The Phantom Memory

All I can see is an intense blur of my surroundings paired with the overwhelming sound of sophisticated ballroom music. The song is slow, yet lively, and filled with an overwhelming sensation of nostalgia for a burning memory that is not even mine. It’s the kind of song you may hear while slipping into a sleep from which you may never recover. It is lovely; it is unsettling.

My eyes slowly grow into focus and I am greeted by a bewildering reflection of myself. My body is smothered under the weight of an elegant champagne ball gown. The low bateau neckline, adorned with embroidery and fabric flowers, draws attention to my prominent collarbone. The silk fabric brushes against my leg as I pull it up to reveal my feet stuck inside a stiff pair of matching colonial pumps. I look back up to admire the opulent tiara placed upon my head with my hair styled in a low, refined updo. My blushed cheeks and even skin give the notion that I am right where I belong, but something about this is unsettling; I am not supposed to be here.

After several minutes of unsuccessfully trying to comprehend this reality, I rip my eyes away from the mirror to face an elegant ballroom, bustling with noble guests drinking, conversing, and dancing with one another. The music will not escape my ears and the sound of it begins to burn into my head with no mercy. Everything about my appearance and expression suggests content and regency, but on the inside, my heart is racing as if I were being chased by a monster. Something about this is not right, I do not belong here.

“Get out,” the voice in my head says, but my feet will not move. They are forced to conform to this hallucination. Despite my discomfort, my face is stuck in a soft, never-ending smile, masking any valid emotion.

My view of the blissful guests and their dancing is soon blocked by the alluring presence of a young gentleman, requesting an audience with me. His elegant suit, adorned with medals and epaulets, suggests that he belongs to a higher rank of nobility. He extends a gloved hand out to me, asking for a dance. My heart keeps on racing and I am sure my face is dripping with sweat, yet my beautiful appearance remains untouched as if I were a porcelain doll.

As my conscious throbs with discomfort and my ears burn with the piercing sound of the same peculiar song, eerie and nostalgic, I let the stranger gracefully lead me out to the dance floor. I wrap a loose hand around his shoulder to balance out his firm grip on my waist. My heart rate increases as we waltz across the ballroom. The unsettling sound of the music will not leave me be and continues to overtake my mind as if leaving a brand on my soul. An overwhelming sense of fear floods within me and the sense of crippling anxiety doubles by the second.

“This isn’t supposed to be happening.” I tell myself. “I need to get out.” The voice inside my head begins to splice itself into a million different voices and paranoia begins to suffocate me.

“It isn’t safe here.”

“Get out!”

“You don’t belong here.” The voices burn and throb inside my head while my heart rate builds up until my mind is eclipsed with an insane panic.

“Run!”

“You’re not welcome here.”

“They’re coming for you.”

The loud voices, the eerie music; it’s too much to handle. I can feel myself rotting from the inside, yet I still dance as gracefully as can be with a warm, delicate smile glued on my face.

As the dance slows to an end, my eyes are locked onto my partner’s, unable to focus on anything else. A brief moment exists where I am unsure of what to do, as if the author of my fate had dropped his pen and walked away. However, I am not given time to dwell on it when a swift thrust of the nobleman’s hand causes my eyes to drop to my abdomen. His decadent dagger pierces my burning gut as the music grows louder and louder, drowning out any other noise and causing an intense throbbing inside my head. In an instant, I feel my fake smile shatter and my emotions flood from my soul into my face. With a panicked whimper, my shaky hands float around the dagger, uncertain of whether I should leave it be or pull it out. Warm, hot blood disperses across the champagne silk and onto my hands, drenched in crimson as I helplessly sink to the floor. All the while, the same sinister song continues to play in a loud, blood-curdling, eternal loop.

I feel tears stream down my now distressed face as I look up and lock eyes with the nobleman. He maintains a smooth, charismatic expression as he kneels down to my level, acting as if he had not just ended my life.

His hand reaches up and caresses my cheek as he whispers into my ear, “Au revoir, mon amour, notre temps est fini.” and he leaves a soft kiss upon my cheek. With the music still burning in my soul, my eyes once again blur beyond visual comprehension and I close them.

My eyes snap open to reality and the song comes to a startling, abrupt stop, withering away into silence. I snatch my fingers away from the dusty tiara before me and I back away, petrified by the vision it had trapped me in. I look around to find myself in a strange ballroom with a spectral feel. Almost like the one in my vision, though this place had been corrupted by time in a terribly beautiful way. Every inch of it is covered in dust, wood is rotting off of the doors, windows are broken, and I am completely alone, suffocating on the silence.

A loose raggedy dress replaces my silk ball gown and my feet are left bare. I hesitantly carry myself towards the doors, towards an escape, yet the memory will not leave my heart, and the song is burned well into my soul.