The day after the chapel, everything felt wrong.
The children acted like they had forgotten the bodies, forgotten the chants. It was as if nothing had happened—like their minds had been wiped clean, each one staring into nothingness with vacant eyes.
But Elira couldn't forget.
That night, the walls whispered louder. They no longer just called her name. They screamed.
Sister Helena is coming for you.
Elira rushed to her bed, pulling the thin blanket over her head, but it was too late.
The door creaked open.
Sister Helena stood in the doorway, her silhouette dark and towering. Her hands, once soft, were now tight with purpose.
"Elira," she said, her voice like cold stone, "it's time you understand your place."
Before Elira could move, the room turned into a maze. The walls shifted, the hallways twisted, and the floors seemed to tilt.
Sister Helena followed.
The hunt had begun.
Elira ran through the endless corridor, her breath heavy in her chest, the sound of footsteps chasing her, echoing in every corner. The children she passed didn't move. They were statues, their eyes vacant, staring at nothing but the walls they had been carved into.
She turned a corner and nearly collided with a child who wasn't there before—a girl with dark hair, her face hidden behind tangled strands.
"Elira," the girl whispered. Her voice was a warning, but it was too late.
Sister Helena was already there, standing at the end of the hallway, watching, waiting.
Elira ran again, faster this time, her feet stumbling over the uneven floors. She could feel the walls closing in, pushing her into corners where shadows took shape, where whispers became growls.
The hunt was close.
At the end of the hallway, the Red Room door stood open, a crimson glow seeping through the cracks.
But Elira couldn't stop. She had to move. She had to escape.
And then, the world spun.
Everything turned black.