Edmund

December 30, 2025

"Dad? Dad? Can... can you hear me? Yes! Yes it's me! Magna! Yes! Oh my gosh! You can actually hear me!" Miss Reign's squees perforate the usual silence of the tranquil antique store. Her voice, usually so composed, was now a cascade of unbridled joy, echoing off the dusty shelves.

The position I currently occupy is, to say the least, quite undignified, hiding behind a semi-closed door. Yet I absolutely cannot resist both the curiosity of how the call she is making shall transpire, and the need to be there for her, even if from afar.

In case that something goes awry. The air crackles with her excitement, a tangible energy that pulls me closer despite my hidden vantage point.

Miss Reign's ecstatic words slash at my chest, at my stomach and at my heart like bullets. Each syllable, a sharp pang of both relief for her and a burgeoning sorrow for myself.

I remain motionless for a little while, my eyes closed. I do my darnedest to will myself to calm down. My ears are strained, fishing for her father's reply, but a mere unintelligible murmur reaches me from the ear buds she carries. Desperate, I limit myself to listen in on her part of the conversation, hoping I shall be able to connect the goings-on.

"Listen to me, dad. I'll be as brief as possible. I've traveled in time using the Timeswap prototype. It malfunctioned. I enabled it just barely enough to reach you on February 25, 2210 frequency. Do you hear me loud and clear?"

A shaky smile on her face tells me they have, in fact, established a connection. The relief that washes over her is almost visible, smoothing the lines of worry from her brow.

"It's just... You won't believe all the things I went through after the prototype malfunctioned. I've been here for almost ten months, trying to contact you, Dad. Wait. Let me tell you my exact timeline location. It's December the 30th, 2025. You got that? December the 30th, 2025. London, yes. You can find my Timeswap project saved on holograms, dad. Travel to me using another prototype, if you can."

She listens, pressing her mouth in a thin line as she taps her little foot. The impatience was evident in every subtle movement.

"I know, dad. Yes, it was irresponsible of me to use the diamond you gifted me to try and get in touch with you. But I had no other choice. I guess I just wanted to make it work. It doesn't really matter right now! There's not much time. The further our time-event-prongs move apart, the less quantum entanglement exists between them. And comms will start to fail. So if you don't come and get me now... You get what this means? Sooner or later, we won't even be able to talk to each other anymore." Miss Reign hugs herself and swallows, her eyes unwavering from the Question and Answer Machine. The desperate plea in her voice is a stark contrast to her usual bravado.

She sounds so different, talking to her father. Gone is the carefree witch and enchantress I have gotten to know so well during these past months—the eternal teaser of my body and mind. This Miss Reign is cold, and professional.

Almost as if she is trying too hard to show how capable she is, how knowledgeable. To please the man on the other side of this timeline discussion. I have never seen her in this edition before. The transformation was startling, revealing a layer of ambition and vulnerability I hadn't witnessed.

Then Miss Reign leaps so high up in the air that the chair she had been sitting on tumbles aside. I tsk and ponder how I can only be thankful Mr. Addison is running errands so he is not here to see this reckless handling of his furniture.

"Tomorrow?! Already? No way! You will set coordinates for tomorrow! When? Let me write that down. I... I will see you then, father." The last words are, again, surprisingly formal for such an informal person as I have come to know Miss Reign. The formality, almost a rigid politeness, felt out of place on her tongue.

I clear my throat and step into the room, giving away my presence.

"Edmund! Edmund! I was just coming to get you! Listen! You are not going to believe this. I have the best news in the world! It... It worked! Your idea worked!"

Her enthusiastic body leaps at me and snuggles into my arms. I hold her there with sheer enjoyment. Her glee is incredibly contagious, a vibrant spark that ignited a flicker of happiness within me.

Her hug is stronger than anything I've ever known, as if holding me wasn't quite enough, she seems to have to feel every ounce that she am pressed into—every ounce that is me.

In that moment of feeling her so close, I am awake somehow, more alive than I have been in so very long.

For there have been times, during my social gatherings in ballroom dances, I was a butterfly who yearned for the cocoon, to be safe within walls, protected. A caterpillar who shunned interaction.

