Tied by Fate Bound by Time

Some girls were made for chaos.

Luna Carter was made for quiet.

She liked quiet places, soft rain, and the smell of old books. Her favorite sound in the world was birdsong at dawn. She wore oversized sweaters all year round and spent her evenings reading poetry from secondhand paperbacks in a tiny apartment above a record store.

People often said she seemed like she was from another time.

They weren't wrong.

At twenty-three, Luna was finishing law school and working as an intern at Willow Creek City Hall. The job was nothing special—the coffee was always lukewarm, the printer hated everyone, and the highlight of her day was the scent of fresh cinnamon rolls from the bakery next door.

It wasn't glamorous. But it was predictable. Safe.

She liked that.

Until the day it wasn't.

---

It rained that Tuesday—the kind of summer rain that felt colder than it should've, the kind that clung to your clothes and made the city smell like wet pavement and wilted roses.

Luna pushed through the double doors of City Hall, soaked to the knees, curls sticking to her cheeks, trying not to slip on the slick linoleum. Her boots made awkward squelching noises as she walked.

"Luna!" a voice called from above.

She looked up. Mr. Harris, clipboard in hand, stood on the second-floor railing, frowning down at her.

"I've got something last-minute," he said. "Can you take it?"

Luna adjusted her satchel. "Sure. What is it?"

"Building check. Old church on Blackpine Street. Saint Alder's. It's being torn down tomorrow to make room for a parking garage. Legal wants one last inventory—photos, any leftover paperwork, that kind of thing."

Luna hesitated. "Blackpine Street?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Bring a flashlight. It's a mess in there. Shouldn't take long."

She nodded slowly, even as her stomach twisted. Saint Alder's Church hadn't opened in decades. Its windows were smashed, the roof sagging in like broken wings. Kids whispered stories about it being haunted. Her grandmother used to warn her to never go near it.

"Built on cursed ground," she'd say, eyes serious. "Some places remember."

But Luna didn't believe in curses.

At least, she didn't think she did.

---

By noon, Luna stood outside the church, one hand clutching her umbrella, the other gripping a flashlight. The building loomed in front of her like something out of an old photograph—gothic and broken, its stones streaked with ivy and time. The stained-glass windows were shattered. A rusted sign hung crooked above the doors:

Saint Alder's – 1781

She didn't want to go in.

But she did.

Inside, the air smelled like damp wood and decay. The silence pressed in on her, thick and old. Rain tapped against broken panes. She moved carefully down the center aisle, flashlight beam dancing across cracked pews and the collapsed altar.

It didn't feel haunted.

But it felt… heavy. Like grief soaked into the walls. Like the church was holding its breath.

Her light flicked across a narrow door behind the altar, half-covered by a warped wooden panel.

She knew she shouldn't open it.

But curiosity tugged harder.

She opened it.

---

The cellar stairs groaned under her weight.

It was pitch black. Cold. The kind of cold that lived in bones. Shelves lined the walls, sagging under moldy hymnals and melted candle wax. She was about to turn back when her boot hit something—a soft click.

She crouched.

One of the floor tiles was loose.

She pried it up with shaking fingers and found a wooden box tucked beneath the stone. It was painted in faded red and carved with strange markings—swirls, lines, a broken infinity symbol at the center.

The box felt warm in her hands.

She sat on an old bench and opened it.

Inside were three objects:

A silver ring, tarnished and old, etched with symbols she didn't recognize.

A red flower petal, dried but still vibrant.

And a scroll, tightly bound with black silk.

Her chest tightened.

She didn't know why—but something in her shifted when she saw it. The scroll especially. It felt… familiar. Like something pulled from a dream she hadn't had yet.

Hands trembling, she untied the ribbon.

The parchment crackled softly. The writing was old and delicate, but still legible. She didn't mean to speak it aloud.

But she did.

> "What was sealed by love… shall be freed by loss."

The air changed.

Her flashlight flickered.

Then—

A bell. Faint. Hollow. Far above her.

Her breath caught.

There was no bell in this church.

The air thickened. It was like trying to breathe underwater. Her body tensed. Instinct screamed at her to leave.

She shoved the scroll back into the box, snatched the ring and the petal, and stood.

That's when she heard it.

A whisper.

Close.

Right behind her.

> "She has opened it… again…"

She spun around.

No one.

But she felt it.

Something had awakened.

Something remembered her.

She didn't stop running until she was back outside, breathless and soaked to the bone.

---

Across town…

Asher Grayson's day had been ordinary. Until it wasn't.

He sat in his office on the 34th floor, all glass and sharp lines, reviewing a new set of building contracts.

Then the pen slipped from his hand.

He blinked.

His ring finger was burning.

He glanced down—no ring. But a faint scar circled the skin, one he didn't remember getting.

It glowed.

A soft, reddish hue—like embers beneath the surface.

And then came the voice.

Not outside.

Inside him.

> "If she ever finds the box… the curse begins again."

Asher stood so fast his chair toppled backward.

He didn't know how he knew.

But he did.

She had found it.

And it was all happening—again.

---

Luna didn't sleep that night.

She sat cross-legged on her apartment floor, the wooden box resting in her lap. The rain hadn't stopped. Thunder rolled low in the distance.

She kept replaying the scroll's words.

> What was sealed by love…

Shall be freed by loss.

She didn't know what they meant.

Didn't know what she had touched.

Or what she had set free.

But somewhere deep inside, beneath the logic and law books and quiet habits, a voice whispered:

This wasn't the start of something new.

It was the return of something old.

Something waiting to be remembered.

---

End of Chapter