The wind outside whispered as if it had secrets the night would not share.
Moonlight cut across the creaky old bedroom window, cutting the dark into pale ribbons. Elena remained motionless, eyes fluttering under her lids, trapped somewhere between sleep and something much older. Something else.
Downstairs, the mirror throbbed.
And then—
Everything slipped away.
She stood in a magnificent ballroom—not cracked and worn down like previously, but intact and vibrant. Velvet drapes surrounded high windows, spilling long shadows on the gleaming marble floor. Crystal chandeliers glimmered above, casting halos of light on the dancers below.
Sound wafted from unheard instruments—low, sweeping strings that awakened something deep in her bones.
She glanced down.
A red dress, silken as smoke, hugged her body. A ruby pendant at her neck. Her hands shook ever so slightly, not with fear—but with something else.
Anticipation.
"Elena."
The voice was from behind her.
She turned.
He was there.
No longer merely a whisper behind glass or a brief reflection—Julian stood before her in full form.
Dark hair slicked back, golden eyes outlined in shadow, his face carved with the sort of ageless perfection that belonged nowhere else but in fantasy. His black coat was perfectly cut to sweep the floor, silver trim blazing at the cuffs. He filled the room with his presence, yet his eyes were only on her.
"You returned," he stated softly.
"I don't recall ever going away," she said gruffly.
A soft smile pulled at his mouth. "No. Not yet."
He moved closer and extended his hand.
She didn't flinch.
They danced.
The ballroom around them dissolved into a dream world of candlelight and sound. Her body was in perfect sync with his, as if they'd danced together a thousand times. The music surrounded them, swelled around them.
Perhaps they had.
"How do I know you?" she asked.
"You'll remember," he whispered. "When the time is right."
Why me?" she repeated, eyes flashing into his.
Julian's face wavered, the gold in his eyes flashing like a candle about to gutter out.
"Because you loved me once," he whispered.
"And I… loved you more than fate intended."
"Until you broke your promise."
The music ceased.
The room went dark.
Elena stood still. "What promise?"
Julian's jaw hardened, pain dancing across his flawless face. "There is still a letter. Hidden. You wrote it before you died."
She stood rigid.
"Died?" she repeated.
He inched closer, his breath against her cheek.
"Find the letter, Elena. Before the mirror does."
A crack sounded like thunder.
The ballroom fractured. Light seeped through the cracks in the floor. Shadows looped around the edges of the dream.
And then—
Nothing.
Elena sat up with a start, heart pounding in her chest.
The room was quiet. The mirror did not move. But the dream lay against her skin like mist, too real, too vivid to be forgotten.
She lay still, catching her breath in her throat.
Something rustled against her face.
She glanced down.
A single, wilted red rose petal lay on her pillow.
The same type she had had in her hair in the dream
Elena sat motionless on the edge of her bed, the wilted rose petal still clutched in her shaking hand.
It wasn't a hallucination. Not a dream residue.
It was here. Present. Real.
Just like the pendant in her dream… just like Julian.
She cupped her palm around the petal, bringing it to the light. Its edges were bruised, cracked, but it held the merest scent—like old perfume, powdered over with something sweeter.
Her thoughts flashed back to his words.
"You wrote it before you died."
"Get the letter before the mirror does."
Her skin ran cold.
How did a mirror find something?
Was it metaphoric? A threat? Or something much more literal?
She looked towards it.
Quiet. Towering. Its frame shining coldly in the morning light.
But it felt… sentient.
She got up slowly, folding the rose petal in a tissue and placing it in her bedside drawer. Something compelled her to retain it. As if it was more important than she could yet comprehend.
In the downstairs rooms, the manor groaned and shifted, as though it also had listened to the dream. The house never actually slept—it merely pretended to.
She faced the mirror once more.
Julian was not present this time.
But something was different. The air was heavier. Her own image appeared. off, as though it were slightly behind.
Or waiting.
"I don't recall anything at all about a vow," she breathed at it. "Or a letter. Or you."
The silence grew.
Then her eyes darted to the painting over the mantel—her grandmother Eleanor, young and lovely, with a red pendant hanging just like the one that had appeared in the dream.
Had it always existed?
She stepped closer, heart pounding.
There was a plaque under the portrait. She hadn't seen it before. The engraved brass said:
"To remember what once was, one must first forget."
—J. B.
J. B.
Julian Blackthorne.
The initials were the same.
Elena stepped back, pulse racing.
"Why does your name keep finding me?" she whispered.
No response.
Only the creaking of wind against the windows… and the mirror's frame vibrating with secrets.
The attic had always been off-limits.
Elena remembered the way her grandmother used to change the subject whenever she asked about it as a child. "Just old things," she'd say. "Things better left untouched."
But now… nothing could stop her.
The stairs creaked beneath her weight as she ascended, flashlight in hand. Dust filled the air like ghostly breath, and the wooden beams above her head groaned as if they resented her intrusion.
The door protested but finally gave way.
Inside, silence swallowed her whole.
Stacks of boxes, trunks, and covered furniture created a maze of forgotten years. The smell of mothballs, aged paper, and worn fabric clung to everything. She moved carefully, brushing cobwebs aside, guided by instinct more than memory.
Halfway through the room, she spotted it.
A worn leather trunk with her grandmother's initials: E. H.Next to it, faintly scratched into the wood floor: J + E within a heart.
Her breath caught.
Who was Julian to Eleanor?
Her fingers hesitated over the latch—then opened it.
Inside lay photographs, some curled with age. Letters. A few heirlooms. She dug carefully, then paused as her fingertips brushed something smooth and cold.
A red pendant.
Exactly like the one from the dream.
She pulled it free, heart pounding.
Suddenly, a breeze rushed through the attic—though no windows were open. The boxes shifted. A stack of books fell behind her with a loud crash.
Elena spun around, flashlight darting.
No one.
But the air had changed.
Something was watching.
She turned back to the trunk—and saw it.
A letter, sealed in deep red wax with a strange sigil. Tucked beneath the pendant.Her name written in elegant cursive on the front:
To Elena Harper — When the veil begins to lift.
She reached for it—
And the mirror in her room cracked.
Downstairs, a long line fractured across its surface, spidering out like veins of silver.
And in the center, Julian's face appeared, expression unreadable… and waiting.