Glass Threads
Chapter 1
I.
PALM
“In a world where sun never shone,
Lies a door of the unknown.
Aria brave, with hope in hand,
Opens wide to unseen land.”
“Knocking stops, the silence rings,
In their hearts, new freedom sings.
Beyond the door, a brighter morn,
Where dreams take flight and life's rebor...”
“Old man….” A sound of a book closing startled her making her chains clink softly against the cold, rough surface of the stone walls “Please shut up.” The old man let’s out a chuckle while placing the book next to Lyla.
Lyla's wrists bore the marks of her restraints, a stark testament to the hours she had spent in captivity. Her once young vibrant eyes, now dulled by fatigue, scanned the shadows for a glimpse of a man she once knew. Thirty years had passed since she was last among a member of The Community, yet on her features, only twenty had etched their tale.
Across from her, the old man shuffled into the dim light, his gait burdened by age and a sorrow that seemed to occupy the very air between them. The lines on his face had deepened, and his eyes held the weight of a thousand sleepless nights. He settled into the chair opposite her, a small table bearing the remnants of their sparse meal separating them.
"Lyla," he began, his voice a mixture of stern authority and concealed anguish, "you must understand why you're here. You've been gone for three decades, but look no older than when you left. You came through that door and attacked a young man!” The old man takes a moment to compose himself “The Community... we have fears, questions.”
She met his gaze, defiance etched into her exhaustion. "I wish I could fill in the gaps," she said, her voice hoarse, "but my memories are like shards of glass—sharp, fragmented, and confusing."
“Oh love.” the old man sighed, the sound heavy with disappointment. "I need to know where you've been, what's happened to you. We must be certain you're not..." Lyla interrupts with a whisper “A monster?..”
There was a vulnerability in Lyla that hadn't been there before, a worn thinness to her spirit that made her seem both stubborn and fragile. She looked away, a myriad of lost moments flashing behind her eyes. A universe of experiences had lapsed in her absence, and yet here she was, a puzzle missing its centerpiece.
"I remember lights," she murmured, almost to herself. "Colors that don't exist here, voices speaking in a symphony of thoughts. There was a war, a purpose, and then... nothing. A void." A vision of a face She’s familiar with passed by, a dead lover.
The old man observed her with a pained expression, his heart aching as he recognized the toll the missing years had taken on her. It was difficult to reconcile the little 6 year old girl who had once stood before him with the ghostly fierce figure now chained to the past. He had assumed the role of her guardian, her jailer, but every question, every confirmation of her wellbeing, felt like a betrayal.
"Was there anyone else with you?" he asked gently, his question probing, seeking a hint of the Lyla he once knew.
Her eyes snapped back to his, fierce despite her weariness. "I can't remember," she said, but the flicker of loss that crossed her face suggested otherwise.
The old man leaned forward, his hands clasped tightly together to hide their trembling. "You must try, Lyla. The Community is afraid. They fear what you might have become, what dangers could have followed you back." “What about the Red Woman”
In that moment Lyla felt rage. Her chains rattled as she kick the chair from under her, a spark of her old fire rekindling within her. "I am still me," she insisted, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her uncertainty. "You know as much about her as I do." She was lying, she knew more about that woman. She thought maybe it was best to not say anything in that moment, maybe so that she could find peace for a moment or to save this man she loved as a father from despair.
The old man's features softened, a fatherly concern breaking through his official demeanor. "We will help you recover your memories, Lyla. But until we do, until we understand, I must keep you here."
Slumping to her knees she nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the necessity of her confinement. As the old man rose to leave, she called out to him, her voice cracking with a mixture of resolve and desperation.
"Please Dagny," she said, "don't give up on me."
He paused, looking back at this woman who for the first time in 4 hours of being in this room said his name. The woman who bore the face of someone he once considered a daughter. "Never, Lyla," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "Never."
