Willow of Ludlow

Stephanie Cooper

2023

A misty morning painted a touch of melancholy on the windshield as my mother's headlights pierced through the fog. We were on our way to my grandmother's place, a quaint little house nestled off Fifteenth Street. My grandmother, known as Summer, was the bedrock of our family, the quintessential suburban housewife. My mother was a spitting image of her, but I was the black sheep, the wild card in this lineage of graceful women. We were all named after nature's beauty, a family tradition: I, April, my momma, June, my grandmother, Summer, and my great-grandmother, Magnolia. Our lineage bore names as poetic as the blue-eyed darlings who came before me until I arrived.

Once blonde, my hair was now dyed jet-black, a striking contrast to the cat-eye liner I meticulously applied each morning. Earbuds firmly in place, the music of Iron Maiden filled my world as I scrolled through Instagram. My college friends were all abuzz about homecoming weekend, an event that held no allure for me. High school had been a stage for artificial smiles, culminating in my coronation as homecoming queen. But life had led me on a different journey since then, and revisiting those days held little appeal.

I shut down the app after a quick glance at a former classmate who had once pushed me to the brink of suicide. She now reigned as the university queen, engaged to my high school sweetheart. I had once strived to be the epitome of golden-haired Cinderella sweetness, but the world had nudged me in another direction, like crude oil seeping into every facet of my life. My high school years were a saga of self-discovery, but not in the way you'd expect. I didn't just learn about myself; I learned about the world, its complexities, and its ability to mold us in unexpected ways.

Three days ago, we had to face the inevitable - Grandma's passing. It fell upon us to clear out her house, a repository of her treasured belongings, and a meticulously documented Ancestry tree. Among the relics of time, we unearthed not only a trove of family history but also hundreds of boxes brimming with heirlooms, their age having taken a toll on their preservation. Plastic bags and tubs had done their best, but even they had their limits.

In the far reaches of the guest closet, an enigmatic find awaited - a dark brown chest secured by a substantial lock. Etched onto its side in bold, black Sharpie was the name "Willow." The stark markings, in a way, seemed to lessen the chest's worth, but they also added an air of intrigue.

“Mom, can I have this one?” I inquired, a rare spark of enthusiasm flickering in my voice amid these somber proceedings.

She turned towards me, her gaze lingering in contemplation before a gentle smile graced her lips. “Sure. The key's been missing for ages. It belonged to Magnolia, your great-grandmother times three. Willow, her mother, was born in 1799. Those must be her items.”

"Willow?" I asked, my brow furrowing in confusion. Grandma had never breathed a word about her.

My mother regarded the chest with an arched eyebrow before turning her attention back to me. "Yep, your great-grandmother Willow was a tad superstitious, quite the opposite of me. There are some old documents that Grandma Magnolia stumbled upon detailing witchcraft practices within our family, supposedly carried out by Willow."

Now, my curiosity was on full throttle. Granma Willow seemed to be a mysterious figure even within our family. Here were her belongings, untouched and seemingly abandoned. Her name, scrawled in sharpie, adorned the box, shoved unceremoniously to the back, guarded by a robust padlock. It only fueled my desire to explore further.

"How did she pass away?" I blurted out, my curiosity tinged with a dash of morbidity.

My mother's response was a smirk that betrayed her unease. "Honestly, I have no idea. I've never had the nerve to ask or venture into that chest. When you do find out, make sure to fill me in." Her words held a touch of reluctance, but my determination to unearth the truth remained unwavering.

Upon returning home, I confronted the daunting task of hauling the bulky chest up my apartment's narrow staircase. It was a formidable challenge, but my determination pushed me through. An amiable young man kindly offered to assist, and despite his obvious flirtations, I mustered the energy to politely decline. My past had left me emotionally drained, and romance was far from my mind. I had once delved into such matters, only to be left with painful memories and a deep sense of caution.

My apartment, well, it's my little sanctuary, a slice of the Victorian era right in the heart of the city. When I brought that chest home, it was like destiny had played its part; it fit right in, like it had always belonged.

