The Girl Who Remembered Every Life She Had Lived
Every time she closed her eyes, another life flooded back — and this time, one of them wanted revenge
It started with flashes.
When Elara turned sixteen, she thought the faint images she saw when she closed her eyes were just vivid dreams — pieces of fantasy stitched together by a restless mind. A battlefield under a burning red sky. A marketplace filled with the chatter of ancient tongues. A darkened library where parchment crumbled at her touch.
But as days bled into nights, the images sharpened. She no longer dreamed them; she lived them.
She remembered being a healer in an ancient war, a queen betrayed by her closest confidant, a wandering monk seeking enlightenment. Hundreds of lives, layered atop one another like old paint on a forgotten wall. Every time she closed her eyes, another version of herself emerged, each screaming for attention, each demanding to be remembered.
At first, it was exhilarating. Who wouldn't want to remember sword fights and secret romances, shipwrecks and kingdoms? Elara carried centuries of experience within her — ancient languages spilled from her mouth, forgotten knowledge pulsed in her veins.
But exhilaration soon turned into fear.
Because one memory didn’t come like the others.
It forced its way into her waking life.
It started one morning when Elara was brushing her hair. She caught a glimpse in the mirror — not of herself, but a reflection behind her. A girl with hollow eyes and a cruel, twisted smile. Her clothes were from no era Elara recognized — dark, almost funeral-like, with crimson thread sewn through the seams.
The girl whispered one word: "Remember."
That night, Elara didn't just see flashes — she lived through an entire life she wished had stayed buried.
She had been Alina, a sorceress accused of terrible crimes. Unlike the other lives, Alina’s past was bathed in blood and betrayal. She had cursed villages, burned entire crops, and caused kings to fall — not for justice, but for revenge. Betrayed once as a healer, once as a lover, once as a daughter — Alina decided that if the world was cruel, she would be crueler.
The memories of fire, screams, and endless pain clawed into Elara’s mind. She woke up with her palms bleeding from nails she hadn't realized she had dug into her own skin.
But worse than the memories was the feeling that Alina wasn’t just a past version of her.
She was still there.
Watching.
Waiting.
Elara tried everything.
Meditation. Isolation.
Doctors. Hypnotherapy.
No one could explain it.
"Past life regression," one woman at a psychic shop suggested, narrowing her eyes. "But yours... yours aren’t past lives. They’re open wounds."
On the third night after meeting Alina, Elara dreamed she stood at the edge of a cliff. Below, roaring waves crashed violently against black rocks.
Alina appeared beside her, the same cruel smile stitched onto her face.
"You owe me," she hissed.
"For what?" Elara demanded. "I am not you!"
Alina’s eyes glowed with fury.
"You abandoned me. You left me to rot. You moved on. But I stayed buried — trapped. And now, you will finish what I could not."
Elara woke gasping for air, the taste of salt thick in her mouth. Sand was tangled in her bedsheets, as if she had truly been standing by the sea.
Reality began to blur.
Lights flickered when she walked by.
Mirrors cracked when she looked too long.
People she barely knew crossed the street to avoid her. Even her best friend, Micah, whispered once that there was "something cold" about her lately.
The worst part?
A small part of Elara agreed.
There was a dark hunger growing inside her — a desire to hurt those who hurt her, to reclaim the respect she was denied, to punish betrayal with fire.
It would be so easy to let Alina in.
But Elara made a choice.
On the seventh night, she returned to the place her visions pointed her toward — an abandoned church at the edge of town. Once a house of worship, it had long since been swallowed by vines and decay.
She carried with her a mirror — an old one she had inherited from her grandmother, framed with strange runes.
At midnight, under a blood-red moon, Elara stood in front of the altar and called out.
"I see you," she said.
"I remember you."
"But you are not me."
The air turned ice cold. The mirror vibrated violently in her hands.
Alina appeared — not behind her this time, but in the mirror itself.
"You cannot banish me," Alina hissed.
"I don't have to," Elara whispered.
"I forgive you."
Alina froze.
The mirror flashed blinding white. The air cracked with energy. Alina's scream filled the church, shattering the mirror into a thousand glittering shards.
And then — silence.
Real silence.
No visions. No voices.
Just Elara, alone at last.
It's been three years.
Elara still remembers her past lives — but they no longer haunt her.
They guide her.
She writes stories about them now, helping others heal through forgotten histories and shared pain.
Sometimes she still dreams of Alina — but now, the sorceress smiles, a soft, sad smile of someone finally at peace.
Because in remembering...
Elara set them both free.
And she never forgot:
Some battles aren't won by fighting.
They are won by forgiving.
Even the darkest parts of ourselves.
About the Creator
Muhammad Sabeel
I write not for silence, but for the echo—where mystery lingers, hearts awaken, and every story dares to leave a mark
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