Artifacts

Catching my eye, Nana waves me over. I make my way to her and we both settle onto a couple of sturdy old boxes, the attic dimly lit by a single beam of light streaming through a crack in the roof. Dust swirls around us, but Nana’s face is calm, a small smile playing on her lips. She holds the handbag in her lap, gently stroking its worn fabric as if it carries the weight of memories.

“Lenora, dear,” Nana begins, her voice soft but filled with meaning, “this handbag belonged to your mother. It’s more than just a keepsake—it’s very special, containing artifacts of great importance.”

My eyes widen as I study the bag more closely. At first glance, it seems like a delicate, white crochet handbag, the kind of thing you’d see in an old photograph. But now, with Nana’s words, it feels heavier with mystery, with magic.

Nana continues, her tone taking on a more serious note, “The bag itself is like a bottomless pit. It can hold as much as you put in it—there’s no limit. But there’s more. This bag will only answer to your mother or to you. Anyone else who tries to take from it will receive a warning shock. Once. If they’re foolish enough to try again, it will mean death.”

I swallow hard, my gaze shifting back to the handbag. Its innocent appearance suddenly feels deceptive, like something ancient and powerful lies beneath its surface. My fingers twitch with a mix of curiosity and caution, but I don’t reach for it just yet.

Nana looks at me knowingly, sensing my hesitation. “It’s uncertain what exactly lies inside. Your mother used to say it would give her what she needed most in that moment. But sometimes, the bag gave her items to teach her lessons.” Her eyes meet mine, filled with a quiet pride and a hint of sadness. “Here, darling, take the bag. It belongs to you now.”

I reach out slowly, my heart thudding in my chest. As soon as my fingers graze the soft fabric of the handle, something incredible happens. The delicate, white crochet dissolves before my eyes, transforming into a sleek, black pouch with golden chains—something that looks like it was designed just for me.

I stare at it, grinning in disbelief, then glance at Nana, who beams back at me, clearly pleased. “See, dear? The bag has changed from your mother’s style to yours. It has chosen you. Try putting your hand inside and see what comes out.”

The pouch feels warm in my hands, almost alive, like it’s waiting for me. With a mix of excitement and apprehension, I slide my hand inside the bag, half-expecting it to swallow me whole. Instead, my fingers close around something small and cool. I pull it out—a tiny glass spray bottle. It looks like perfume, delicate and elegant, with a shimmering liquid inside.

Curious, I give it a quick spritz, the scent of fresh rain and pine filling the air around me. But before I can enjoy it, I feel something shift—something in the air, in my very being. Nana gasps, her eyes widening.

“Lenora, dear… I see you’ve found the vanishing spray. Don’t panic, but… right now, you’re completely invisible.”

My heart skips a beat, and I look down at myself—or rather, where myself should be. I can’t see my hands, my legs, nothing. I wave an arm in front of my face, and still—nothing. A laugh bubbles up from my chest, a mixture of awe and disbelief.

“This is incredible!” I exclaim, even though my voice feels strange without a body to go with it.

Nana chuckles, the sound comforting. “The spray is temporary, love. It’ll only last about 30 minutes. If you spray yourself again while it’s still active, you’ll nullify the effects and become visible again. Just be careful with it—it can come in handy, but it’s not something to use lightly.”

I grin, imagining the possibilities, the fun I could have with this. Invisibility. There are so many ways this could come in handy—so many times I’ve wished I could just disappear. But for now, I spray myself again, bringing my body back into view.

“There you are,” Nana says with a smile, as though she’d missed me during my brief absence. “Now, go ahead. Place the spray back in the bag and see what else might be waiting for you.”

I carefully drop the spray bottle back into the pouch, and it vanishes into its endless depths without a sound. I pause for a moment, then open my hand again, my fingers outstretched, as if I’m calling to whatever the bag holds.

This time, a small bottle of lotion materializes in my palm. It’s unassuming, simple—nothing like the vanishing spray. I turn it over in my hand, inspecting it, feeling its weight. Nana leans forward, her eyes curious.

“And what might that be?” she asks softly, as though she, too, is eager to discover the bag’s secrets.

I unscrew the lid and take a cautious sniff. The scent is light, almost floral, with a hint of something earthy beneath it. “It smells nice,” I say, still unsure of its purpose. “But… what does it do?”