Evelyn didn't leave her room for hours.
The house no longer felt like a home or even a prison. It felt like a presence. Something that breathed through the walls and tasted her every breath.
She couldn't stop thinking about the vision in the mirror. The blood. Elias's face—half agony, half hunger.
He said he had loved Lenore.
Then why had he killed her?
By late afternoon, the sky turned gunmetal gray. Rain lashed the windows, and thunder cracked through the air like the sky had been torn open.
Evelyn wandered the halls with a candle and no destination.
She passed the door to the north wing—a part of the house she had never dared enter.
It had always been locked.
Until now.
The door creaked open, as if inviting her.
She stepped inside.
Dust coated every surface. Cobwebs thick as gauze. The smell of old perfume and forgotten secrets.
At the end of the corridor stood a room unlike the others.
A bedroom.
And Evelyn knew it before she opened the door.
Lenore's.
The scent was stronger here. Roses and something rotted.
The wallpaper had peeled in claw-like patterns.
And on the vanity—an old brush, still threaded with dark red hair.
She reached for it, but froze.
The mirror above the vanity had a crack down the center, and in the reflection…
Lenore sat on the bed.
Wearing Evelyn's face.
Evelyn staggered back.
The bed was empty.
But when she looked again—into the mirror—Lenore was there. Calm. Patient. Dressed in a wedding gown stitched with ash-gray lace.
"You think he's your story," Lenore whispered.
"But you're only a chapter."
Later that night, Elias came to her.
She let him in, but said nothing. She just looked at him—looked through him.
Finally, she spoke.
"Tell me what really happened to her."
He sat down slowly. "You've seen it."
"I've seen pieces. I want the truth."
His jaw tightened.
"She wasn't always like that," he said quietly. "At first, Lenore was light. Joy. The kind of woman who made everything bloom."
"What changed?"
He stared into the fire.
"The house wanted her too."
Evelyn frowned. "You always say that. Like the house is something separate. But it's not, is it?"
"No."
He turned to her.
"It's me. And it's her. And it's you."
She shivered.
"She became part of it. After I… after she died, the house absorbed her. She lives in its bones now. In its mirrors. In its music."
"Did she want that?"
"No," he whispered. "But by the time I realized what was happening, it was too late. I thought killing her would set her free."
Evelyn's heart turned to ice.
"You killed her out of mercy?"
"I thought it was mercy. Now… I think it was cowardice."
Silence.
Then Evelyn whispered:
"She still loves you."
Elias flinched.
"She also wants to destroy you."
"I know."
He stood. Approached her slowly.
"And if I lose you the same way, Evelyn… I won't survive it."
She let him touch her cheek.
His fingers were warm. Real. Human.
And yet—
She could feel Lenore in him.
Inside his skin. Watching her through his eyes.
That night, Evelyn stood in the bathroom staring into the cracked mirror.
She touched her lips.
Red.
Her mouth was bleeding again.
Except this time—
It wasn't hers.
The blood ran backward—into the mirror.
Where Lenore was waiting, mouth open, lips glistening.
She kissed the glass.
So did Evelyn.
They whispered in unison:
"He doesn't belong to you."
"He never did."
[End of Chapter 9]