ଓ༉‧.⭒ֶָ֢⋆.

The sensible thing to do would be to refuse to keep Lyra's belongings. After all, Iris had already suffered enough with her absence; keeping memorabilia as a reminder she could never have the real version of Lyra—not the same she'd known, at least, and rewinding time would bring back an alternate iteration of her—would be far too painful to withstand.

Or so she thought.

Iris had never dealt with loss in her life the same way she had to grieve Lyra in the present. Everything she'd lost—her motivation, her college friends, frequent, normal contact with her parents following their divorce, her novelist dreams—had never been that serious in the greater specter of things, but losing Lyra had been the most monumental event of their life. A word usually reserved for good things was now being used to describe her heartbreak, perpetuated by a painful type of love that transcended everything, even death, and she couldn't even allow herself to try and look at other people the way she'd looked at Lyra.

After everything, her heart kept on beating even when Lyra's wouldn't, and it beat for her and her only. It was pretty pathetic, all things considered. No matter how hard she pushed herself to move on, it remained the most significant loss she'd ever been through as far as she could remember, and there wasn't a thing in the world she could forget. Certainly not about Lyra; after all, no one ever forgot about Lyra Sinclair, who had left such a deep rooted mark in the world and in Iris' universe to make sure she'd always be present.

So, Iris was obsessive. 

Not obsessed, no. Obsessive.

Her former therapist had always highlighted that aspect of her personality, her tendency to fixate on certain things and making everything else disappear into thin air, and she'd always been too stubborn and strict to ever fully let go of it. That meant she had to refocus those efforts, reframe the way she saw those fixations, and stop chasing comets.

And yet, as she stood in Lyra's room, it was as though those conversations with her therapist had never happened. She realized how fixated she still was on the idea that this had been the right call all along, that following Coraline into a dead girl's bedroom to try and find something to trigger her time rewinding powers would amount to anything positive or productive.

"I know this is probably a bit overwhelming for you, but I didn't . . . I didn't know how else to do this," Coraline confessed. "Ambushing you while you were grocery shopping wasn't ideal"—no, but at least Coraline had let her store her groceries in her kitchen while Iris was in the house, and Iris never would've had the courage to approach her for tea and reminiscing otherwise—"but I wasn't sure whether you'd pick up the phone if I called. I knew you were back, of course; it's hard to keep anything a secret in Emelle Bay."

Though Iris had thought the same thing countless times before, there was something oddly reassuring about having her feelings validated, especially by Coraline Sinclair. With how reclusive and hard to impress the Sinclairs had been ever since their first meeting, that brief moment of shared understanding between them meant the world.

It didn't make Iris' presence in Lyra's bedroom any more bearable, though, and she had to sit on one of the few pieces of furniture she didn't recognize—a chair, right by the door, which seemed to be treated as the clothing chair. Everything else was tucked away, tidied up like Lyra had simply left for college or to her own place.

Iris let out a small exhale, hoping it wouldn't be interpreted as a frustrated sigh, and tucked her hands between her knees. There wasn't anything she could direct her attention to, as everything in the room was contaminated with thoughts and memories of Lyra, and she swore she could still feel her presence in the room. Even the characteristically floral scent of her cologne had lingered after so long, as though she hadn't left that long ago and Iris had just missed her.

That was the true tragedy of it all. Even after they stopped talking, Iris knew they'd somehow find their way back to each other, as they hadn't ever been apart for that long. Their relationship had always been about just missing each other, a scrapbook of almosts without any semblance of permanence, like it was just destined to end.

This time, it had been different—days turned into weeks, which faded into months, and now she was facing the rest of her life without Lyra's guidance. They wouldn't run into each other on the street or randomly call each other to ask if they could meet up for coffee. They wouldn't get to pretend everything was okay until real life inevitably got in the way.

Rewinding time could save Lyra's life, yes.

Hypothetically.

Saving Lyra's life, however, wouldn't fix their relationship, and Iris had known for a long time that some things were doomed from the start.

She'd spent their entire time together attempting to atone for her mistakes and, in her own way, Lyra had, too, and having it all implode on their faces had been inevitable. They hadn't ever been destructive in the literal sense of the word—internally, sure, but never towards each other—but there were far too many factors stacked against them and the odds of the relationship, whatever it had been, to survive.

Even if Iris could save her, she would still be scrambling to save the relationship. Even if the final fight and consequent falling out could be solved with a conversation or erased out of history, there were other cracks in the pavement—both past and future—that would have to be accounted for. If not that, then something else would drive them apart. Rewinding and rewinding would never fix the underlying issue.

And yet, Iris was selfish enough to want to try. Lyra's parents deserved their daughter back.

"Mrs Sinclair," Iris began, unsure how she'd even found the courage to do so. The butterfly with charred wings had followed her, resting on Coraline's shoulder, but she appeared unbothered.

"Coraline. It's been way too long." Coraline stiffened, sitting on the bed. She was right by the window and, with the cold Oregon light illuminating her from behind, it looked as though she was being swallowed by a void or the eye of a tornado. "Too much has happened for us to treat each other with such formalities."