The walls, painted in a deep, moody green, echo the lush countryside estates you'd read about in those classical novels. And at the center of it all, my fireplace, radiating warmth and history, just like the tales I hold dear.

Every single piece in here tells a story. I've got these little treasures framed in ornate Victorian gold decor, just like the classics themselves. It's a nod to a time when even the simplest things were draped in elegance.

This place is my ode to Jane Austen and those timeless writers. When I'm here, I can immerse myself in their words, transported to a world of genteel conversations and everlasting romance.

And with that mysterious chest in its newfound spot, it feels like it's always been here, like it's part of the very essence of my cozy Victorian haven.

With an old, battered hammer in hand, I finally managed to break the stubborn lock that had guarded this chest's secrets for countless years. As it hit the floor with a clang, I hesitated for a moment before slowly opening the chest.

Inside, I found a captivating array of items, relics from another time. There were about ten old potion bottles, still brimming with mysterious concoctions that seemed to defy the passage of time. A beautifully crafted Victorian hairbrush, its bristles surprisingly intact, spoke of a different era's elegance. Next to it lay a handheld mirror, its surface rusted but still retaining a certain timeless allure.

Underneath these intriguing objects, I discovered a few tattered dresses, remnants of a classic fashion era. However, it was the stack of papers that drew my immediate attention. As I carefully sifted through them, my heart raced with each revelation.

Among the papers, I found handwritten spells, their cryptic words sending shivers down my spine. Court documents from a witch trial were also tucked within, detailing a chilling chapter in history. What sent a shudder through me were the paintings - portraits of a woman who looked eerily like me, April, the one unraveling this enigma.

The full realization struck me like a lightning bolt, and I couldn't deny the undeniable any longer. The paperwork, a formal court document dated 1819 but preserved remarkably well, bore the ominous title "Willow of Ludlow." It laid out the grim tale of her trial, conviction, and her ultimate fate - execution by burning, all on charges of witchcraft.

My hands trembled as I pieced together this haunting puzzle. Willow, my great-great-great-great-grandmother, had indeed been a witch, and her story now intertwined chillingly with my own. This chest, once a mystery, had now unveiled a family history steeped in darkness and magic, a past that seemed to stretch its shadowy fingers into the present day of 2023.

As I began to sort out the potion bottles, I reached for my phone to text mom.

April: Mom, I finally got the chest open. You won't believe what's inside.

Mom: Oh, great! What did you find?

April: Well, there are old potion bottles, some vintage stuff like a Victorian hairbrush and a rusty but beautiful handheld mirror, torn dresses, and a stack of papers.

Mom: Haha, sounds like a treasure trove! But don't get too caught up in all that old stuff, April. You know I don't believe in all those superstitions and magic.

April: Mom, it's not about belief. The documents are right here, staring me in the face. There are even paintings of a woman who looks just like me. It's all a bit eerie.

Mom: Come on, April. You know how history can be. People believed in all sorts of crazy things back then. It's just coincidence, dear. Besides, you have decided to become fixated on all things weird since you moved out. This is just another excuse.

April: Mom, I get it that I’m going through some stuff. But it's not just coincidence when you see it all together. Anyway, I'll keep digging through this stuff. It's like stepping back in time.

Mom: Have fun with your history project, dear. Let me know if you find anything interesting.

As I talked to Mom about what I'd found in the chest, her dismissive attitude stung more than I'd expected. Is this how Willow felt, too? It's not just about the chest; it's a reflection of our world today. Technology, as much as it connects us, can also be a shield. People can disappear behind screens, avoid accountability, and be so easily dismissive. It's frustrating, especially when you're grappling with something as significant as uncovering your family's history. The pain of being brushed off cuts deep. It's one of the reasons why I sometimes despise technology. She can simply stop answering when the narrative is convenient for her.

Sitting at the edge of my bed, I couldn't help but glance at the old wooden box tucked beneath it. The discovery of that mysterious chest had stirred up memories I'd fought hard to forget. With a heavy sigh, I reached for the box and slowly opened it, revealing a collection of photographs.

Among them was a picture of me and my high school sweetheart, Jacob. At one point, he'd been my world, the star quarterback and my personal hero. But those memories, once sweet, had now turned bittersweet.

