The walls had started whispering.
At first, Elira thought it was the wind. But wind didn't murmur names. It didn't say "Nina" over and over, in a voice too soft to be real yet too clear to ignore.
The whispers came at night. From behind her bed. From inside the cracks. From places no voice should live.
"Nina," they said. "Help her. Hear her."
Elira began to dream differently.
In one, she stood in the hallway. The Red Room glowed at the end, pulsing like a heartbeat. Children stood with their backs turned. In the dream, she was screaming—but no one turned around.
In another, she saw a girl.
Pale, with tangled hair and a cracked locket around her neck. The girl looked straight at her and mouthed one word: "Remember."
That morning, Elira woke up with dirt under her fingernails.
She hadn't left her bed.
She hadn't meant to.
But something was changing her.
The next night, the whispers grew bolder. They hissed in her ear as she tried to sleep. She pressed her hands against the wall—and it breathed beneath her fingers.
A cold breath. Like something exhaling from inside.
Then came the message.
Scrawled on the mirror above her sink, written in steam that hadn't come from her:
"Find her locket."
At midnight, Elira crept to the laundry room. The place was always empty after dark. She searched the piles of old clothing, broken lockers, forgotten shoes.
Until she found it.
A small, silver locket—cracked down the middle, but still warm in her hand.
As soon as she touched it, the lights flickered.
And Nina appeared.
Not fully.
Just her reflection.
Standing behind Elira in the mirror, eyes wide, mouth sewn shut with black thread.
Tears streamed down the ghost girl's face as she raised one trembling hand and pointed—
Toward the chapel.