Glass Memories

F&F competition submission: Janus, a doctor who helps others recover lost memories and resolve dealings with fae, is forced to confront a past he doesn’t remember, and the truth hidden within it.

PLEASE NOTE THIS IS NOT COZY! TW: Off page mentions of trauma and how it affects people.

This was a submission written for a competition. The theme was Fairy, and the prompts were: A message in a Bottle, the first and last sentence needs to be “nothing is ever as it seems”, and someone notorious for breaking things.

"Nothing is ever as it seems; especially with fairies." Janus’s own words echoed in his mind as his eyes landed on a single fae jar tucked into the corner of his mother’s attic, sealed tight and wobbling with pink vapor. His mother had said the same thing when he was growing up, and now he passed it on to anyone who would listen.

Which made the discovery all the more disturbing.

He inspected the base of the jar. Faint etchings glinted in the light.

His name.

"No.”

He recoiled as if it burned. He didn’t want it; he hated fairies. He knew what their magic did to people. The smallest interaction could unravel a life.

And now a fae’s message bottle was in his hands. Left behind by the one person he never thought would own it.

He set it back down on the floorboards. Slowly. Deliberately.

Not locked away. Not destroyed.

Just… left behind.

He walked away, absentmindedly tugging at the glass pendant at his neck. A gift from his mother, once given with a quiet warning. A ward, she’d said.

His patient, a young mother named Millie, watched him from her bed. Her family stood nearby in silent support.

Janus spotted the jar resting in her lap, where pink smoke curled against the glass, eager to escape. It reminded him of the jar, still gathering dust in his mother’s attic; unopened after all these years.It had been a long time since anyone had brought in a fae message in a jar.

“You opened it, didn’t you?” He gave her a knowing look. “You heard a message, and that’s why you're here today?”

“Yes!” Her eyes revealed her shock, her fingers tightening around the jar. “How did you know?”

“Different kinds of fae magic give off different colors: pink, like yours, for messages, purple for bargains, blue for promises, and so on. I can see the colors hiding in people or in jars if the magic was bottled. Well… except memories. Those are invisible to the eye.” He tilted his head slightly. “What did the message say?”

“It said I chose to forget a memory… and when I was ready to remember, I should come find you to break the magic,” she said softly, almost hopefully. “I thought it was… kind.”

He leaned back in his chair, brows drawing together.

“Fairies don’t offer kindness. When they make deals, they do so with barbs, and subtle trickery. Even mercy hides a blade. If you truly have a suppressed memory… then the fairy who left that message isn’t kind; they’re cruel. They want you to relive what you once begged to forget.

However, forgetting isn’t simple. Suppression doesn’t just take a memory, it takes a piece of who you were meant to be.” Janus’s growing bitterness softened.“Do you mind if I touch your head to see if the magic is there?”

She nodded.

Janus tenderly touched Millie's head, fingertips resting just above her right temple. There it was – the magical block anchored to the amygdala. It felt like brushing against warm mist, a faint vapor pressing outward as if trying to escape.

“Ah, there’s definitely a suppressed memory here,” he told the room as he pulled his hand back to speak. The family looked at each other, grateful for the confirmation.“Most people with only suppressed memories never find their way to me. They don’t know anything’s missing. Almost ninety percent of my clients' who find missing memories, usually have bargains they want broken. Only once I’ve pulled the bargain out, I find threads of memories knotted to it. Once they’re loosened…” He paused, “…the memories tend to follow.”

This was Janus’s gift: to extract, to contain, and, when needed, shatter the magic at its root.

“So what do we do?” Millie's husband asked, concerned.

Janus replied stoically, “There are three options. First, you can leave the magic untouched but be aware, it could unravel on its own at any time. Second, I can extract the magic and seal it in one of these jars.” He held up an empty fae jar for them to see, “It will contain the memory safely. You can choose to keep it sealed forever, or come back when you’re ready for me to open it. These jars are nearly indestructible, only someone like me can release what’s inside.”

He gave them a moment, “And third... we break the jar open now. The memory will return immediately, and I’ll step out and send in a therapist to help guide you through the aftermath.”

She discussed it with her family. After some time, Millie lifted her chin, masking her fear with determination.

“I’m ready, let's break it today,” she said softly. “I have everyone I need right here.”

Janus gave a solemn nod.

“Very well. I’ll begin.”

The doctor breathed, closing his eyes, drawing power into his being. When they opened again, his irises swirled multicolored iridescence, like the sheen of a bubble catching the light, or oil drifting over water.

Color flickered on his fingertips, the full spectrum dancing across his hands. He drew out the woven wisps of enchanted vapor as it unraveled like yarn from a skein, then sealed it shut in the empty jar.

Millie gave a nod.

He broke it.

Her face shifted; confusion, then horror.

He turned away.

This was the part he hated most. Seeing what it did to them.

Behind him, the girl began to scream.

He closed the door.

Later, when she left, pale but standing, she thanked him. She said it had been worse than she imagined, but her family had stayed with her through the pain.

He thought of the jar waiting for him on the attic floor. How could he continue encouraging these people to go through such painful experiences, when he himself couldn't do the same? He felt like a hypocrite.

The woman had faced her past with courage. Maybe he could, too. Maybe it was time to stop fearing what was lost and reclaim it.

His childhood. The one he forgot.

Maybe he too needed to open the jar.

He sat alone in his mothers attic.