As I gazed at those photographs, I realized that I should probably let go of them. They felt like chains, tethering me to a past I longed to escape, a past still etched painfully in my heart. My thoughts couldn't help but wander back to those tumultuous high school years.

Back then, I was the overachiever, the AP student who also happened to be the homecoming queen. Always kind, always caring, always trying to please everyone else. But that kindness, it had blinded me to the truth about Jacob.

I remembered sneaking out of my house to see him, those late-night rendezvous that felt exhilarating at the time. I even sent him messages, pictures that seemed harmless back then.

Yet, they were far from harmless. Jacob was a master manipulator, a puppeteer of emotions who made me believe I needed his approval. Unbeknownst to me, he'd secretly forged a connection with another girl in our class, Shelby, who he shamelessly turned into his secret fling. He knew how to erode my self-esteem with his subtle jabs, and I fell right into his trap.

It wasn't just me he preyed upon. He'd convinced Shelby that she, too, needed to be his hidden secret. I couldn't help but empathize with her because I could see the pain he was causing her. But Shelby, she was a different kind of force. She was vengeful.

When Jacob ultimately chose to come back to me, attempting to mend our fractured relationship, Shelby unleashed her fury. She released photos she'd saved from Jacob's phone, pictures that had once been intimate messages between him and me. She sent them through Snapchat to our entire school, exposing my vulnerability to over two thousand students.

It was an act of cruelty that plunged me into a deep depression, one I struggled to claw my way out of. I ended up finishing my senior year online, isolating myself from the world outside after a harrowing experience that nearly took my life. Those scars from that dark period ran deep, a constant reminder of the darkness that could hide behind a charming smile.

April, sitting on the edge of her bed, cast her gaze first at her own box of memories, then toward the old wooden chest she had discovered earlier, tucked beneath it. The box held snapshots of her past, memories that were both comforting and painful. But the mysterious chest was an enigma she couldn't resist. With a deep sigh, she set aside her own memories and retrieved the ancient chest, carefully opening it to reveal the treasures within.

The room around me retained the unmistakable ambiance of the Victorian era. Intricate crown molding adorned the ceiling, a grand fireplace stood as the majestic centerpiece, and delicate tea sets were arranged meticulously, as if awaiting guests from a far away era.

Gazing out of the window, my astonishment grew. There were no towering skyscrapers, no bustling streets, just an expanse of lush green grass, stretching as far as my eyes could see. In the distance, pastures and winding dirt roads painted a picturesque scene reminiscent of the 19th century.

As my eyes traveled upward, I beheld the imposing architecture of the building I was now in. It was a castle, a magnificent structure that loomed above me. A mix of fear and awe washed over me, leaving me frozen in my tracks.

Amid this surreal change, there was one constant - the looking glass mirror I still clutched in my hands. It was a relic of the past, once owned by the enigmatic Willow. In this strange new world, it was my only tether to the reality I had left behind, a daunting reminder that I had just embarked on a journey beyond my wildest imagination.

With trepidation, I crept to the window, my heart racing with the thought of encountering the unknown occupants of this Victorian castle. Fearful and uncertain, I wasn't ready to face them because, at this moment, I didn't even know who I was. The mirror still clutched tightly in my hand, I eased my way through the window, careful not to make a sound.

Once outside, I bolted towards the pastures and the enchanting garden, driven by an irresistible urge to explore this new and strangely captivating world. As I ran, the wind whispered secrets of the past, and the smell of the earth, rich and alive, filled my senses. I felt an exhilaration unlike any I had ever experienced.

The scenery was so breathtakingly beautiful that, for a fleeting moment, I instinctively reached for my phone to capture the scene, to freeze it in time with a photograph. But then reality crashed down on me - phones didn't exist in this time. There would be no digital record of this moment to share or keep.

In that instant, I mourned the absence of my phone, the inability to capture this memory. But soon, a sense of liberation washed over me. No incessant notifications, no intrusive dings demanding my attention. It was just me and this remarkable world, and for now, that was all I needed to fill my carefree heart with joy.