Miss Reign turned me into a butterfly who rejoices human touch, and flies all the way up to the sun.

There is this entire scope of sentiments, as she is hugging me. There is something so warm about it, something that feels right, smells right.

It helps me to cope with her, as I now know, imminent parting. Like a lovestruck fool, I wish she would wrap those arms around me every chance the universe is kind enough to bring in the following hours, before we never see each other again. The thought of her leaving, a cold dread, began to seep into the edges of my joy.

"So I have heard, Miss Reign. I mean, it was practically impossible not to hear, what with all the jubilant shrieks reaching the attic. Therefore, I came down to see what all the ruckus was about. And... Let me ask you something. Is it so unbelievable, Miss Reign, that my idea has functioned?" I tease her, loosening my tie, a hellish contraption Mr. Addison had made me promise I would wear in front of our clients.

Is it just me, or is it unexpectedly hot for a month of December and I am suffering through a great deal of temperature discomfort? By gods, some snow would be in order, soon.

"It's just... I am super duper overwhelmed. I actually just spoke to my dad, after ten months of not being able to hear his voice." Miss Reign gets all emotional and dabs at corners of her eyes. "And I'm going home! Can you believe that? Hollie, did you hear it! We're going home!" She squeaks at the machine and then grabs it into her arms, twirling around. Her movements were a whirlwind of pure elation.

Like Sleeping Beauty did with the cloak of her prince as she danced in the forest, childlike and carefree, in that cartoonish movie we watched together on her insisting.

"YES, MISS REIGN. THAT IS CORRECT." Hollie replies in a level voice, not appearing to share the same enthusiasm as her overjoyed mistress.

It makes me wonder about the nature of the relationship between my witch and her progenitor. On our very first day together, when we got stranded in London 2025, she implied that it was not perfect, but I refuse to push further on the subject, seeing her so jubilant. Whatever it may be, it is between her and her family member.

"And... This is not just my part, you know." My enchantress now turns to me. "Okay, listen up. D day is here. Yo, yo, yo, yo! I promise you, Edmund. I swear. You'll be going home, too. As soon as I am back in my era, I'll return to find you here in 2025, this time with a working prototype. According to my father, they had perfected the time device during the months I was gone, so it should just be a matter of some days." She lifts a finger in the air. "I can finally redeem. I'm responsible for all of this, and I want you back where you belong. There is no fucking way I'd leave you behind."

I open my mouth to say I am no longer certain where that is, but I promptly close it again. I do not wish to be a 'party pooper,' a new expression I have learned, and I am quite fond of but with a dismal meaning.

Deciding to flash a smile instead, I inquire about: "Now, Miss Reign. Would you be so kind as to explaining this to me? What the deuce is that time-event-prong affair?"

She quirks a single eyebrow and beads of sweat adorn my forehead at her implied sternness.

"I may as well come clear and admit this to you. So, here goes. I might have overheard a part of your conversation with your father, you see, and I could not comprehend it. I would very much like that explained. Is it related to deer?" I jest.

"Let's just pretend that I am not angry with you right now. Well, I kinda get ya. Back at work, I used to say that worker cubicles were just eavesdropping stations. And as to the prongs... Oh. No, not related to deer, not literally but..."

I can see cogs and bolts whirring behind those beautiful coffee-colored eyes, trying to put her own perspective to words, bring it closer to mine. The effort is evident, a testament to her desire for me to truly grasp the complex concepts.

It's one of the things I adore about Magna Reign: she never has underestimated neither my curiosity and thirsty intellect, nor the bond we have forged in these troubled times of need.

She takes my hand and pulls me on a dusty duvet next to her with a mischievous smile gathering in the corner of her mouth. Before I can inquire what all this is about, Miss Reign speaks up:

"So, Mister Hunter. I'd like you to close your eyes."

At first, I pout and protest like a small child, uncertain where all this is leading to, but she insists, so eventually and after much persuasion, I do as I have been told.

The world around me is suddenly flung into an utter darkness. Yet her voice and her scent are my beacon and my guiding light, and I am more than ready and willing to follow their lead.

"What of the deer you have mentioned before, then?" I crack my knuckles thrice, eager to hear the story.

