Disclaimer: The Loud House and associated characters belong to Nickelodeon and Chris Savino

Guest: I'm not sure what constitutes a classic, let alone one from me, but thanks.

Guest: It's okay. I like reading the guesses people make. But the plot is pretty straightforward.

Rose the Changeling: It's not so much about what she wants as it is what she needs, even if she doesn't know it. Also, remember the line about not remembering something? That's important. All I'll say about the old curio dealer is that he's not Lincoln.

The Destiny Stone

By Lola Presents

Chapter 2

As the night wore on, the slow pulse of the crystal's light began to fall into a steady rhythm, synchronizing with Rita's heartbeat. Though unseen, buried under her thick blankets and cotton gown, the pulses grew brighter and the lulls in between less distinct.

Halfway through the night, Lincoln's dreams began to give way to something more chaotic. His random thoughts started swirling around him in a surreal torrent of imagery as he got sucked into a wormhole, ending as he awoke.

Yawning deeply, the boy rubbed his face and tried to sit up, only to bang his head on something. "What the heck?" he muttered, finally peeling his lids open. A wooded plank hovered above his head, partially blocking his view and preventing him from rising.

Instead, he swung his feet out of bed while still lying down, only to find his legs suspended in the air. At least, that's what it seemed like at the time. One odd event in their house wasn't enough to cause much alarm. Luan had probably played a prank on him. But two was another matter, forcing his mind focus and come to full consciousness.

Realizing he was no longer in bed, his first assumption was that he'd fallen at some point during the night. But when he stood up and took in his surroundings, that proved not to be the case. Lincoln was definitely in his room. Only it wasn't his room anymore. All his furniture and possessions were gone, replaced with shelves going up each side of the room, holding linens and other things.

Suddenly, the doorknob jiggled, and Lincoln's heart skipped a beat. Quickly, he looked for a place to hide but found nowhere suitable, and he resigned himself to whatever fate faced him. He instinctively knew that something unexplained had occurred and that his room used to be a linen closet. And though he never doubted his sanity before, he came close.

Slowly, the door opened to reveal a young girl. She stood about the same height as his sister, Lucy, but other than that, she bore no resemblance. Her medium blonde hair naturally parted in the middle and fell around her small round face in a medium-length bob that turned inward around her neckline.

She had a faint spattering of light brown freckles on her cheeks, on which her oversized aviator-style glasses rested, dramatically increasing the appearance of her eyes, giving her face a bug-like sense. The girl's two upper front teeth were much larger than the rest, demanding one's attention.

The overall effect was that Lincoln thought she looked like a nerdy grasshopper as she stood there, partially hiding behind the cracked door.

Now, Lincoln knew better than to judge a book by its cover, but there was something eerily familiar about the girl, something he couldn't place. Nor did Lincoln want to frighten the child as he had no clue where or when he was or what problems he might face if he did.

"Who are you?" the girl asked timidly, ready to slam the door shut at any moment. "And what are you doing in our house?"

"Uh..." stammered Lincoln, still adjusting to what he was experiencing.

He thought that he might still be asleep, going through what some people call a lucid dream. But from what he'd heard about them, once you realize your dreaming, you can control it, and so far, that hadn't happened.

"My name is..." he began, then reconsidered using his first name. If trouble arose, it might be better to use an alias, "...Albert. What's yours?"

The young girl looked him over several times, not relinquishing her tactical position behind the door, then finally responded. "It's nice to meet you, Albert. My name is Marge," the girl nearly whispered. "But you still haven't told me what you're doing in our linen closet."

"I don't know," sighed Lincoln, unable to think of anything better on the spot. "I just woke up here. And, why are you whispering?"

"It's my dad," Marge told him. "If he found out a boy snuck into our house and I was friendly with him, he'd blow a fuse."

"Okay..." muttered Lincoln nervously. "First, I didn't sneak in. I went to sleep in my bed last night, which used to be right here," he said, pointing to the base of the shelves to his left. But when I woke up, I was here," he said, looking around curiously. "Second, how will I get out of here without upsetting your dad?"

"I suppose you could climb out my window," offered Marge, shrugging. "My room is just over here."

"Marge, honey?" called a deep male voice from downstairs. "Margie? Are you talking to yourself again, or is someone up there?"

"No, dad," called the girl over her shoulder. "It's just me. Go back to your coffee."

Then, turning to Lincoln, she grabbed his hand and pulled him out of her linen closet and into what Lincoln thought was Lisa's room. The interior had changed entirely. Though structurally the same, the walls were now a light pink with white trim, and there wasn't a piece of scientific equipment anywhere.

Once they were safely inside the room, Marge closed the door and locked it. Then, going over to her window, she drew back the curtains and slid up the sash. "Okay, if you go out here, you can climb down one of the porch columns. But, you'd better hurry, or my dad might catch you."

Lincoln walked over to the window and sighed as he looked out. He was definitely in his house and neighborhood, yet everything looked different, newer, and fresher. The aging family van had gotten replaced by a new-looking station wagon, complete with wooden trim, and the large tree that graced their front yard was now a mere sapling.

