Eliza found herself standing on a cobblestone street, gaslights casting an orange glow on the unfamiliar surroundings. The air buzzed with a forgotten energy, the sound of horse-drawn carriages and bustling crowds replacing the desolate moors. Disoriented, she clutched the pocket watch in her hand.
A woman in a long Victorian dress, her face obscured by a veil, materialized in front of Eliza. "You are here," the woman whispered, her voice laced with urgency. "We don't have much time. Alistair is trapped, bound by a mistake from this very moment."
Eliza's mind reeled. Time travel? Alistair trapped in the past? The woman explained Alistair had stumbled upon a hidden chamber within Cliffside Manor, a portal to the past. In his haste to explore, he'd triggered a curse, trapped within the very night he left for Cliffside ten years ago – October 26th, 1914.
The veiled woman, a descendant of Cliffside's original caretaker, revealed a hidden family duty – to guard the portal and guide those lost within. She entrusted Eliza with a worn book, its pages filled with cryptic symbols and rituals. It was the key to breaking the curse, but it required a specific action from Eliza in this very timeline.
Panic clawed at Eliza. How could she possibly alter the past without altering her own present? The woman offered a sliver of hope – a specific action, like preventing a seemingly insignificant event from occurring, could unravel the threads of the curse.
With a pounding heart, Eliza scanned the bustling street, the book clutched tightly. A young boy, no older than eight, darted into the road, oblivious to an oncoming carriage. This, she realized with a jolt, was Alistair. This was the moment she had to intervene.
Time seemed to slow as she sprinted towards the boy, adrenaline surging through her veins. With a cry, she pulled him back from the path of the carriage just as it thundered by. The boy, wide-eyed and thankful, stared up at her.
The world shimmered. When Eliza opened her eyes, she was back in the dusty room within Cliffside Manor. The pocket watch lay open on the floor, its hands still at midnight. A soft sigh filled the room, and a faint outline materialized – a younger Alistair, a hint of relief washing over his spectral form.
The veiled woman was gone. In her place, a single feather, shimmering silver, lay on the table. A final message, a silent thank you.
Eliza emerged from Cliffside Manor as the first rays of dawn painted the sky. The telegram, the pocket watch, the feather – all remnants of a night that defied explanation. Yet, she knew Alistair was finally free, the past rewritten by her courage. The wind whispered through the cliffs, carrying the echoes of a forgotten night and a bond that transcended time itself.
