"Je te laisserai des mots" played softly in the background. The melancholic piano filled the vintage French-style room, its glow coming only from the crackling fireplace. Lying naked on the carpeted floor were two women, wrapped in a love that defied time.
On top was a striking Thai woman, her long black hair cascading down her back like silk. Beneath her, an innocent-looking British-Thai girl with soft features and wide, trusting eyes. Every piece in the room—from the phonograph playing that beautiful, sorrowful tune to the carved furniture—was a piece of the past, frozen in time.
Je te laisserai des mots...
"I love you," whispered the older woman as she kissed her lover's shoulder blades. Her lips traveled down to the younger one's collarbone, causing her to arch her back with a breathless gasp. A smirk danced on the older woman's lips—half pride, half desire.
En dessous de la porte...
"A-Ah..." the younger moaned when teeth grazed the nape of her neck.
Tout près de la place où tes pieds passent...
"I love you, Rebecca," she whispered again, now against her ear, biting gently. Rebecca clung to her, arms around her neck. Their eyes met in the firelight. When they kissed again, it was slow—full of meaning and reverence.
Hands trailed over soft skin. The older woman kissed her lover's chest and lavished her with every ounce of tenderness. As her fingers slid between Rebecca's legs, their eyes stayed locked. When Rebecca nodded slightly, it was a silent "yes."
Caché dans les trous de temps d'hiver...
"A-Ah... Ugh..." Rebecca groaned when they finally became one. Her lover paused, waiting—but she nodded again, urging her to continue. Pain gave way to pleasure. Their bodies moved together, in rhythm, in perfect unison. Her nails dug into her lover's back, not out of resistance—but surrender.
Embrasse-moi quand tu voudras...
"Say you love me," her lover breathed, thrusting faster, "because now, you are completely mine."
Rebecca cried out, her pleasure building. Her legs wrapped around her lover's waist. She was close, and she felt it—the rushing, overwhelming release. She bit her lover's shoulder, hair tangled, sweat on her brow.
Embrasse-moi... quand tu voudras...
"I give you my body, heart, and soul, Freen," she whispered, breathless and trembling after reaching her bliss.
But bliss never lasts.
"How dare you disgrace us like this!" a voice screamed in memory. "You are the daughter of nobility, meant to marry the prime minister's son! And you throw it all away... for a servant?"
Rebecca stood at the edge of a cliff, barefoot in a white vintage nightgown. Thunder roared above, lightning cracking the sky. Her eyes were hollow, a tear falling as memories shattered like glass inside her mind. She clutched her own hair, trying to silence the echo of the past.
Time blurred.
"Rebecca, no—don't leave me. Look at me. I came back. I came back to you. I'm here."
Freen knelt on the ground, drenched and trembling, holding Rebecca's lifeless body. Blood from her slit wrists soaked the wedding gown Freen wore—white, now ruined by grief.
"I'm sorry I left you. I love you. I love you," she sobbed, rocking the body gently, as though she could breathe life back into her.
Another timeline. Another life.
The same cliff. But this time, Rebecca was alive—barely.
Freen held her hand tightly, her other arm wrapped around a tree for support as she tried to pull them both up.
"Don't die on me again. That's not fair, Rebecca! Freen cried out, straining.
"You have to let go, Freen," Rebecca whispered, voice weak. "You can't do this again."
"I won't let go this time. I won't!" Freen screamed, her grip tightening. In this life, she remembered everything—and she refused to lose Rebecca again.
"I promise I'll find a world where we can love freely. Where we can build a life together, grow old, and die in each other's arms. I swear it."
Rebecca looked stunned.
Did she remember, too?
A gentle smile broke on her lips. Freen smiled back, but a sudden bolt of lightning crashed startling her. Her hand slipped.
"No!!"
A woman jolted awake, screaming into the night.
She knelt on the rocky cliff, the same one from her dreams. Her black cardigan clung to her body, soaked with rain. She held herself tightly, trembling, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Rebecca..." she whispered, breath hitching. Her heart ached unbearably, like it had been cracked open and left bleeding.
But this wasn't acting.
This wasn't just a dream.
She had read it in a fanfiction—The Fan—written by one of her followers. At first, she thought it was just a beautiful, heartbreaking story.
But now...
Now, she wasn't so sure.
"Rebecca..." she whispered again.
This wasn't fiction. This sorrow—it was hers.
She stood abruptly, drenched in realization.
"I need to find the writer of this story," she muttered. "She knows something. She must."
Because of this pain?
This grief?
It wasn't imagination.
It was memory.
And she needed answers.