As I stood in that wondrous place, my heart content and my worries momentarily set aside, a flicker of concern crossed my mind. How would I ever find my way back home? The thought lingered, but the idea of returning home didn't hold the same allure as it once did.

After all, I was on the cusp of my junior year in college, my journey towards becoming a doctor, a path charted by the old, blonde April from high school. It was the most straightforward route, the one that had brought me to this prestigious Ivy League institution in Massachusetts, a dream come true. The courses were challenging, the professors exceptional, yet I couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing.

The aspirations of my younger self had carried me here, but now, I found myself adrift, questioning if this path truly fit who I had become. Becoming a psychiatrist had crossed my mind, especially after everything I had been through and my newfound fascination with understanding the intricacies of human behavior. But as I delved deeper into this world, I couldn't ignore the generational shift that had occurred in our society.

Human behavior, it seemed, had transformed into something else entirely. Our sensitivities and moral compasses had evolved with each new technological advancement, often becoming obscured in the digital code of our lives rather than rooted in the physical world. The complexity of this transformation left me pondering if any occupation could truly encapsulate the person I had become in this ever-shifting landscape.

I settled down on the soft evergreen grass, smoothing out my dress. But wait, something was off. I looked down and realized I wasn't in my usual leggings and Iron Maiden T-shirt anymore. Instead, I found myself in a satin pink gown, straight out of a period drama. It had a hoop skirt, sleeves decked out with bows, and even a corset that cinched my waist.

I couldn't help but reach up and touch my hair. It was no longer the dyed black I was accustomed to; it flowed in natural blonde ringlets.

In this surreal world, it felt right, like I was finally free to be myself without any masks or pretenses. It was as if I had stepped into a different, more authentic version of me, a feeling that was refreshingly real compared to the world I had left behind.

You know what really disconnected me from the world in 2023? It was the fallout from what Shelby did - when she blasted those private pics of me all over the internet. It's a memory that still haunts me.

My so-called friends, the ones I used to trust, turned into a bunch of backstabbers. They snickered behind my back, shared those pictures like it was some kind of sick joke, and sent them around to everyone. Even my teachers, who used to appreciate my hard work and grades, started treating me differently. It felt like none of my achievements mattered anymore.

And let's not even talk about my classmates. They reduced me to a nasty label, calling me a "slut," which was so far from the truth. It was just a bad choice I made when I was head over heels in love. For two long months, I busted my butt to keep my grades up, shut down all my social media, and still, the bullying didn't stop.

The worst part? The blame and shame all landed on me. My parents, who never really liked Jacob, blamed me for sending those photos in the first place. Meanwhile, Shelby got a slap on the wrist - five days of suspension and a few hours of community service. In our time, that practically made her the "cool kid on probation."

My parents had no idea about the countless nights I spent reading those hateful comments. People ripped apart my body, from my supposed "uneven" breasts to unsolicited opinions about why I left the cheer team. They even commented on my "thick thighs" and "white girl's ass." Each cruel word weighed me down, pushing me further from the world I once felt connected to. It was not just the popular crowd I was used to that participated, it was everyone.

One evening, I mustered the courage to go to the movies alone. It was the premiere of the new Barbie movie, and I'd deliberately waited three weeks to avoid the crowds. As I approached the front doors of the theater, I was struck by an unexpected sight - Jacob standing there in his letterman jacket, his long curly locks falling just so.

"April," he uttered, his voice laden with unspoken words.

Jacob was never outright cruel to me, but his silence cut through me like a knife in front of everyone. He had wanted to win me back, but when those photos were leaked, and the world turned against me, he did too. It was exactly what Shelby had wanted, and she had won.

"Hi, Jacob. I don't really want to talk," I replied, avoiding eye contact and focusing on the ground.

"April, please. I'm so sorry about all of this. I never intended for things to spiral out of control," he pleaded, reaching for my hand.

In that very moment, Shelby emerged, stepping out of her car like she was ready for a Barbie fashion show. She wore a tight pink leather skirt with pink heels and a baby pink crop top, embodying the essence of Barbie. I, on the other hand, had on cut-off shorts and a Barbie shirt I had picked up from Target the previous weekend.

