The Memory Thief

The Memory Thief

The town of Evermere had a secret.

At first glance, it was like any other quaint village—cobblestone streets, ivy-covered cottages, and a marketplace that bustled with cheerful voices. But in the heart of Evermere stood an ancient bookstore, **The Hollow Quill**, owned by a man few dared to speak of: Elias Thorne.

Elias was no ordinary bookseller. Beneath the dim candlelight of his shop, he collected something far more precious than books—**memories**.

It was said that if you wandered into his shop with a burden too heavy to carry, Elias could take it from you. A whispered request, a flick of his silver quill, and the pain would vanish. A broken heart, a traumatic past, a sorrow too deep—erased, as if it had never been.

But there was a price.

For every memory taken, another was given in its place.

Some left with gaps in their childhood, others forgot the names of old friends. They walked out lighter but emptier, their minds unknowingly rearranged. And Elias—Elias remembered everything.

One autumn evening, a young woman named Liora entered **The Hollow Quill**. Her dark eyes were shadowed with grief.

“I want to forget,” she whispered.

Elias studied her for a long moment. “What memory would you like me to take?”

Liora’s fingers trembled on the counter. “My mother’s death. The illness, the last words she spoke, the emptiness it left behind.”

Elias sighed. He had done this a thousand times, yet something about Liora made his fingers hesitate. He dipped his quill into a vial of ink as dark as midnight.

“You must understand,” he said softly, “once it’s gone, it is truly gone. You will not remember her last words. The way she looked at you. The way she loved you.”

Liora’s throat tightened, but she nodded. “Take it.”

Elias pressed the quill to a parchment, and the memory unraveled from her mind like golden threads. A single tear slipped down her cheek before the grief faded into silence.

But as Liora’s sorrow left, another memory flooded her mind—one that was never hers.

A cold night beneath a blood-red moon. A child, alone and crying. A voice whispering, *“Run.”*

Liora gasped, her heart pounding. “What is this?”

Elias closed his eyes. “A trade.”

It was then that she saw it—the weight in his gaze, the centuries of sorrow held within him. Every memory he had stolen, every burden he had taken, **he carried them all**.

Liora staggered back. “You remember everything, don’t you?”

Elias nodded. “That is my curse.”

For the first time, she hesitated. The pain of losing her mother had been unbearable, but was it better to forget? To leave the past behind, while a stranger bore her grief in silence?

She reached for the parchment where her memory had been written. It pulsed beneath her fingers, warm and fragile.

With a deep breath, she pressed it to her chest.

A rush of emotion crashed over her—the scent of lavender, the warmth of her mother’s embrace, the bittersweet ache of loss.

Tears spilled down her face, but she smiled. “I’ll keep it,” she whispered.

Elias watched her go, something unreadable in his expression.

That night, as the candles burned low in **The Hollow Quill**, he turned to the countless scrolls that lined his shelves. He traced his fingers over them, over lifetimes of love, pain, joy, and sorrow.

For centuries, he had been the keeper of forgotten things.

But for the first time in years, he dared to wonder.

Perhaps, one day, someone would take **his** memories too.

And perhaps, just perhaps, he would finally remember what it felt like to forget.