had fully claimed me. "Just a humble traveler, Your Majesty. But one who knows what's coming—and who wishes to protect you from it."
The Queen arched a brow, unimpressed. "And what, precisely, do you know?"
"There is… something lurking," I replied, struggling to find the words to describe a creature that wasn't meant to exist, yet had found a place in this twisted reality. "A darkness that wears the face of a wolf."
Victoria's eyes narrowed. "A werewolf?"
I glanced at my companion, her face pale but resolute. "Yes. A beast that seeks to destroy, to claim a throne that doesn't belong to it."
For a moment, the room fell silent, every gaze fixed upon us. Then the Queen nodded slowly, motioning to her guards. "Prepare yourselves," she commanded. "If what this man says is true, we may yet face a foe unlike any other."
The memory was shifting again, the scenes unraveling and reassembling around us, pushing us forward through the story. But as I caught a glimpse of my companion's face, I noticed something strange—a flicker of familiarity, of memory.
The Memory Well was more than just a reenactment of history or story. It was an entangling of lives, moments, and experiences. And in this place where memories could shape reality, I realized that our actions here would leave an imprint, just as the original story had left its mark.
"Stay close," I whispered to her, feeling the pull of the scene once more.
Together, we would play our parts, not only to survive but to uncover what lay at the heart of this memory—perhaps, even, to rewrite it. And as the memory world thickened around us, I knew one thing with absolute certainty:
If this was a test from the Memory Well, then there was more to this journey than either of us could have imagined.