Jacob immediately let go of my hand, and as I walked away, I heard Shelby's voice pierce through the air, "Don't touch my boyfriend, you whore."

All eyes in the theater lobby turned to me, most of them belonging to my fellow students. Overwhelmed by the collective judgment, I rushed into the bathroom, my anxiety crushing me. I knew they were all using x-ray vision on me. I waited for what felt like an eternity, making sure they were safely in the theater, before leaving without watching the movie.

Back at home, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I had never thought of myself as a beauty queen, but I hadn't considered myself ugly either. I woke up at 6 a.m. every morning to jog, just to ensure I could still fit into my cheer uniform. Jacob had never seemed to mind how my body looked. Yet here I was, standing in front of the mirror, tearing myself apart. Some of the things they ridiculed me for were things I couldn't change, and others were just a part of who I was.

As Paul and I strolled through the picturesque meadow, he regaled me with tales of the neighboring families who resided near the castle. Down the winding road, he told me of the Ulrichs, a noble family whose patriarch served as the esteemed courier to the King of England. Further along the road, just across from a serene pond, were the Randals. Paul mentioned that the Randals had a daughter named Willow.

I couldn't help but be intrigued by the stories of these neighboring families, their lives seemingly steeped in history and tradition. With a smile, Paul finally introduced himself, "My apologies for not mentioning earlier, fair April. I am Paul."

I curtsied slightly, a gesture that felt strangely natural in this setting, and replied, "A pleasure to formally meet you, Paul."

Paul's gaze turned thoughtful as he studied my face, then ventured, "Forgive my impertinence, but I could not help but notice the striking resemblance between you and young Willow Randal. Are you, by any chance, related to her, dear April?"

I hesitated for a moment, considering the implications of such a question, before answering, "No, Paul, I do not believe I am related to Willow. I reside in the castle nearby, separate from the Randals."

Paul nodded in understanding but then leaned in closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "There are whispers and rumors about Willow, you see. They say she is kept locked away within her family's home. The townsfolk speak of witchcraft and strange occurrences surrounding her. Do you believe in such tales, April?"

I couldn't help but be drawn into the intrigue of this conversation, feeling as though I had stepped into one of the novels I so adored. "The world is full of mysteries, Paul," I replied with a hint of curiosity. "Perhaps there is more to young Willow Randal than meets the eye."

As we continued our leisurely stroll through the meadow, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was on the cusp of uncovering the secrets and stories that had written time.

As we passed by the Randal residence, my eyes were drawn to the figure of Willow in the window on the third floor of their grand Victorian home. She stared at me with a piercing curiosity that sent a shiver down my spine. I couldn't blame her; it must have felt like looking into a mirror, a mirror that revealed a disconcerting doppelgänger. In that moment, I realized that if Willow were indeed a witch, she would not take our uncanny resemblance lightly. Fear gripped me as I met her gaze.

Attempting to distract myself from the eerie encounter, I turned to Paul and asked with feigned innocence, "Paul, might you be so kind as to inform me of today's date, down to the very day?"

Seemingly delighted to assist, Paul replied with a charming grin, "Why, of course, madam. Today is the ironically fitting 22nd of April in the year 1817. April, before I go, I must ask if I can return to court you in the future?”

The formality of his response took me aback. In my own time, I had been asked out on dates that usually involved swiping right on a screen, DMing in vanishing mode, and hardly any genuine conversation. This interaction felt like a refreshing throwback to an era where courting was a thoughtful and deliberate affair.

Intrigued and surprisingly pleased by his question, I replied, "I would be most delighted to receive your call, Paul. Until then, farewell."

With a curtsy and a parting smile, I watched as Paul rode off into the meadows, leaving me with a heart full of curiosity and a sense of adventure.

I carefully climbed back through the castle window, my mind racing with thoughts of the extraordinary encounter I had just experienced. As I reentered my elaborate, ivory-decorated bedroom,, I clutched Willow’s mirror tightly, convinced that it had played a pivotal role in my mysterious journey. Yet, a nagging feeling told me that it was time to let go.