“You were traded.” The words echoed again and again. That was all it said, but he knew what it meant. He had studied enough fae lore to suspect the possibility. Now he knew he had been traded for a changeling. (A changeling is a fairy child left in the place of a human one.) Then, at eight years old, he’d been brought back to his mother; every memory before that was missing. He just remembers being handed over and seeing her weep. Any time Janus asked about it, she claimed she had no idea what he was talking about.

He felt for the sign of missing memories on his head, it wasn’t there. The fairies had stolen his childhood, stolen him, and buried the memories of it in a place he couldn’t reach.

Fury overcame Janus.

Janus caught sight of a pixie trailing him home at the train station. His first thought was how satisfying it would be to punt the creature into the nearest tree.

The fae often followed him, likely drawn to the powers he had. The same powers he now used to break their hold on humans. He found comfort knowing he likely stole this ability from his time in the fairy realm.

The pixie’s snicker made him stop in his tracks.

“What do you want, you foul beast?” Janus snapped.

“You're a weird fairy.” It fluttered close.

They often assumed he was one of them.

“That’s because I am human,”

“Oh! My deepest apologies sir.” The pixies' sarcasm drenched every word. He cackled, and his razor-edged teeth opened and closed as he laughed, like a predator chomping on its prey.

Janus didn’t answer, and without warning seized the fairy in his grasp. The creature let out a shrill squeak, flailing in his grip.

“Tell me, demon, where do they keep stolen memories?” Janus growled.

“I don’t know!” the pixie shrieked, “Who’s memories are you looking for? Maybe we can strike a deal!”

“Mine, and no, no deals. Tell me before your eyeballs pop.”

The pixie glanced at the necklace resting on his collarbones. Its squirming intensified.

Janus squeezed harder, yelling, “Tell me!”

“T-thereeee i-i-n yooour necklace!”

Janus released, and the pixie desperately flew away.

The necklace! It was a jar!

The door creaked open to a home that looked more like an apothecary than dwelling. Jars lined the walls, organized by color, alphabetically, then name. Bottles full of memories, bargains, messages, promises, regrets. Other people’s pain. Other people’s truths.

He lit a few lamps, their soft gentle glow washing the room in comfort that didn't quite reach his chest.

With deliberate hands, he unhooked the necklace and placed the bottle gently on his dinner table.

He poured himself tea, and left it untouched.

His fingers trembled slightly as he sat down. For years, he helped others unlock the forgotten, the buried, the too heavy to hold. He’d bottled pain, stitched up holes in souls, reminded people who they were, who they’d been.

Now it was his turn.

He reached for the bottle, his hands shimmered with color.

He smashed it against the table.

Iridescent light, and colors that didn't exist in the mortal realm lived all around him. He played in the forest with his playmates. They were gentle, warm, their laughter was a daily presence. They were his friends. They loved him.

He started feeling sick when he turned about eight. They said the realm was rejecting him. His body could no longer survive in fae lands. If he stayed, he would die.

But there was a chance: the human world medicines, structures, science. Things the fae couldn't replicate. If he lived there, he might survive. So, his fairy mother brought him across the threshold into the mortal realm, carrying him in her arms, feverish, fading quickly.

Waiting for them was his mortal mother, standing beside her own sick child. A child who looked so much like Janus, they might have been twins.

His mother sat Janus down with tears in her eyes, and turned to the woman.

“If you take my child into your home and care for him as your own, I will take care of yours and care for him as mine, his cancer will be non-existent there. This is the only way for them both to live.

“His memories will be wiped clean. He will forget the fae, forget me. You must never tell him where he came from, or he'll do everything he can to return to his realm. If he returns he will die. If he dies … so will your son.”

His real mother said her goodbyes.

“If you ever see this memory, this is my message to you; I love you more than you will ever know, I wanted to give you your best chance at life. I've watched this woman for a long time, I'm confident she will love you as her own. I wish I could stay here with you but I am bound as queen to serve the fairy realm. I will send our people to check on you often, to make sure you're being well taken care of.”

“Mom, please, I don't want to forget you.” Janus begged.

“I'm so so sorry Janus.” She embraced him for the last time, patting his head with the tenderness of a mother. Then she did what had to be done, she pulled the memories of his childhood and placed them inside the necklace.

She left him, placing her boy into another mother’s arms.

He wasn’t a human child stolen away by the fairies and later returned.

He was a fairy child. Sent away to survive.

He was the changeling.

Everything he believed about himself was a lie. He was the very thing he had hated most. A fairy.

As always, with fairies, nothing was ever as it seemed.

The end.

Notes:

This story was born from someone very dear to me. A friend of mine went through a great deal of trauma, so much so that it fractured her memories of childhood. In the process of forgetting the painful things, many beautiful moments were lost too; moments we shared, times we spent playing together. It’s heartbreaking to me knowing things that shaped who I am, she doesn’t remember.

It’s strange how memory can be both a wound and a treasure, and how our brains can completely delete aspects of who we were.

If you have forgotten pieces of your own story, or if parts of your past are sealed away, this is for you.

ALSO… another fun little note…..

When I was submitting this to the competition I accidentally forgot a letter in Janus’s name….. Slaps forehead.

Janus was named after “Janus the roman god of beginnings, gates, transitions, and doorways, often depicted with two faces, one looking to the past and the other to the future. He symbolizes both beginnings and endings, representing the passage of time and the dual nature of transitions.” I stand by my choice in naming him thus, despite the mishap, hahaha.