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SOPHIE’S memories ended there. She now lay in her bed, pondering the combined recollections of Sophie and Mariko, when there was a knock on the door.
“Enter,” she called out, and in strode Martha, the head maid.
“I’ve brought more water, milady,” Martha said.
Sophie thanked her politely as the pitcher landed on the bedside table with a soft thunk. Then Martha moved closer. “It’s time to change your dressings,” she announced.
Sophie thanked Martha again, then one by one, the bandages around her unraveled, loop by sickening loop. What had once been pristine white cloth was now stained with a nauseating green, yellow, and red pattern. Sophie used to find the sight revolting, a reminder of her condition, but now she regarded it with detached curiosity—something that surprised her.
“Thank you—for hiding my diary, Martha,” Sophie murmured, breaking the silence.
It was a relief to know it had been kept from her parents. Though the thoughts she had written back then might have been true, Sophie could only imagine what kind of hurt that “truth” would’ve caused her parents.
“It was a terrible accident. We must all do what we can,” Martha replied, her tone neutral, almost mechanical.
Everyone had heard the story: that Sophie, feeling faint, had opened the window for fresh air and, in a moment of weakness, slipped and fell. But Sophie doubted anyone truly believed it. The padlocked, boarded-up windows in her room were evidence enough. Her father had said it was “just in case,” but she knew the truth. They were a safeguard to prevent any more “accidents.”
“Martha,” Sophie said softly.
“Yes, milady?” Martha responded, her focus steady as she continued her work.
“I’m very grateful, you know.”
Martha’s hands stilled for the briefest of moments, then resumed unwrapping the bandages.
“I have a father who is both strong and admirable, a mother whose beauty is matched only by her kindness. I have you, Martha—always firm, but only because you care. Claire, whose very presence lifts the weight from my heart, and Raymond, with his perfect tarts that taste like happiness itself. I have books that let me explore the world beyond these walls, and I have magic—magic that’s given me dreams I never thought I could have.”
Martha stayed silent. Having finished unwrapping the old bandages, her hands moved to the fresh ones.
“I’ve been so blessed,” Sophie continued, her voice trembling now, “but I never appreciated any of it.” Tears slid down her cheeks, falling on her exposed skin. “Please, Martha, forgive me. I never meant to do something so stupid.”
There was a sound like a sharp intake of breath. Then arms—warm and steady—draped around Sophie’s body.
The old maid, who’d never let her heart spill beyond the boundaries of duty, had crossed that line and drawn Sophie into her arms, uncaring of the rough, blistered skin beneath her fingertips. She pulled away just enough to meet Sophie’s tear-streaked face, her hand trembling as it touched her cheek, tenderly tracing the painful ridges that marred her beloved lady’s skin.
“Oh, how many times,” Martha’s voice cracked, betraying the years of carefully concealed pain, “how many times I prayed to the gods to take your suffering and give it to me instead.” She paused, her breath shaking, and in a hoarse, strained whisper of a yell, “From the time you were but a child, you were wise, compassionate, dedicated—and yet so burdened. Every sob you stifled, every sleepless night from the itching and the agony…I begged them, milady. This old maid begged them, ‘Why must something so pure, so innocent, be cursed with such torment?’
“When you came back from school, mud covering you after those horrid children had tormented you, and you quietly washed your clothes so as not to trouble anyone…I thought to myself—Gods help me—I thought I would hunt down every last one of those who hurt you and cause them the same pain they caused you.”
“Martha…” Sophie whispered.
“If my very blood and bones and heart could serve as the cure you need, I would have gladly carved up my body, piece by piece, to offer it to you. If your salvation had required a deal with the devil himself, I would have sought him out and negotiated the terms, whatever they may have been. But…” Her voice wavered, catching on a breath. “That time never came. All these years, standing by your side, and never—never once—did the chance to truly be of use present itself. And now, look at me…worn and useless. What have I done, milady? What have I truly done for you?”
Tears dotted the sheets with quiet drops. “I despise this cruel affliction for what it has stolen from you. You, who should be known for your wisdom, hard-earned and so rightfully yours, for the beauty you inherited from your parents, for the compassion they instilled in you… And yet, all of it, hidden beneath the grip of this vile disease.
“And for all my sorrow, for all my hatred of this curse, I know my pain is nothing compared to what you endure. To carry this burden so gracefully, so tirelessly, always thinking of others, never wanting to be a source of worry… I cannot even begin to imagine the strength it must take, day after day.”
“I had no idea…” Sophie said.
“Even then, my sweet girl, even then…”
You must live.
Please.
✦ ✦ ✦
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THAT night, the fragile, trembling voice of the head maid still echoed in Sophie’s ears. Her thoughts swirled, not about whether she wanted to die—she had made that decision instantly—but about the future. Since she had chosen to live, how would she live?
This disease would likely be a lifelong companion. That didn’t mean she would rule out the possibility of improvement as she grew older. She would avoid aggravating the condition and use her newly recovered memories from another life to search for a cure. While she could take an exam and return to school, someone like her—someone different—would only stir up the worst in the other students. Before, it had stopped at mud-throwing and hateful words. But if it escalated into real violence, there would be real consequences for her tormentors. So, school was not an option. But she still needed to continue her studies and build on the foundation she had already laid. All knowledge was valuable.
What about marriage? That was a difficult matter. For now, she would ask her father to annul her engagement with Dr. Adolphin. Still, she held on to the hope of loving someone one day—the joy of holding her own baby in her arms. The part of her that remembered the preciousness of new life, the feeling of nuzzling a tiny palm against her cheek, refused to let go of that dream.
The word work escaped her lips. If marriage were postponed, Sophie would need to become independent. Two questions echoed in her mind: What did she want to do? What could she do? She gazed down at her hands for answers. There had to be a reason she was blessed with the power to heal skin and nothing else. To find the answer, she explored that newly unearthed cache of memories marked Mariko.
She remembered taking her daughter to hospital after hospital, clinic after clinic. The hour-long waits, the minute-long consultations that followed. She remembered doctors who wouldn’t even look at them as they hastily prescribed whatever medicine would get them out the door. But one visit stood out. It had been on a bitterly cold winter day. Hearing of a well-regarded doctor, she and her daughter had boarded a frigid train to a small private clinic. She remembered the kettle whistling softly on the gas stove behind the elderly doctor as he examined her daughter’s hand, face, and eyes. Then, with a slow nod, he exhaled and gently placed a hand on both their heads.
“It’s been very tough, hasn’t it?”
That was all he said, but those simple words unlocked a flood of tears. Physically, nothing had changed. But emotionally, it was a turning point. That small act of compassion in the dark, endless winter of their lives felt like the first light they had seen in ages. It was like stumbling upon a warm campfire after wandering lost in the cold wilderness. For the first time, Mariko and her daughter felt acknowledged. The struggle, the pain—they had been seen. That doctor’s gesture, so effortless for him, meant everything to them.
Sophie had experienced death twice now. If she was still here, then this was her purpose. To become that source of light for others—as the elderly doctor had been for her. To be the light that could shine brighter because it had once been swallowed in darkness.