With a mixture of curiosity and trepidation, I slowly released my grip on the looking glass and closed my eyes, bracing myself for the unknown. When I finally opened my eyes once more, I found myself back in my familiar apartment. The mirror lay on the floor beside me.

A profound sense of disappointment washed over me, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of loss for the enchanting world I had briefly inhabited. The extraordinary adventure had come to an end, leaving my heart heavy with longing for the time and place that had felt more like home than my own world ever had.

I managed to gather myself just enough to venture downtown for some Chinese food. Hunger was the sole force driving me out of my apartment. I settled into a cozy corner and ordered my all-time favorites - Crab Rangoon and steamed bao buns. There was something incredibly comforting about dipping those warm, pillowy buns into homemade chili oil. It was perhaps the only comforting thing I had left in this bustling world of towering buildings and ceaseless traffic.

Within the span of an hour, seated at my little table, I bore witness to the chaotic ballet of city life. I saw someone unleash a colorful symphony of hand gestures at another driver, narrowly avoiding a collision because they were lost in their headset world, and the heart-wrenching sight of a person callously kicking a homeless man's change bucket.

But my gaze drifted to another tableau in the room, a married couple holding hands, sharing intimate moments and genuine laughter. However, when the woman excused herself to visit the restroom, her partner's demeanor shifted. His eyes fixated on his phone, a little too eager for a friendly conversation. His cheeks flushed, and he even took a selfie with a smooching expression. I couldn't help but roll my eyes.

As I wrapped up my meal and neatly stacked my plates, preparing to leave the restaurant I frequented often, I overheard a woman berating the cashier over a slightly delayed order. It was one of those moments that made me want to intervene. I halted at the door, turned back, and shouted, "Kěkǒu de. Xièxiè." It was the least I could do, a small token of appreciation, and an acknowledgment that courtesy transcends language barriers.

As I strolled back towards my apartment, my thoughts couldn't help but linger on the state of our modern society. It was a world wrapped in the allure of instant gratification, where patience had become a rare virtue. I found myself appreciating so little about the world I lived in, realizing that our quick access to everything had somehow deteriorated our minds and our connection to the present.

The chaos of the city, the incessant noise, the rudeness of strangers – it all felt overwhelming. In the midst of this rush, I yearned for the serenity and simplicity of Willow's Victorian era. The idea of staying there, in a time untouched by the frenetic pace of the present, tugged at my heartstrings. But I knew that I had to consult Willow before making any decisions.

I reached my apartment and, with a determined resolve, I prepared to take the mirror in hand once more. It was a leap into the unknown, a step away from the world I had grown up in, but it was a journey I was willing to undertake for the chance at a different kind of existence.

With a deep breath, I reached for the mirror once again, my heart pounding with the fervent desire to return to that bygone era. The world around me seemed to blur, and then, as if by magic, I found myself standing at the front door of the castle.

Determined, I wasted no time and made my way to the Randal's house. Willow was still there, in the same window, as if she had been waiting for my return. This time, I decided to take a different approach. I decided to pretend to be Willow's cousin to gain entry.

A cautious maid answered the door, her eyes wary yet polite.

"Good day, madam. How may I assist you?" the maid inquired, her tone cautious.

Putting on a friendly facade, I replied, "Hello there. I hope you're well. I've come to visit my cousin, Willow. I'm her cousin from a distant village, and I've traveled far to see her. Is she available?"

The maid examined me closely, taking in my appearance. After a moment of deliberation, she finally responded, "Oh, you must be the cousin she mentioned. Please, do come in."

I smiled warmly, grateful for the opportunity. "Thank you ever so much. I've heard so much about her and couldn't resist the chance to help her."

The maid led the way, guiding me through the house as we ascended the grand staircase. "Right this way, madam. She's on the third floor."

With each step, my anticipation grew, knowing that I was one step closer to meeting my enigmatic ancestor, Willow.

As I stepped into the room, Willow's piercing gaze caused the maid to make a hasty retreat back downstairs.

"And you are my?" Willow's voice was direct, leaving no room for evasion.

