He flipped to a page filled with names and dates. He found the entry he had written an hour ago: Elara Vance - Father's Departure.
He didn’t preserve history. He rewrote it. sachael miller
"It is done," he said hoarsely.
It was a violin. A Guarneri, by the look of the wood grain. But it was ruined. The neck was snapped, and there was a dark, ugly stain across the belly of the instrument. He flipped to a page filled with names and dates
He was no longer in the apartment. He was in a hallway, ten years ago. Sunlight streamed through a dusty window. A man stood there—Elara's father. He was young, handsome, holding the Guarneri. He was looking at Elara, a child version of the woman standing in Sachael’s apartment. She was coughing, pale. He rewrote it