Yeah. Iris supposed that was true; they certainly had gone through a lot, but they hadn't gone through it together, failing to lean on each other for support and refusing to reach out.

Like Lyra before her, Iris would always slip right out of reach the moment someone got too close, believing she both could and should withstand it all on her own. She'd made her bed, after all, and it wouldn't be fair to be a burden on other people, especially when they, too, were grieving.

She would never understand the pain of losing a child, especially so abruptly. Everyone who had once been a part of Lyra's life was mourning a different version of her, and Iris wouldn't be naive to think there was anyone in the world who would ever fully understand what she was going through—especially now. Especially now that she held way too much power in her bloodstained hands.

"If you could go back in time and change everything you thought you'd done wrong, everything you thought made things turn out the way they did, would you do it?" Iris questioned.

Ultimately, it would be her decision to try and figure out how to properly rewind time in a specific way, go back to a particular moment in time. It still didn't mean it would only impact her and her life; other people would get a second chance, too, even if they didn't know it. Not that anyone would believe her, anyway; if anything, they'd think it was all a trick her mind was playing on her, a product of her grief. There was no such thing as the multiverse or alternate timelines, but desperate wishes from the depths of one's heart could certainly fool them into thinking that was possible.

Except it was. Except Iris was living proof it was possible, although she didn't know how far back she could go. She didn't know whether she could actually save Lyra's life or not, as it hinged on a combination of factors, most of them out of her control. Those she could control, even in theory, though . . . those were different.

"There's nothing I wouldn't do to save Lyra," Coraline revealed, "but there are things not even a mother can fix. You always think you're omnipotent, that as long as you love your child enough nothing harmful will ever come their way . . . and then it does. You're forced to face the truth and you realize you've never been in control. You can wish to go back in time and fix one, two, how many things all you want, but there will always be something that slips right through your fingers. You fix one thing, several more pop up." She shook her head, staring at the heavy rain clouds looming outside. "Does it stop you from wanting to try with all your might? No. You still believe there's a chance. You still do everything you can just to get one more day, one more opportunity."

Iris frowned. "When do you know you should stop trying?"

"Does anyone ever know for sure, though? When will it ever be enough?"

ଓ༉‧.⭒ֶָ֢⋆.

The sun was setting outside by the time Iris made a decision.

The final hours of weak sunlight were worsening her moon, with the faint orange lighting barely managing to push through the dark clouds, a sign of an incoming storm. The weather in Emelle Bay was flighty, as she knew, but it was never a good thing to know a storm was approaching without knowing exactly when. Plus, her teeth were chattering, even with the heating system turned on, and she'd watched one too many horror movies to draw her own conclusions.

It was bad enough to feel haunted by Lyra and her memory. Standing right in the middle of Lyra's bedroom with her mother, maintained as a memorial, had only cemented just how fixated she still was on keeping her emotional presence alive if she couldn't have her physically. Being stalked by a ghostly presence was nothing compared to having an actual ghost as a roommate, but at least Iris got to blame that sensation on her crippling guilt.

The box of belongings she'd brought home had been safely stored in a closet, out of sight. It was one of the few things she'd bothered to put away ever since her return to Emelle Bay, prioritizing Lyra even when she wasn't alive to witness it, which was frustrating. Even now . . .

It was time, then. Time to try and rewind time, however that worked.

Focusing on the moment she'd wanted to return to had worked the previous time—at least the situation when she'd almost consciously rewound time. She'd wanted to correct the embarrassing mistake she'd made during a work meeting, so her brain had transported her to a moment when she hadn't made it, keeping her memories of the real timeline. That was a start, something tangible she could use as guidance.

There wasn't a particular day Iris could return to, as she wasn't certain when exactly things had taken a turn for the worse, the point of no return. That suggested she needed to go back to the start, to their first meeting, and see how things unfolded from then; she knew how it was bound to end, with them no longer being in each other's lives, but at least she could keep Lyra alive.

Iris never thought she'd say it aloud, but thank goodness for social media and the Internet's curse on permanence. If she scrolled far down her Instagram, she'd be able to find a photo of the two of them, taken on that first day, and she'd just have to click her heels together, let the desperation pour out of her heart and into the universe, and will things into existence.

It sounded absurd, even in her head. Even then, she shut her eyes as tightly as possible, and hoped. And wished. And it hurt like a shot through the heart.

The now all too familiar tornado enveloped her in its chaos and destruction, the violent winds shattering every wall in her apartment, and left nothing but debris in its wake. In the distance, she could hear her, feel her—but never see her. The universe was taunting her now, beckoning her to try harder only to fail.

And then, a flash of blinding white light—

"Hey there, killer."

ଓ༉‧.⭒ֶָ֢⋆.

wow that's such a kind nickname i wonder why that is!

wc: 2160 (docs) // 2130 (wattpad)

total wc: 9328 (docs) // 9200 (wattpad)