A side effect of the medicine

 

A side effect of the medicine is that Lincoln grows a third ear

The swirling mist settled, revealing Dr. Amelia Finch amidst the gaslight glow of Ford's Theatre. Dressed in a meticulously recreated gown, she cradled a vial filled with shimmering azure liquid – a medicine from a century ahead, stolen from the clutches of time itself. Her mission: to save Abraham Lincoln, not from the assassin's bullet, but from the debilitating malarial fever consuming him.

Lincoln, gaunt and weary, received her with cautious curiosity. The doctor, her heart pounding, explained her unorthodox treatment. He accepted, driven by desperation and a flicker of hope in his weary eyes. The potion tasted faintly of ozone and starlight, a sensation unlike anything he'd known.

Days turned into weeks, and a miracle unfolded. Lincoln's strength returned, his mind sharpened. He delivered powerful speeches, his voice ringing with renewed vigor. The tide of the Civil War began to turn, hope blooming across the nation.

Yet, amidst the celebration, Amelia noticed a peculiar change. A small bump appeared behind Lincoln's left ear, growing steadily until it formed a perfectly formed, miniature earlobe. Lincoln, initially alarmed, found it surprisingly sensitive, picking up whispers and distant music no one else could hear.

He confided in Amelia, fearing public ridicule. Amelia, conflicted by the unforeseen side effect, revealed the truth – a consequence of the time-warped medicine. Lincoln, ever the pragmatist, saw an opportunity. He declared the third ear a, symbol of his ability to hear the unheard pleas of his people.

News of the "President's Oracle" spread like wildfire. People poured out their stories, whispered secrets, and sought his counsel. Lincoln, with his enhanced hearing, navigated the complexities of war and reconstruction with an uncanny wisdom. He became a beacon of empathy, bridging divides and fostering reconciliation.

Years later, the Civil War ended, leaving behind a scarred but hopeful nation. Lincoln, revered as a near-mythical figure, stood tall, his third ear a constant reminder of the extraordinary gift born from science and serendipity. His legacy echoed through time, not just for the nation he united, but for the symbol of empathy and understanding he embodied, a gift whispered through the President's Oracle.

As Amelia, cloaked in shadows, slipped back into the swirling mist, she knew the true cost of her intervention. Time travel was a messy business, but sometimes, the unintended consequences, like a listening ear in the unlikeliest of places, could rewrite history in the most remarkable ways. The price of altering time, it seemed, was sometimes paid in ears, but the dividends could be measured in peace.