The Locket’s Truth
Three hours earlier
Cecilia lay on her bed, one arm draped lazily over her stomach, the other raised as she let the silver, heart-shaped locket dangle from her fingers. It swayed gently, catching the dim cabin light as it turned.
She opened it.
Inside was the same hand-drawn image—Andrea and Chris, frozen in time.
Her thumb brushed lightly over Chris’s portrait. A faint smile tugged at her lips.
“You didn’t age a day,” she murmured. “You look just as good today as you did two hundred years ago.”
Her gaze shifted.
The warmth vanished.
Andrea.
Cecilia’s expression hardened as her finger traced the edge of the woman’s face.
“But you…” she whispered, her tone sharpening, “you have been a bad girl.”
She exhaled slowly, her eyes narrowing.
“It was because of you that he’s bound here. If you hadn’t betrayed him… he would’ve lived a full, happy life.”
Silence settled in the room.
Cecilia stared up at the ceiling, her thoughts drifting somewhere far heavier.
“…Or maybe I should thank you,” she added after a moment, her voice quieter, more conflicted. “Because without you… I wouldn’t have met him.”
The words lingered.
Then—
Something shifted.
Her eyes snapped back to the locket.
Murillo’s voice echoed in her mind, clear as if whispered beside her ear:
“I heard about her from the captain. When I recognized her, I hid her from the captain… and she was able to go to Kaginhawaan.”
Cecilia sat up.
Slowly at first—then all at once.
She stared at the locket, her grip tightening as if she were trying to squeeze answers out of it.
“Why is this here?” she muttered. “Why would Andrea leave this behind?”
Her head tilted slightly, the question settling deeper.
Something wasn’t right.
Her eyes widened.
“…Unless…”
Her hand flew to her mouth.
“No… no, that doesn’t—”
She stood abruptly, pacing once before stopping dead in place.
“She’s still here.”
The realization landed with a quiet, suffocating weight.
“Andrea is still aboard the Twilight.”
Her pulse quickened.
“But who?”
Cecilia frowned, her mind racing through every face she had seen, every interaction, every introduction.
“I’ve met all the female crew members,” she whispered. “None of them look like her…”
Her thoughts scrambled, trying to piece together something that refused to sit still.
Then another memory surfaced.
Chris’s voice.
“She died in 1875.”
Cecilia froze.
“…Wait.”
Her brow furrowed as another detail slipped into place.
“I don’t even know Murillo’s story,” he murmured. “All I know is… next to me, she’s the oldest crew member. One hundred fifty years of service.”
"One hundred fifty."
The number echoed.
Cecilia reached for her phone almost instinctively, fingers moving quickly as she opened the calculator.
1875 minus 2025 = 150
She stared at the result.
“That matches…”
But then—
“She said she arrived two years before Andrea.”
Her fingers hovered over the screen.
“That would make it one hundred fifty-two.”
Her breathing slowed.
“But the captain said one hundred fifty.”
A pause.
“Why would she lie?”
The question lingered—heavy, unanswered.
Then another memory surfaced, sharper this time.
Murillo’s voice:
“Andrea Primo de Rivera… of pure Spanish blood.”
And then—
The boy.
Toby.
“El bar no abrirá hasta el atardecer, pero por ahora, disfruta de nuestro buffet infinito.”
Spanish.
Fluent. Natural.
Not learned.
Cecilia’s thoughts twisted together, each fragment locking into place with quiet, horrifying precision.
The room seemed to close in around her.
The silence thickened.
The truth hovered just beyond denial.
Her hand loosened.
The locket slipped from her fingers, landing softly on the bed.
She took a step back.
Another.
Her hands trembled.
Her chest tightened as the realization finally, fully surfaced.
“You…”
Her voice came out barely above a whisper.
“You witch…”
Her fingers curled into her hair, gripping tightly as if grounding herself against the weight of it.
“You’re Andrea.”
Her breath hitched.
“You’ve been Andrea this whole time… hiding in plain sight.”
The words tasted bitter.
Dangerous.
Her hand rose to her mouth again, but it did nothing to stop the surge of realization.
“Oh my God…”
Her voice dropped.
“If Chris ever finds out…”
Her eyes darkened.
“He’ll drag you to the Kasanaan himself… and watch as oblivion swallows you whole.”
A beat passed.
Then—
A faint, humorless smile crept onto her lips.
“…I’d love to get a front seat for that.”
The bitterness in her tone was unmistakable.
She exhaled slowly, shaking her head.
“Well,” she muttered, picking up the locket once more, “this is one hell of a plot twist.”
A pause.
“…Maybe I should get some popcorn.”
With that, Cecilia turned and strode out of her cabin, the locket clenched tightly in her hand.
