It wasn't an illusion, nor was it a figment of her imagination.
It felt like a genuine memory, yanked from the depths of time.
Celia Sterling's legs moved on their own as she slowly walked over to the piano and sat down.
The housekeeper was patiently explaining, "This piano has been here for many years. Mr. Sterling has someone come to service it annually. If you'd like to play, Miss..."
Her words trailed off as her gaze fell on Celia Sterling's profile at the piano. She stared, stunned, a look of shocked disbelief on her face. After a moment, she asked tentatively,
"Miss, did you used to play the piano here with Mr. Sterling when you were a child?"
Celia looked at the housekeeper. "What makes you say that?"