"I am your what?" My confusion was palpable.

"What are you to me? My great-granddaughter?" Willow's matter-of-fact statement sent shockwaves through me.

Slowly, she turned around, revealing her pregnant belly. It was evident that she was about to give birth.

"I am sentenced to hang, you see, just as soon as I have this child, whomever this child is to you." Her words were devoid of emotion. "Whatever you are thinking, April, I am not someone to lie to. I can shatter that mirror in your hands and send you back to your world for eternity, never able to enter mine."

"No! Please. I am your great-granddaughter times four, daughter of June, granddaughter of Summer," I stammered, my teeth chattering in fear. The thought of being trapped in my own world for eternity terrified me.

"Four?! Bloody hell. I was certain this one here," She pointed to her belly, "Would send someone after me. What happened?"

"Grandmother Willow…" I began, but she cut me off with a growl.

"Don't call me that."

Resuming, I explained, "I found this mirror in an old trunk with a heavy padlock. No one has opened it in hundreds of years until I took it home."

"In what year?" Her curiosity was evident.

"Two thousand and twenty-three," I replied.

She stood in silence, processing the idea that her family had locked her away like a dark secret. I could empathize with that feeling.

"So this little one here, in my belly, even dismisses me?" She sobbed.

"I am not certain, but I would not think your child would. I only knew my great-grandmother put the chest away, but I am not sure about before her." I spoke cautiously, recognizing her fragile emotional state.

She gently rubbed her belly and wiped her tears. "Well, I would hope not."

"I need help, April, and that is why you are here with me." Willow's plea was filled with vulnerability.

While I wasn't entirely sure if she was deserving of my assistance, I had little choice. She possessed the duplicate mirror, just feet away from her, and she could shatter it at any moment.

"What do you need?" I asked, adopting a demeanor of servitude.

"I need you to go back home, look through my old chest, and find a potion that appears purple when held to the light. Its cork should be marked with a 'T'; it's for transfiguration, which will allow me to escape this house. Bring that with you. There is another potion labeled as 'W,' meant for time wandering. If you take it when you bring me the transfiguring potion, you can stay here in this time, assuming you wish to. I saw you with the boy outside, Paul. I can tell you were not quick to go home," Willow explained.

Willow was right; I didn't want to go back home. The prospect of staying in this fascinating time period was irresistibly tempting.

With a sense of urgency, I let go of the mirror and raced back to my own time. My apartment's familiar surroundings greeted me as I hurriedly made my way to the bedroom. I held all ten potions up to the light. Two were marked with a 'T,' but only one displayed a distinct purple hue in the ceiling fan's soft glow. The purpose of the other elixir remained a mystery, but I returned it to its place.

There was one bottle clearly marked with a 'W' seared onto the cork. Realizing I had no pockets to stow the transfiguration potion, I made an impromptu decision and shoved it into my bra, hoping fervently that it would travel the boundaries of time.

As I stood there in my Massachusetts apartment, clutching the transfiguration potion in my hand and feeling the time wanderer potion nestled against my chest, my thoughts swirled in a tumultuous storm. I couldn't help but think of my mother and the life I was choosing to leave behind.

My mother, living her quiet suburban life, had always held the ideal of a perfect family and a serene existence. She was content in her own way, sheltered from the harsh realities that had plagued me since high school. I wondered what she would think, or if she would even understand, the decision I was about to make. Leaving her behind was the hardest part.

But as I gazed around my apartment, my eyes fell upon the harsh, unforgiving world outside my window. The chaos, the cruelty, the relentless pursuit of materialism and instant gratification — it had all become too much for me to bear. I ached for a time when life was simpler, when people valued each other's company and genuine connections were treasured.

With a heavy heart and a determination to escape the bleakness of my world, I uncorked the wanderer potion and downed it in one gulp. The room began to spin, and a sense of weightlessness overcame me. I watched as my own body crumpled to the floor, lifeless and forgotten.

I had made my choice. I was leaving my old life behind, seeking solace in a time that promised simplicity, genuine connections, and a chance at a better, more meaningful existence. With the potion coursing through my veins, I surrendered to the unknown, leaving behind the harsh realities of 2023 for the romantic allure of the past. Anything was better than this.

