Threadless : A growing novel

Chapter 39: Threadless — Interlude I



"This is not your memory. But it remembered you."

A forge.

Not the school's — older. Cracked stone and violet fire. A place that knew love once.

Someone stands at the edge of the flame, holding a thread between gloved fingers.

It shivers like it wants to become something.

"If I cut it, they forget."

"If I leave it, the story won't hold."

The voice belongs to someone silent in the waking world.

But here… here they speak.

A second presence stands behind them. Hooded. Made of ink and old paper — unburned even by fire.

They do not stop the cutter.

But they do whisper:

"If you sever them…

they'll still find each other again.

Just not as gently."

The cutter trembles.

Their hand lowers.

The thread is dropped, uncut — and drifts softly into the flame.

Far away, someone wakes in a dorm bed.

They don't remember the dream.

But they feel it — a soft ache in the ribs, like an echo of something that never happened… but still hurt.

The next morning, on Rin's desk:

A note.

Blank.

Except for a single thread woven into the paper.

Silver.

Uncut.

Tied once.

Never knotted.


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