With those parting words, the old man exited the chamber, leaving Lyla alone with her fragmented past and the chains that bound her not just to the wall, but to an uncertain future.
The silence that filled the chamber after Dagny's departure was stifling, a tangible presence that seemed to press against Lyla's temples, prodding her to remember. The cold stone beneath her knees seeped through her clothes, a chill reminder of the harsh reality she now faced. She had spoken his name for the first time in hours, and the gravity of that simple act weighed heavily on her.
In the solitude, her mind wandered, grasping at the strands of her fractured memories. She saw flashes of the Red Woman, a silhouette against a backdrop of flames, her features obscured by the dance of light and shadow. There was power there, and fear. Lyla felt it in her bones, a shudder that crept up her spine and whispered warnings in her ear.
What did she know of the Red Woman? The question lingered, a specter in the dark. She had lied to Dagny, but not out of malice. She feared what the truth might unravel, the consequences it could bring upon them all. If the Red Woman was tied to her own lost years, then understanding that connection could be the key to unlocking her past—or unleashing something far worse.
Lyla's breaths came in shallow gasps as she pushed against the chains, her body aching from the prolonged restraint. The marks on her wrists burned, a constant reminder of her captivity. The chains were not just physical; they were the doubts, the fears, the unknown that shackled her.
As the hours passed, her eyelids grew heavy, the exhaustion finally claiming her. In the realm between wakefulness and sleep, she heard a voice—a whisper that seemed to rise from the depths of her own subconscious.
“Find her," it urged, a susurration that was felt more than heard. "The Red Woman is everywhere."
Lyla's heart raced, her pulse throbbing in her ears. Was this a fragment of a memory or a dream coaxing her towards a path she was uncertain she should tread? The whisper offered no answers, only an enigmatic directive that reverberated through her core.
She awoke with a start, the remnants of the voice still echoing in her mind. The room was as she had left it, the chains, the cold, the emptiness. But something had shifted within her, a subtle change that left her restless.
The door creaked open, and a sliver of light announced the return of Dagny. He entered with a tray of food, his expression unreadable. Setting it down, he finally spoke, his voice cautious. “Eat… once your done we’re gonna let you out.”
Lyla looks into Dagny’s eyes, the same eyes that brought her comfort when she was young and let out an intense howl of pain that startled both Dagny and herself. Tears streamed down her face, a floodgate of emotions bursting open.
Dagny reaches out, gently palming Lyla's left cheek, his eyes filled with concern. Wiping away tears that have no end he says, “Lyla, whatever you're feeling, I'm here for you. I have always been here for you.” Lyla clung to his words, soaking up the warmth of his hands and the reassurance in his voice. She nodded, silently acknowledging his support.
Dagny's words echoed in the dimly lit room, creating a sense of comfort she hadn't felt in a long time. Dagny grabs the chair she had kicked earlier placing Lyla gently on it and pulling the table to her. Memories of him having to wrestle his little girl to even consider the meals in front her flood in. Now after 30 years that little girl was in front of him, a woman with no fight left in her. That broke him, bringing him to silent tears.
He tucks her hair behind her ear and heads for the door trying to conceal his desolate face. Catching her breath for a moment Lyla let’s out a word, “wait..” it was raspy and wet. Almost like a salmon trying to swim up stream pushed against rocks by the current. “Will you wait?… Stay with me…please," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to be alone.” Dagny turned back to face Lyla, his eyes filled with tenderness as he nodded silently, taking a seat on the floor beside her.
The weight of years of separation caused tears and silence to fill the room, and in that heavy silence, they found a moment of solace in each other's presence. But they both knew that once it was time to go through that door, things would go back to being different. 30 years had past for Dagny. He was 24 when Lyla had disappeared at the age of 6, yet somehow she only looked to be in her 20s. She’s hiding something Dagny thought, and it was only a matter of time until she would have to tell me. But for now he just wants to sit with his little girl he lost so many years ago. His Lyla and her Dagny.