Friday Fictioneers
The receptionist smiled as Clara entered the old hotel.
“Welcome back.”
Clara frowned. “I’ve never been here before.”
“Of course.”
He handed her a brass key marked 17.
Upstairs, everything felt strangely familiar—the creaking floorboard, the faded wallpaper, even the lavender scent outside her room.
Inside stood a suitcase.
Her suitcase.
Except it was ancient.
Clara opened it.
A photograph lay on top: a woman standing beneath the hotel’s stone arches in 1926.
Same eyes.
Same face.
Same necklace Clara wore now.
On the back, someone had written:
Clara — Room 17.
She always comes back.
Downstairs, the receptionist turned the register’s page.
PHOTO PROMPT © Lori Wilson
With love, coffee, poetry, and stardust,
— Maggie The Afterlove Voice 💫
My new album “Beneath The Northern Star ” is out. You can save and play the songs on your streaming platforms here:
🌙 Beneath the Northern Stars – My New Album
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