FL Writing
After Irem On the evening of the 21st of September, 1899, mere months (had it been only months? it felt like a lifetime) after they had fallen through the first, the person known only as the Dream-Burnt Scholar fell through a mirror again.

This time, at least, they retained their memories - but that was of little comfort to them.

They remember the naturalist, of their journey together to Irem, and of his - not death. not death, never death, now, he would and will forever be free of that, but of his loss. he will not die, but he is gone.

They remember burrowing through the Loom, desperately searching for him - pulling on thread upon thread upon thread, all ending in death (their own death). Until, finally, they found - not him, but the path he took. The door he opened. And they remember grasping the key, turning it in the lock, and claiming their destiny.

They remember stumbling away from that door with a glimpse of the end, the end of everything but them.

They remember - and here their mind shies away, trying to protect themself from what they saw - they remember seeing themself. A thousand possible futures, a myriad of possible selves, some with new names, some with new faces, bodies, hearts - but none, not a single one, with a memory stretching back to before they fell out of that mirror.

In every future, every possible person they could become, there was not a single version of them who had recovered their past.

They remember leaving Irem, head full of betrayal and misery and disappointment and - was that hope? but there was no time to think on that. They needed to be home, away from this great and terrible place as quickly as possible, and so when they saw the sea go smooth, as flat as glass and just as shiny - they didn't even hesitate before stepping overboard.

They remember falling through a dark ocean of nightmares. They remember falling for so, so long, before landing - or was it surfacing? - with a shock in their own room, everything suddenly warm and dry and red and gold and marvellous.

They lay there on the carpet, surrounded by seawater and mirror shards, for quite some time.

. . .
The first week, they did nothing. They sat silently on their bed, sometimes staring at one wall, sometimes staring at the other. From time to time, the housekeeping staff of the Royal Beth would deliver food to their door, and they would eat without tasting. One night (such as it was - day and night have never meant much in the neath, and they mean even less to them as they lie here in the dark), as they slept, the broken mirror was replaced, and the shards cleaned away.

After that, they made sure to lock their door.

By the second week, they had recovered enough from the shock of what they'd seen in Irem, from the loss of everything that they had been - to be able to think about what to do next. They had a choice to make.

They could push down those memories, deny the truth of what they'd seen, continue searching for who they were. they could do the right thing. the thing they should do.

Or they could let go.

Accept that they would never - could never? - recover their memories, never go back to who they were before.

They could become someone new.

All those possible futures, all those people they could become - did they all make this same choice, they wondered.

A part of them told them no, they had to ignore what they'd seen, they had to stay focused on their past, that was all they were - but another part (a larger part, now), was telling them yes. Let go. Be free.

They sat there, on their bed, looking into their new mirror. Someone was looking back at them, and it wasn't quite them - but in time, it could be.

. . .