Kalara froze, her heart pounding. This couldn't be real. Her mother was dead. She had been for years. Yet here she was, descending the staircase with the same serene confidence Kalara remembered, smiling like nothing had happened. Like she hadn't been gone.
"What is this place?" Kalara managed to ask, her voice trembling.
Her mother's lab coat swished as she moved, a ghostly echo of old routines. "This," she said, gesturing to the sprawling expanse of shelves, "is the Library of Memories. Every book here contains a memory—yours, mine, your father's... " she paused. All the memories that has been collected over the years of your existence." she paused again. "...In a way."
Kalara's gaze darted around, taking in the impossibly vast space. The shelves stretched endlessly, laden with books of all shapes and sizes, glowing faintly in hues that seemed to shift as she stared. "How... how is this possible?"
Her mother stepped onto the marble floor, her movements unnervingly graceful. "The human mind is an extraordinary thing," she said, her voice calm, as though explaining a simple scientific fact. "And with the right advancements, we've discovered ways to... expand it. Everything you see here is the culmination of everything, Kalara. The memories we made, stored for eternity and beyond."
Kalara felt her knees weaken, her thoughts spiraling. "I saw the news. I saw your funeral! The lawyers..." Her words tumbled out in a rush, anger and confusion warring in her chest.
Her mother's smile faltered, the warmth in her expression giving way to something unreadable. "Death," she said, her voice quieter now, "is merely a threshold. Our consciousness, our memories—they transcend the physical. This place allows us to access them, to relive them."
The chill in the air seemed to seep into Kalara's bones. Her voice was hoarse. "So you're not really here. You're just... a memory?"
Her mother hesitated, then reached out to touch Kalara's cheek. The sensation was warm and solid, just like it used to be. "I'm as real as you need me to be," she said softly. "We can talk, laugh, share moments—just like before. Isn't that what matters?"
Kalara jerked back, her emotions in turmoil. "No, it's not!" Her voice cracked with raw emotion. "You can't just… come back from the dead like this! It's unnatural."
Her mother's expression softened. There was a tenderness there that Kalara didn't remember. Was it always there, buried beneath the clinical efficiency her mother had exuded in life? Or was this just another fabrication of the memories?
"I know this is a lot to process," her mother said, her tone gentle. "But think of the possibilities, Kalara. We can revisit any moment, change outcomes, even fix our mistakes. Isn't that what we always wanted?"
Change?!? Fix???!? Kalara's chest tightened. She shook her head, taking another step back. "No. That's not how life works. Mistakes… regrets—they're part of us. You can't just rewrite the past."
As her mother reached out again, Kalara noticed something strange. Her form flickered, edges blurring like static on an old screen. Her breath hitched. "You're not real," she whispered, more to herself than her mother.
Her mother sighed, a melancholy note in her voice. "I'm as real as this place allows me to be," she admitted. "But you're right. I'm not flesh and blood. I'm a construct in here."
Kalara stared at her, nausea roiling in her stomach. "So everything you've said, everything you've done—it's just based on what's in these books?"
Her mother nodded. "In a sense, yes. In a way, my responses, my presence—it's all tied to what's been preserved."
Kalara's mind spun, questions flooding her thoughts. "But why? Why create this? Who built this place?"
Her mother's image flickered again, the distortion more pronounced. "I… don't know. That knowledge isn't in my memories. Whoever built this library left it for you to find."
Kalara clenched her fists, a new determination hardening in her heart. "Then I need to find out how this works. Why I am here. There has to be more to this place than reliving or fixing memories." Is this their atonement? she thought. But she said she did not build this place. I need to check. I need to understand she said to herself.
Ignoring her mother's protests, Kalara strode toward the nearest bookshelf. She reached for a leather-bound tome, its surface unmarked.
"Wait!" her mother called. "Some memories are better left untouched!"
Kalara's hand trembled as she pulled the book from its place. The moment her fingers brushed the cover, a torrent of images and sensations overwhelmed her.
She was a child again, twirling in front of a mirror in her mother's bedroom. The dress she wore hung loose on her small frame, but she didn't care. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft, golden hues. She felt the unbridled joy of that moment—a lifetime ago, yet as vivid as if it were happening now.
Suddenly, her younger self turned, wide-eyed, staring directly at her. Kalara froze. The girl's gaze was piercing, filled with curiosity and recognition. Did she recognize me? Is that really... me? How old is she? Was she inside the mirror and yet outside of it and in the room? What is going on here??!? She was the girl and yet now she is... herself? Who are they really? Where is she? WHERE IS THIS PLACE?
"Kalara…?" her mother's voice broke the silence. Her tone was unsteady, as though realizing the truth for the first time. "Is that… you?"
The edges of the memory shimmered, the lines between past and present blurring. She didn't understand anything.
Could they see her? Was this real, or was she hallucinating? Her thoughts raced as fragments of doubt clawed at her mind. It had to be the thing she drank earlier—the strange, bitter liquid. Or was it something more sinister? Was she drunk, or worse, drugged?
Her mother's cold, calculating voice pulled her from her spiraling thoughts, breaking through the haze with an unsettling cheeriness. "I knew you could do it, Kalara."
Do what?!?... Her breath came in short, shallow gasps as she stumbled backward, her hands fumbling against the smooth wall behind her. The cool, unyielding surface felt like a cage, trapping her in this impossible place. She had to get out. She needed to get out—now.
Her eyes darted frantically between the younger version of herself and the flickering figure of her mother. The surreal tableau before her sent a shiver of dread down her spine. This couldn't be real. None of this made sense.
Her younger self tilted her head, her small, delicate features twisting into something cold and unsettling. There was a strange clarity in her eyes, far too knowing for a child. She didn't flinch at Kalara's panic, didn't show any of the wide-eyed innocence of any child would do. Instead, she stared unblinking, her expression hardening.
"I don't think she understands yet, Mommy," the girl said icily, her voice sharp and deliberate, each word like a dagger.
End of Chapter