The Unfinished Lullaby

Blythorn, a village wrapped in mystery...where every house bore a special and unique mark~~~etched above the doorway, silent as ash blown to the wind. Locals claimed they were for protection, remnants of old magic. But none remembered who drew them. Or why.

One by one the villagers would disappear, yet no one recalled their existence as they awakened every morning. As if their memories had strangely been erased, conveniently they all forgot that their neighbors ever existed. Or maybe this occurrence had just become a normal part of their accepted expectations.

Aamira was a name never spoken, not because it was forbidden, but because it was forgotten at birth. She was not born, not buried, not celebrated...yet she remained. A presence threaded through lullabies sung to restless children, their lyrics always ending one word too soon.

🎵🎵 Aamira’s Unfinished Lullaby 🎵🎵

Sleep, my child, where the stars forget

The name you knew but don’t know that you...... — 🎵

Drift on winds that never spoke

And rest in the hush of...... —🎵

Moonlight weeps in stitched refrain

Calling hearts that won’t be — 🎵

Hold the thread but let it slip

Like shadows lost to...... —🎵

Your breath is stitched in silver thread

By hands you’ve never...... — 🎵

Close your eyes and hear the song

That ends with never...... —🎵

Sleep, my child, where whispers stay

But footsteps fade to...... —

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No one ever saw her. Yet she left things: unopened letters on windowsills sealed with wax the color of individual dreams, drawings in frost patterns on attic panes, feathers curling upward in the wrong spun wind.

There were lovely gifts to mark the empty home, the bed of the unslept, the echo of the vanished soul whom no one acknowledged as lost.

Some claimed they dreamed of her~~~a girl in reverse, eyes like hourglasses, fingers stained with ink that remembered what mouths could not speak.

The village grew around her, never acknowledging her, but always adjusting to her weight: a rocking chair no one sat in, a lantern always lit outside the church despite the wind. And when the storms came and left behind only silence, it was Aamira’s lullaby that rose from the well...echoing in the waters, singing back the names of those taken.

Aamira's lullaby 🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵

I wrote my name where shadows sleep,

for Jane

Above the door the silence keeps,

for Amber

The ink was dusk, the hourglass wept,

for Mary

And time forgot the secrets kept.

Sleep now Marko, Djak, Marlon, Skye

My fingers whispered truths unspun,

Davina now is gone

A thread of stars, a setting sun.

Each mirror bent to hold my face~~~

Eliza came away

Yet never gave me back my place.

If ever light should speak my trace,

Let it be here, in dream’s embrace.

For all shall leave this place

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One day, a child drew her face, without having ever know it~~~onto a scroll during lessons. The teacher wept and could not explain why.

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As she cried, an ominous wind chilled the bones of those listening to the story, spilling unconsciously from the memory of all those who were made to remember.

Upon the scroll the words appeared, 📜📜📜📜📜📜

"Aamira was the memory of what we forgot to love. The ideas we mourn without understanding. A wish made by someone long gone, to someone never meant to arrive. A promise unfulfilled, a heart broken, an evil deed perpetrated in the still of night.

Aamira is the reminder of lives bestowed with gifts of love, kindness and charitable deeds forgotten in the mad rush to arrive at destinations of the personal...

Arrive at being your best self...you owe yourself that gentle enveloping of your lived lives...just remember a kind word or deed to those deserving".

And when the last soul in Blythorn vanished, leaving behind only shadows and echoing shoes, Aamira stepped out at last...not to be seen, but to erase the space where seeing had lived...

She danced a single waltz with silence, and became the story they never knew they were telling.

In a relic she left behind, the trace of a poem remains, believed to be hers...a verse that appears only in dreams of ghostly light and mirrors.

The Relic of Aamira

They say it lies beneath a cracked mirror in an abandoned conservatory~~a locket with no chain, no clasp, just a single obsidian shard inside. On moonlit nights, it hums faintly when touched by silence. Etched onto its surface, barely visible, is a verse said to appear only to those who dream in reverse.

I held the hush before the song,

A thread of dusk where dreams belong.

My name was wind, my touch was thread~~~

A mark where stars forgot I bled.

Don’t seek me in the mirrors my dear,

But in the glass that weeps with fear.

I left no face, no steady flame,

Just echoes aching for reclaim.

Where moonlight breaks but never mends,

You'll find me there~~~where longing bends.

She never signed her name. But in sleep, when time runs soft and silver, the locket may warm against your palm---and those lines might flicker into view like breath on a windowpane.

Whom did she love, what did she lose. Why does the mirror still wait?

They say Aamira once loved someone not made of time...but of light. A watchmaker’s apprentice who carved minutes from light and laughter from clockwork chimes. His name is lost to the rustle of leaves and the hush of closing doors, but the legend calls him Edden of the Gilded Seconds. He made her a sundial shaped like a kiss, and told her he’d return when shadows caught up with the sun.

But time, as it does, betrayed them. He vanished through a doorway that never opened again, into a moment so quiet the clocks refused to speak of it.

Aamira wept backwards. Her tears turned into ink. She wrote her grief into the seams of moonlight and sealed it with a mirror...the only one that remembers the sound of his goodbye.

The mirror still waits because it’s not just glass. It’s a promise. They say if someone stands before it just before dawn and whispers "I remember stardust", they’ll see not their reflection, but a room suspended in twilight ~ a girl painting time with her fingers, and a boy handing her one final second.

The mirror knows that all shall be restored if all of the three conditions for Aamira's happiness were met.

The relic...A locket with no chain, because love unravels.

The girl...Aamira, a ghost of ink and memory.

The mirror...Still waiting, because someone must finish the poem.

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Awake, my child, for the stars remember

The name you knew but don’t know is Eden

He awakes in the hush of silence

Calling hearts to be reborn, found

Never lost, but absent

Hands linked...footsteps remembered 🎵

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From a door a child emerged...in his hand he held an ancient and worn scroll. He had fallen asleep in his secret place when the last vanishing had occurred. Only just now awaking.

"Read this for Aamira and Eden", when the world has gone quiet. It read. Josiah had no idea from whence it came.

One by one the villagers returned, picking up their stories from the moment they had last left it, as if they had always been there.

The poem had been finished by fate and the weavers of time.

Aamira had been reunited with her Eden.