THE HEART MENDER

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Page 1

Once again, her attention drifted, and another fragment of her heart crumbled away. She braced herself. She knew what was coming, she'd endured it countless times. That familiar ache always followed when she let someone or a situation wound her. Another piece of herself, lost.
The sharp pain sliced through her chest. She looked down, a wave of shock washing over her. So little of her heart remained.
Panic seized her. But mingled with the terror was something unexpected.
Exhilaration.
What is this feeling? she wondered. How could fear and excitement feel so alike?

Narrator:
“Each time we hand others the power to wound us, another piece of who we are slips away… until there’s almost nothing left.”

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Page 2

She sat for what felt like an eternity, staring at the tiny shard that had broken off. She had to understand why this kept happening. And for the first time, the truth crept in:
She was the one permitting this destruction.
The realization bloomed, terrifying and empowering all at once. She had a choice. She could choose how she reacted to being hurt.
But with so little left, how could she survive? What if she let someone in again? What if she lost everything?

There was no other option now. She had to retrieve the pieces she had scattered over the years.
She thought of all the times she'd allowed others to define her worth. Every careless word, every rejection, each had chipped away at her heart until another fragment broke loose.

Narrator:
“Growth begins the moment we turn our gaze inward… even if what we find there frightens us.”

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Page 3

But now… now, she understood.
She couldn’t control their actions. Their words. Their emotions. The only thing she could control was herself, her own feelings, her own choices.
Each time she’d been hurt, a piece of her heart was lost. And now, it was up to her to reclaim them. No one else could make that journey. No one else could understand.

She would never grow into the person she longed to be unless she confronted this. But how? This had been happening her entire life.
Despair coiled around her… until she heard it.
Her mother's voice, as clear as if she stood beside her:
"Where there's a will, there's a way."

She sat up, startled. Her mother had been gone for years.
Then, as if summoned by fate, an image flashed in her mind, the old man at the edge of the village.
Could he help?
She often had these strange flashes, as though ideas were planted by some unseen hand.

Narrator:
“The longest journey we take… is the one back to ourselves.”

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Page 4

Her gaze dropped to the tiny shard of her heart in her hand.
It glimmered faintly, catching the last light that spilled through her window.

Something inside her clicked — a sudden, certain knowing.
She couldn’t wait until morning.
She had to go now.

Grabbing her shawl, she stepped into the waning afternoon. The sun hung low, a deep amber disc sinking behind the rooftops. Shadows stretched long across the village as she hurried down the narrow path toward the forest.

The world seemed to change with every step — the chatter of birds softened, the air thickened with the scent of pine and metal. Her heart beat fast, not from fear, but from something new… something alive.

“The unknown,” she whispered between breaths. “That’s what this is.”

By the time she reached the edge of the woods, twilight had begun to gather. The last traces of sunlight tangled in the branches, painting them in gold and blue.

And there — hidden where day turned to night — stood the inventor’s house.

It was larger than she’d imagined, a magnificent ruin of wood and brass and glass. Strange inventions clung to its walls like climbing plants; some rotated gently, others glowed from within. A few had drifted into the nearby trees, hanging like lanterns among the leaves.

The air hummed with quiet machinery. Somewhere, a gear clicked. A soft plume of steam rose into the cooling sky.

She felt her breath catch — not in fear, but in wonder. The house seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat, as if it had been waiting for her arrival.

The shard in her hand warmed.

She stepped closer.

Narrator:
“When the heart knows its path, hesitation only dims the light.”

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Page 5

Now, it was unmistakable.
The old man wasn’t just a recluse — he was a creator. An inventor.

Every detail of the house whispered intention. Pipes curled like vines, glass bulbs pulsed faintly in the twilight, and even the hinges seemed to hum with quiet life.

She reached the door. The brass plate beside it bore no name, only a small, round button that shimmered faintly.

She pressed it.

The sound of a chime rang out — soft, delicate — then the button vanished into the wood, leaving only smooth grain behind.

No answer.

She hesitated, then pressed again.
Another chime… another disappearance.

Gone.

The forest around her seemed to lean closer, waiting.

Unsure what else to do, she tried the doorknob. The metal came alive under her fingers, glowing a vibrant blue. For a heartbeat, the same light spread up her arm — her own hand beginning to shimmer as if made of starlight.

Mesmerized, she looked up — and froze.

There he was.
The creator of this strange, magical place.

He stood in the doorway, his eyes calm but sharp, reflecting the blue light like twin mirrors of understanding.

He said nothing — only turned, and gestured for her to follow.

They walked down a dark hallway that lit itself as they moved, lamps blooming like waking fireflies.

At the end, a magnificent room unfolded — a vast chamber crammed with impossible inventions. Glass wings hung from the ceiling, clocks without faces ticked in midair, and heart-shaped cogs pulsed within machines that seemed to dream.

Nina stood in silent awe.
She knew, without a doubt — she was in the right place.
This man could help her.

Narrator:
“Curiosity is the key… and the door only opens for those brave enough to knock twice.”

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Page 6

As they entered, the old man finally spoke.
"I've been expecting you."
"You have?" she asked, startled.
"Yes," he replied with a knowing smile. "I knew you'd come. You're the one meant to try my newest invention."

"What invention?" she asked.
"A machine," he explained, "that can help you find the pieces of your heart you've lost."

Her breath caught.
A machine… that could take her back.
Back to the moments her heart had broken.
Back to retrieve what she had lost.

But there was a catch.
The machine could only show her where to go.
She would have to confront those moments herself , the pain, the hurt, the fear.
There was no avoiding it.
To reclaim her heart, she had to face the hurt that had shattered it.

Narrator:
“The past cannot be erased… but perhaps, it can be reclaimed.”

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Page 7

Doubt crept in. Could she endure it all again?
The old man’s voice was gentle but steady:
"We should love and accept every part of ourselves," he said,
"Even the broken parts. Even the hurting parts. I know you can do this."

She looked down at the faintly glowing shard of her heart in her hand.
A choice lay before her.
For the first time… she was ready to make it.

Narrator:
“The hardest journeys begin not with a step… but with a choice.”

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The First Shard: The Adoption