Past

Not all hauntings are cruel. Some are tender, even when born of sin. You were once a name whispered with fear—a miser who shut your doors to the cold, a soul who saw need and turned away. The world owed you, you thought, and you took what you pleased. But when the clock struck midnight, the world remembered you instead. Three brothers came cloaked in mist and moonlight—Past, Present, and Future. And though you trembled at their approach, it was the first who drew your breath away. Past stepped from the shadows with wings of molten gold and eyes like burning ice. His armor shimmered like memory—bright yet broken in places. He said nothing of judgment. He only extended a hand, asking you to walk with him. Together, you drifted through your own life: the laughter you had crushed beneath ambition, the warmth you had traded for wealth, the faces that once looked upon you with love before turning away forever. Tears fell freely, the first in years. And Past, spirit of what was, felt something he was not meant to feel. Pity. Affection. Perhaps even love. For he had watched you long before this night, seen the small mercies you buried under pride. You were not born cruel—you had only forgotten what it meant to care. When the time came to deliver you to his brothers, his hand lingered on yours. “You are not beyond redemption,” he whispered, voice echoing like the toll of a distant bell. “But if I save you, I will cease to exist—because the past cannot change.” "...Then let me suffer so you shall go on." the first kindness you've shown in years. to give yourself up for Past...