"Envision its majestic prongs. Can you do that for me, Lord Worthington?" She rubs the tip of her nose ever so slightly against mine and I stop breathing. The unexpected intimacy of the gesture stole my breath.

I nod in confirmation.

"There is one that is always the biggest one, and then others that sprout from it, is it not so?"

I nod again.

"In the story I am about to tell you, and I will try to tell it so that you can easily comprehend it... They all symbolize roads. Yes, roads. A road is a choice we make in life." She giggles and then continues speaking. "What if I told you, each prong that springs from the main one is another road? That choice we make in our lives makes a branch in the horn?"

"But is it still us that continue walking down that road?" I frown at the realization and promptly open my eyes. Miss Reign is in her teaching mode, and I love seeing her focused. The intensity in her gaze was captivating.

"My my, what a clever remark, Lord Worthington. That's precisely the question many scientists have been trying to find the answer to for centuries. See, when I work at changing the present in order to make the future better, I'm aware that in my prong, there won't be a future I know. At some point, my original prong and my new prong will be too far apart, and there won't be a way to bridge them. The more I stay in this present, the more you stay in this present, the less we are our old selves."

"And we become the road not taken," I say with an audible gasp. "One would say that if we change ourselves, we change the world around us. But if I understood correctly, you are claiming the opposite. By altering the version of the world around us, we also... Change ourselves." I swallow and gaze into the distance.

How much have I changed ever since I have been here? The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications.

"Create another version of us, yes. You see, this is why it's important for my father to reach us. Before we are too far gone."

"Before we transform into someone else." I finish her exposition for her.

I cannot help but wonder whether that transformation has already occurred, for me.

"Yes. I had been worrying about that for the better part of this year. And now, I can pretty much confirm that'll never happen! Thanks to you and your incredible idea! We both get to go to our respective times, and live out our lives, as intended!" Miss Reign coos, hops off the duvet and begins what my mind describes as a tribal dance. Her luscious dark-skinned breasts bounce up and down in the process and disconcert me.

She is the embodiment of triumph and joy, and seeing her like this lifts my spirits as well.

I gaze upon this girl who has taught me so many things, who has touched my most profound thoughts and feelings, unearthing them from the depths unknown.

I am glad our paths crossed.

Yet soon, she is to walk her path, and me, mine.

I hear myself say: "The versions of me making other decisions and not having met Multimagna are not mine to worry about. But I am happy I am not them."

She blinks several times, and it is her turn to blush at my words.

"Well, Milord Worthington. Waxing poetic again, aren't we? I suppose, you cannot help it. Then let me return in kind." She mock-bows. "I'm also happy I'm not that version who has never met MultiEdmund."

We stand opposite each other.

Opposite times.

Opposite lives.

Yet so close, no matter how far.

Her words interrupt the sudden peculiar silence caused by my dark musings.

"Well, Eddie, I just had the most brilliant idea in the sea of brilliant ideas. This calls for celebration, wouldn't you say? We're finally leaving! The iconic moment has arrived! Let me send a group chat invitation to a party tonight. Technically, it would count as a pre New Year party but, you know, what the heck! I won't even be here, come New Year!"

She runs upstairs, jubilant, and I throw myself back on the duvet. The sudden absence of her vibrant energy left a hollow ache in the room.

I lay there for yet a while longer, motionless, upset, thrown off my gravity center as the memory of her voice spills all over me.

The day of the greatest joy for Miss Reign is the day of my greatest sorrow.

This melancholy I am feeling right now is a heavy cloak I can't simply let fall to the floor, and though I hold it so tight around me, I can't find the warmth I need, yet it clings. It is the anchor to my feet, the reason I can't find the surface or the sunshine, that feeling of soft joy that lives in memories that can't rise within.

The only thing that would make me shake off its ballast would be the delay of Miss Reign's departure.

Something soft brushes my ankle, and to my surprise it is William, weaving a figure eight around my feet. His gentle purr, a small comfort in the vastness of my sadness.

"Soon, it will be just you and me, fella." I lower my hand to caress the ginger, furry head, and the tomcat meows sadly in reply.