Then, he considered his attire. "Uh..." the boy stammered. "I'm still in my pajamas. I'm going to stick out like a sore thumb. Besides, where am I supposed to go?"

"I don't know," the girl sighed. "That's not my problem. But, I suppose you can use the treehouse in the woods nearby. I'll try and find you something to wear and bring them to you later."

Nodding, Lincoln began climbing through the open window. "I think I know the one you're talking about," he told her quietly. "I'm only surprised it's still there. I mean, never mind."

Within moments, Lincoln was hugging the house's exterior and then the garage as he covertly made his way toward the woods. Once within the tree-line, he began to relax, though his pajamas wouldn't last too long out here, and hoped Marge was a girl of her word and brought him something more suitable later.

Lincoln had no clue when or where he was or how he would return to reality. However, he couldn't just stand there either. Forging ahead, he carefully walked along the winding trails he and his friends had carved, along with everyone who had come before them, looking for the old abandoned treehouse. Only now, the paths were still slightly overgrown.

When Lincoln finally arrived at the small clearing where the treehouse stood, he could only stare at it in awe. Newly constructed and with a fresh coat of paint, it looked amazing. The loose wooden strips nailed to the tree for use in getting up to the tiny house once had rails attached, making it a formal ladder.

Climbing into the treehouse, Lincoln sat on the new floor, void of cracks and splinters, and pulled his knees up to his chest. Gazing around, he began to feel increasingly sad. All the adornments and toys littering the place indicated female habitation. He had nothing against girls, however. As an average heterosexual thirteen-year-old male, he was pretty fond of them.

Only, they didn't seem to return his affection. One would think that a boy with ten sisters would have no problem dating. But in his case, his familiarity with his sister only confused him even more. Dating wasn't like appeasing one's sister's whims. For one thing, unfamiliar girls were much harder to read, and Lincoln was never great at that. Second, he was a dork, and he knew it.

Resting his head on his knees, Lincoln began to cry silently, tears slipping down his cheeks, staining the knees of his pajamas. What was happening to him, and how would he ever get back? More to the point, would he get back at all? Was this his life from now on? Sighing as he wept, he realized that whatever fate had in store for him, it must get faced head-on, and wiping his face clean, he began cleaning up.

"Albert?" someone yelled from below, getting Lincoln's attention, only after the third time, unused to getting called by his middle name.

Lincoln looked out the door to see the little girl from before, standing near the bottom of the ladder. Only, now she wore a beat-up pair of sneakers, old faded jeans with more than a few holes in them, and an oversized turtle-neck sweater that bunched up in several places.

"Yeah," he finally responded. "I'm here. Do I need to come down?"

"No, that's quite alright," Marge said. "I'm quite capable, seeing as I built this place. Well, my dad and I."

Lincoln stepped back, unblocking the small doorway, and watched as Marge climbed up the ladder and into the limited space. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "You straightened up?" she inquired, handing him a brown paper bag. "That was nice but entirely unnecessary."

Lincoln sat cross-legged on the floor and began pulling out the clothes his new friend had brought, including an old pair of sneakers and a worn-out pair of jeans closely resembling her own, and a faded black Guns 'n' Roses tee-shirt. He held them up and looked at them, and blushed a little. The jeans and shoes were clearly meant for girls, but the shirt he could live with.

"I'm sorry," Marge said, sitting against the wall opposite the boy. "I don't have any siblings, and this is the least feminine thing I could find. I like my clothes a bit big, so I'm sure they'll fit, even if they aren't your style."

"Um, thanks," sighed Lincoln, still blushing. "But, uh..."

"Oh, right!" chirped Marge as she turned around and covered her eyes. "Just let me know when you're done."

"I will," acknowledged Lincoln as he began changing clothes.

Lincoln couldn't help but stare at the girl as he wormed out of his pajamas and donned the new clothes. For whatever reason, something was reassuring and comforting about her. He felt at ease around her, unlike every other girl he met. Maybe that was partly due to his complete isolation and a need for someone to confide in, but he felt he could tell her anything.

"Alright," he said, stuffing his pajama's into the bag. "I'm done. How do I look?" he asked, posing as he used to do with his sisters whenever they'd dress him up. "The panties are a little tight and will take some getting used to, but otherwise, everything fits."

Marge chuckled, covering her mouth with her hand and blushing deeply. "Well," she murmured. "You certainly wear it better than I do."

"What do you mean?" asked Lincoln as he sat across from her. "You look fine to me."

"Please, don't patronize me," sighed the girl, resting her head on her knees. "Everyone picks on me as is."

"What?" gasped the boy across from her. "I can't believe that. I mean, yeah, you're a little different, but where I come from, that's a positive thing. Surely you have some friends to share this amazing treehouse with."

"Sadly, no," muttered Marge. "It's just me. I come here when I get too lonely to stay in the house. But, I'm more interested in you and how you got into our house. What's your deal anyway? Do you sleepwalk a lot?"

"No. Not that I'm aware of, anyway," offered Lincoln, folding his arms on his knees. "The thing is, I don't believe I went anywhere. My house, I mean, your house, is where I live. Only, it's different now."