As the swirling mists of time enveloped me, I felt the familiar disorientation that came with each leap across centuries. When the world finally settled, I found myself in Willow's room once again, but something was different. I was no longer standing near the doorway, but seated in the very window where Willow kept her watch.

I gazed across the room, and what I saw sent shivers down my spine. There, on the floor where my lifeless body had been, a transformation was taking place. My body was coming back to life, but it was not me inhabiting it.

The figure that rose from the floor had my face, my form, but there was an emptiness in its eyes that chilled me to the core. It was as though my essence had been replaced by something cold and otherworldly. Panic gripped me as I watched this doppelganger of myself stand and take a few tentative steps.

I had heard tales of doppelgangers, beings that mirrored one's appearance but were often harbingers of doom. Was this creature the result of some unforeseen consequence of my time-traveling? Had I unwittingly unleashed a malevolent force into this era?

I pressed myself deeper into the window seat, hidden in the shadows, and watched as the impostor moved about the room, exploring with a detached curiosity. It was clear that whatever had returned in my body was not me, not the April who had embarked on this journey to find solace and escape the troubles of the modern world.

Fear and uncertainty welled up within me, but I knew I couldn't reveal myself, not until I understood what had transpired. From my vantage point, I observed, my heart heavy with foreboding, as my own body continued to move about, a living, breathing enigma in the room.

Suddenly, I screamed in fear, "Willow!" I cried out to her. She needed to see our third doppelganger as well.

The enigma I had been watching walk around in my body stopped to look at me and smiled, "Yes?" the April look-alike said.

I stared at the creature in confusion.

"Yes, April?" it called me. "Oh heaven, April, we have switched places." Willow, in my body, dragged me to the large mirror in her room. That was when I realized she was right. There were not three of us, but just two as always. I looked at myself, analyzing how I looked similar to who everyone called April, but different. I also had a large belly as I was now carrying a baby.

"What have I done?" I looked at the treacherous form of my body.

"You drank a potion to become me. I planted it in that chest long ago. I am sorry your other ancestors left it up to you. I really intended for it to happen sooner," she said, analyzing her theories.

I rushed to grab any of the mirrors, but they no longer worked for transportation.

"You cannot go back now. The potion was permanent," Willow said like a snake.

"Why?" I said, partially in shock, realizing I had given up a tough life for not having one at all. I still remembered that this body, Willow's, was up for execution.

"Well, you will go on to have that baby and then be hanged in front of the townsmen, and probably me too, since I am April now. That young man Paul is my lover. I have been locked away, and he doesn't know about the child," she said.

"I am your kin, why would you lure me here for this?" I asked as I began to back away from her towards the corner.

"April, I do not know you at all. What are you, four generations of my diluted bloodline?" she said as cold as an ice queen.

I sat there in complete shock, absorbing my new fate.

"Besides, this spell was only specifically designed to entrap the vulnerable. Have you spent your days negative and only looking into the behaviors of others? Have you squandered opportunities and pushed yourself into isolation? Have you given up on a healthy life when you still had days to live it? Did you dig your heels into the ground when life got hard, or did you take the easy way out?" she said this like she was casting a spell and like she knew me so well. It was terrifying to realize she was right.

I saw Paul appear outside of the window and wave at me, he was waiting for her. April opened the bedroom door where I would now spend the last few days I had to live before meeting the gallows. Just before closing the door, she poked her head back in.

"You know, April," Willow began, her tone filled with wisdom, "the duality of human nature pierces the veil of time. Good and evil are constants that echo through the ages. It's your perception that shapes the world around you. But, dear, where did giving up lead you?" Willow's words carried a profound weight, hinting at the missed opportunities and the light that perhaps I had squandered.

As I reflected on the past, I couldn't help but acknowledge my own hypocrisy. While I had been quick to judge and dismiss those who seemed distracted by the relentless march of technology, I had allowed myself to become consumed by the idea of escaping our broken world instead of actively participating in the process of fixing it.