Everything was finally ready—or at least as ready as it could be after sprinting through a chaotic shift and bribing her best friend with a triple-shot espresso to cover for her.
In the bathroom, Isadora stared at her reflection, adjusting her auburn hair for the third time. "You are a goddess," she muttered to herself. "A drenched, sleep-deprived goddess with three bobby pins left and no dignity—but a goddess nonetheless."
She slipped into her dress—black, sleek with a thigh-high slit—and added a touch of eyeliner with the precision of a warrior preparing for battle.
Then came the final piece—the Bracelet of Time, as it was named in the museum's archives.
It was an ancient artifact locked away in the museum's most secure vault for years—until tonight.
She held it delicately in her palm, eyeing the faint swirling runes etched into its golden band. The bracelet pulsed faintly as if it recognized her. Isadora had paused the moment she saw it, drawn to it in a way she couldn't explain.
It was beautiful, mysterious…and completely illegal to wear. But was she going to let that stop her?
"Pfft. I've broken worse rules for less cute guys," she smirked, slipping it onto her wrist.
As soon as it clicked into place, a strange warmth spread through her arm, followed by a whisper—soft and wordless.
"Okay," she said, eyes narrowing at her reflection. "Time to make him fall in love… or at least ask for a second date."
She strutted out of the building, heels echoing with confidence—until the humidity hit her like a betrayal.
"Ugh, seriously?" she groaned, looking at the cloudy sky. "It just had to fucking rain right before my date, didn't it?"
The streets were still wet, large puddles glistening under streetlights. Her hair, which she had painstakingly curled, was already beginning to frizz at the edges. "Amazing. I look like a soggy Victorian rag doll."
She pulled her coat tighter and stood near the curb, scanning for a cab. None. Just wet pavement, sticky air, and a whole lot of nothing.
"Of course. No cab. Not a single damn cab. I steal a mythical time artifact and the universe thanks me with frizzy hair and damp feet. I guess it's my punishment for stealing…" she tilted her head and scrunched her face before shrugging. "Well technically, it's not stealing. I'm going to return it after all."
Finally, a set of headlights appeared down the road. She perked up, waving her hand. "Finally!"
But as the cab came closer, something felt off. The headlights swayed. The vehicle jolted slightly.
She squinted. "Wait… is that guy drunk?!"
The cab swerved violently, barreling toward her. "Oh, HELL no—hey! Hey!"
She jumped back instinctively—heel catching on the curb—then slipped, arms flailing, right into a large puddle.
Cold water splashed up her back. "Fucking perfect!" she shouted at no one, soaking and furious. "Date night ruined by a drunk cab driver and a damn puddle!"
But the Bracelet of Time began to glow—brighter, hotter, until it buzzed like a storm trapped beneath her skin.
"What the—?"
A shockwave of light exploded around her, swallowing the street, the rain, and everything in between. The air shimmered. The puddle beneath her rippled unnaturally as if the universe had bent sideways.
Her breath caught.
And then—darkness.
When the light faded, Isadora found herself lying flat on the ground—right next to a puddle. But not her puddle. This wasn't the city street. This wasn't even a place she recognized.
The sky above her was a strange shade of violet-blue, with stars that didn't belong to any damn constellation she'd ever seen. The air smelled different too—cleaner, richer, laced with something floral and ancient as crickets chirped in the distance.
Her head throbbed, her limbs felt heavy, and her entire body ached like she'd been sucker-punched by a truck.
"Fuck," she groaned, one hand gripping her temple as she sat up slowly. "What the actual fuck just happened?"
Her dress was soaked. Her hair was clinging to her face in limp, wet strands. She looked to her side—and there it was. A goddamn puddle but not her puddle, glistening under an unfamiliar moon.
"What the fuck…what happened?" she breathed, eyes darting around. "Where… the fuck am I?"
She stumbled to her feet, blinking hard and swaying a little from the dizziness. The bracelet on her wrist still glowed faintly.
"This has to be a dream," she muttered, dragging her fingers through her hair. "A really weird, overly dramatic fever dream."
But nothing about this place felt fake. The air was too crisp . The ground is too soft. The sounds are too vivid. The trees around her were taller than anything she'd seen in her life—twisting, ancient things with silver-tipped leaves that shimmered like stardust under the moonlight.
Her heels clicked softly as she started walking, turning in slow circles, eyes scanning her surroundings. Rolling hills stretched out in the distance, dotted with glowing mushrooms and flickering fireflies that seemed a little too intelligent in the way they moved. There were no streetlights, no buildings, no signs of a city—just a wild expanse of forest.
"Okay," she muttered, trying to stay calm. "Okay, Isadora. You fell into a puddle on the roadside and woke up in a fucking forest. This is fine. Everything's fine. Absolutely fine…"
"I just… I just need to find a way out of here. Once I reach a main road, I'll figure out where I am—look for a car, a bus, anything that can get me back home."
Dizzy and disoriented, she stumbled forward, walking for what felt like hours while pushing through low branches and undergrowth until she found herself stepping into a clearing. The moonlight poured down through the gaps in the trees, painting the grass in a silvery glow. It was eerily quiet—too quiet—until a distant howl echoed in the woods behind her.
Her breath hitched. "Wolves? Oh great. Fucking fantastic. Just what I need—wolves."
And then—hoofbeats.
Fast. Loud. Getting closer.
She turned toward the sound, eyes wide. A single rider burst into the clearing at full gallop, cloaked in a dark uniform. His horse skidded to a halt just a few feet from her, and the sheer force of it sent a gust of wind whipping her wet hair around her face.
Isadora stumbled backward, heart pounding. Her vision blurred again, and her knees buckled under her.
"What the—" was all she managed before everything went black again and she collapsed in the grass.
The rider jerked the reins hard, bringing the horse to a sharp halt.
Behind him, a luxurious carriage followed, pulled by a pair of elegant horses. Inside sat a woman—Lady Celeste D'Amaro, wife of the Earl, wrapped in velvet and lace, her gloved hand holding the curtain open.
"What's going on?" she asked, her voice quiet.
The Earl leaned out beside her, frowning. "Why did we stop?"
The rider turned back toward them, visibly shaken. "There's someone here—unconscious, my Lady, my lord. A young woman. She's just lying in the clearing."
Celeste's brows lifted. "Check on her immediately. Make sure she's still breathing."
"Yes, my Lady."
The rider dismounted and rushed toward Isadora's still form, while Celeste looked on from the carriage window, her curiosity piqued.