"I see," replied Marge curiously. "So, like, you're from another dimension or something?"

"Maybe..." mumbled Lincoln, unsure about the idea. "I think it's more like, well- Tell me, what time is it?"

The girl shrugged. "Around nine the morning, I suppose. Why?"

"No. I mean the year," clarified Lincoln. "What year is it?"

"Oh!" snapped Marge excitedly. "It's 1992. Does that mean anything or bring any memories or something?"

Lincoln pressed his lips together in thought. If Lisa were involved, that would explain a lot, but as far as he knew, she wasn't. In either case, it seemed he'd gotten displaced in time. "Where I come from, it's 2022," he told her. "Somehow, I woke up in the past. I arrived in the same place I left and only moved in time."

"Kind of like Back to the Future, huh? How will you get back?" inquired the interested girl, gazing at him through her thick aviator lenses.

"Back to the what?" quipped Lincoln without a clue.

"Back to the Future," Marge repeated, explaining the basic plot. "It's a movie about a boy who travels through time in an old Delorean and messes up the timeline, so he has to go back and forth to fix things. So, you'd better be careful what you do and say, or you could alter the timeline forever."

"Wait..." mumbled Lincoln, furrowing his brows and staring at her. "You believe me?"

"Well, I see no reason not to," she giggled. "Any boy willing to wear a girl's panties is either completely insane, or they are being entirely serious and practical. Either way, it's clear that you believe it."

"That's right," thought Lincoln, recalling stories his parents told him over the years, especially regarding his sister Luna. The eighties and nineties were a rough time for those who didn't fit into the heteronormative paradigm. And even in 2022, some still clung to the old and outdated mindset.

"What am I going to do now?" Lincoln complained as he slumped onto his side, still holding his knees to his chest. "I have no family or home, and I can't just show up at a shelter. I have no identity here. No food, clothes, or friends..."

"You have me," sighed Marge. "If I qualify, that is. I understand if not. Nobody likes me, anyway."

"No, no," retorted Lincoln. "I stand corrected. I have one friend. Thanks, and I like you just fine. You remind me a lot of some of my sisters."

"Tell me about them, please?" Marge requested, wanting to know more about him.

"Well, you're a bit shy and timid, like my sister Lucy," he began. "You seem rather intelligent, like my sister Lisa," he continued. "And, you look a lot like my baby sister, Lily," he finished. "Only, she doesn't have freckles."

"I see," replied Marge, temporarily satisfied. "May I ask how old you are?"

"I'm thirteen," muttered Lincoln, sitting back up. "You?"

"I'm ten," Marge replied enthusiastically, holding up both sets of fingers.

Lincoln smiled. "I still can't believe you don't have any friends," he reasserted. "I can't imagine that. What do you do all day?"

"Read mostly," Marge answered, shrugging her shoulders. "Sometimes I watch television, but that gets boring because I don't get to do anything."

"I understand," sighed Lincoln. "What kind of things do you read?"

"Comic books," admitted the girl hesitantly. "I know it's silly for a girl, but I like them. They let me escape my boring life."

"Really?" gasped Lincoln excitedly. "I love comic books. What titles do you read? Have you ever heard of Ace Savvy?"

"No," replied Marge, shaking her head. "I've never heard of it. I mostly read Marvel stuff. You know, like X-Men."

Lincoln nodded, a little disappointed. "I guess he came after your time. And I'm only vaguely familiar with the X-Men." Then an idea hit him. "Hey!" he exclaimed. "Let's go downtown and look for comics."

"What?" gasped the girl, blushing profusely. "With me? You're actually willing to get seen in public with a dork like me?"

"Don't be ridiculous," groaned Lincoln, heading for the exit. "I'm as dorky as you are. Come on! Let's have some fun."

"But..." complained the girl as she followed Lincoln down the ladder. "I'm only ten! My dad would kill me if he found out I'd gone into town!"

"No, no, no..." chuckled Lincoln. "First, it sounds like your dad needs to loosen up a little. And the only way to do that is to stretch him. He'll eventually get the hint and relax. Second, you're with me. You'll be fine."

"Still..." sighed Marge, grabbing his hand. "I'll feel safer this way."

Lincoln nodded, and together, they headed off toward town. His pulse began to race, feeling the girl's warm hand in his, and he began to sweat. What was it about her that drew him to her? Occasionally, he'd chance a peek at her as they walked toward town, and every time he did, the cuter she seemed.

Maybe it was because she was smiling, and the closer they got to civilization, the brighter it seemed. Seeing someone else happy invariably causes reciprocal emotions. Was she so lonely that a mere trip into town would cause such elation? Lincoln found that hard to believe but had no reason to doubt her. Her father did seem like the strict type.

Soon, they'd reached their destination, and though it was painted a different color and bore different signage, it was the same shop that existed where he came from. Like a gentleman, he held the door for Marge and waved her in, recalling his father's tales of chivalry from that era.

"Ladies first," he chirped as he gestured for her to enter.

"Oh, my..." gasped Marge, blushing again. "What a sweetheart."