more in her room

James lingered in Ariel’s room far longer than he realized, every pastel surface tugging at some invisible thread inside him. The canopy bed with its candy-striped drapery, the whimsical dresser, the ruffled pillows—each detail felt saturated with meaning, even though his mind couldn’t place it. He drifted from one corner to the next, brushing his fingertips along painted wood and soft fabrics as if checking their reality.

The vanity caught his eye. A scatter of hair ties, a floral brush, lip gloss tubes, and a heart-shaped mirror sat waiting like a stage set left frozen. He sat down almost without meaning to, the cushion sinking under his weight. His reflection startled him—long hair falling over his shoulder, wide eyes framed by lashes that blinked too slow. He reached for the brush and dragged it through the blonde waves, a shiver of satisfaction running through him. He wasn’t sure where it came from, but the simple motion filled him with a warm calm, like muscle memory of someone else’s ritual.

A flash tore through his mind. Not his memory. Ariel’s. He saw hands—these hands—gripping the same brush, braiding hair in front of that same mirror, humming a tune he didn’t know but felt on his tongue. The vision flickered out, leaving his chest tight, throat thick.

He pushed away, rattled, only to stumble across the closet. Rows of dresses and skirts stood like soldiers in pastel ranks, shoes lined neatly in boxes and on racks. His heart sped up. He didn’t plan to, but he stepped in, sliding the hangers apart, touching fabrics that felt like invitations. The smell of perfume lingered faintly in the air, sweet and light. He pulled one dress free—a sundress dotted with tiny strawberries—and held it against himself in front of the mirrored door.

Another flash. Ariel spinning in that very dress, giggling as she twirled, sunlight splashing through the same arched window. A rush of joy so intense it made James dizzy. His knees weakened, and for a second he hugged the dress to his chest, **** to hold on to that feeling.

“What the hell…” he whispered, but even the sound of his own voice seemed off—higher, softer, almost matching the giggle that still rang phantom-like in his ears.

Something else called to him—a shelf stacked with plush toys. He found himself kneeling, fingers sinking into the fur of a floppy-eared bunny, then another, until his hand closed around a doll. Porcelain face, blonde curls, pink dress frilled to excess. The moment he lifted it, something inside him cracked.

A tear slid hot down his cheek before he even realized he was crying. The doll felt safe, felt like love itself wrapped in cloth. He clutched it hard, pressing his forehead to its plastic curls, fighting back sobs that weren’t entirely his.

He didn’t know if these were fragments of Ariel bleeding through, or if his own mind was giving way, bending into the role. All he knew was that the longer he stayed in this room, the more right everything felt. And the more terrifying that was.