Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. It is an adaptation inspired by the fairy tales owned by the Grimm Brothers, Jacob and Wilhelm. This story is not associated with Disney’s adaptations, their added characters, or story elements.

Who is that man I saw? Is he a memory I’ve repressed until now? 

I catch sight of Rowan, his eyes filled with adoration for Aria as he watches her, then his gaze shifts over to me. “I see, you’re the same as ever,” he teases, and I gently punch his arm.

“Oh, hush, you. But thank you for saving me back there. Who knows what your mother would have done if you hadn’t?”

He pinches my cheek. “Of course, what are friends for?” He steps back and laces his fingers with my sister’s. “I’ll do everything in my power to ensure you’re there; we both want you to attend.” His voice comes laced with sadness. The three of us have always been together.

“It’s completely okay, I promise. I don’t want to add stress to your special day. I’ve dealt with your parents enough times to know what you’re up against.” With a smile, I grab my sister’s other hand. “I’m happy for you both.”

She grips my fingers. “Thank you. I hope one day you’ll have the same joy.” She glances at Rowan. “It’s time for our meeting with the florist.” One final squeeze, and she lets go. “We must leave, but we’ll meet you later.”

They walk past me. I notice a man—likely the florist—entering after them. Their engagement seems to be moving fast, but what do I know? None of my other siblings have found their fated mate.

I turn on my heel and exit the manor.

Someone has been helping with my memories—or trying to. Nicknamed the Witch Doctor, she once worked at the palace before the current king and queen took power. Banished from the city walls, she stayed nearby, still aiding the people.

The dirt path I follow leads to her cottage. Strange plants line her garden—some glowing, others sprouting crystals. But one feature always catches my eye: a circular pond framed by old stones, candles resting around its base, with seven more floating in the center. Above it, gem-like droplets in hues of pink, purple, and blue dangle from a tree like tears frozen in time.

“Hello, Ren,” calls a soft voice from the open door.

“Hello, Elyra.”

The Witch Doctor steps out—a woman in her thirties, and, like me, an elven halfling. Her silver hair hangs in a loose braid secured with a scarf. Though she appears delicate, her eyes—sharp and green—reveal hidden strength.

“I put up a new barrier to ward off evil,” she says.

“That’s why it shimmered today.”

She gestures for me to come in. “So, how can I help you? Are the potions working?” She rolls up her sleeves, revealing fading gray runes tattooed on her left arm—used by witches and wizards to unlock spells.

Potions, tonics, and ingredients line the small cottage’s walls. She keeps little decor aside from her wares. A circular wooden table sits at the center, where she gives readings. Her living room flows into a kitchen of old appliances powered by magic stones—like the ones growing outside.

“I think they might be,” I say, trailing off as I sit beside her. “I had a sharp headache today. Brief, but intense. I saw a man—silver hair, red eyes. He was a vampire… I think.”

She bites her lip. “I was worried that’s what happened.”

Her eyes fill with pity as she takes my hand. “When you were a youngling, you wandered along the riverbed and found a badly wounded vampire boy. You saved him—helped him feed. Then you brought him home. You were a hell of a negotiator.” She chuckles. “Your parents let him stay. You two grew close. Closer than you and Kendra. But one day…” She squeezes my hand. “He had to leave. I believe he locked your memories of him. And being a pureblood… he sealed your past lives as well.”

A tear slips down my cheek. I wipe it away. “Can I search for him? Fix what he erased?”

She shakes her head. “The restless are hard to find. And he had a restless soul. He was running from something. When a pureblood uses this kind of power, it’s nearly unbreakable. Unless they die… then the cracks start to show. Had he died, however, you’d have seen more than a glimpse of his face. He’s out there somewhere.” She releases my hand. “I’m sorry, dear. I wish I could offer more. Even I have limits.”

“No!” I jump to my feet. “There has to be something else. Potions? Runes? Anything?”

I catch myself shouting and inhale deeply. “Sorry, Elyra. I didn’t mean to yell. I already feel like an outsider. Being a halfling doesn’t help.”

She smiles warmly, pulling me into a comforting hug. “You don’t need to explain. I was banished from starlight, too. I know how it feels to be an outcast.”

A lump rises in my throat. I start to choke on my tears.

Then something warmer wraps around us both.

Hurricanes of emotion crash through me—hurt, worthlessness, weakness. I try to shut it down, but the flood breaks loose. I let it all pour out.

The warmth shatters.

Glass crashes. The table scrapes. Elyra mumbles spells, her words lost beneath the chaos.

When the tears stop, emptiness replaces the storm.

She pulls back. “Do you feel better?”

I shrug, emotionally spent. I hug myself and glance at the mess. Potions shattered, ingredients scattered.

“Did I do this?”

“Yes, but nothing I can’t fix.” She rubs the back of her head.

“But I have Light magic, like the rest of my family.”

She whispers, and the room obeys. Bottles reassemble. Herbs and crystals return to their places.

“That’s amazing,” I breathe.

“I’m a witch halfling too, dear,” she says proudly. “Still got it.”

A chill stirs in my chest. “How did I cause all that? Light magic doesn’t move things. It heals, shields, banishes.”

She shrugs. “That’s a question for your father. He did send someone to search for a vampire… now we know why.”

My gaze drops to the floor. A bay leaf wriggles beneath my foot. As soon as I lift it, the leaf zips back into its jar.

“I need to go.”

She reaches for me, but I’m already out the door.

My footsteps echo down the long halls—past portraits I no longer recognize, past rooms that never felt like mine. I head straight for the study.

I push the door open with my heart pounding in my ears.

He stands by the window, back straight, hands clasped—like nothing’s changed. Like the world hasn’t just cracked open beneath me.

“You let him take my memories,” I say. No softening.

A pause.

“I did.”

The door clicks closed behind me. “And you didn’t think I deserved to know?”

“You were hurting.” His voice stays calm, as if that could justify it. “You cried in your sleep. Couldn’t breathe some nights. You stopped speaking altogether.”

He turns to face me. Calm. Too calm. Noble stillness that only pushes me farther.

“And your magic,” he says quietly. “It wasn’t just Light. Even then, it wasn’t.”

My chest tightens. “So, it’s true. Mother was a witch.”

He hesitates. Then nods once. “Psychic. Stronger than she ever let on. You inherited her, Serenya. Everything she tried to bury.”

I look at him. Really look. “You weren’t afraid of me,” I say. “You were afraid of her.”

His jaw tenses. “I feared what your magic would do to you. And what remembering too soon would cost.”

A whisper escapes me, “I’ve seen him. Not just flashes. I think… I think I loved him.”

He looks away. “You’ve had those dreams before. We didn’t understand them. But when he came… when you met him… they worsened.”

“Because they weren’t dreams,” I say. “They were memories. From another life.” My throat dries. “He erased more than one lifetime, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” he says. Barely audible.

“Why?”

“To protect you. From him. From the curse chasing him. From what you might become if you remembered too much too soon.”

My head shakes as I step back. “You never gave me the choice.”

“You were a child—”

“I’m not anymore.”

At the doorknob, I pause. My voice is steady. “If he remembers me in every lifetime, then I want to remember him too.”

“Just know this, Serenya…” he says.

I glance back.

“Some truths were lost for a reason.”

There’s no answer I can give.

I step into the hall—heart racing, mind reeling, past and present unraveling like threads in my hands.

But one truth shines clear:

I’ve lived before. And the silver-haired man is real.

Editor: Shannon Hensley