The Hollow's Heart
Clara clawed at the roots pinning her to the chamber floor, Evelyn's laughter echoing through the mirrored walls. The air reeked of damp soil and decay, the reflections showing not Clara's face, but Evelyn's—young, smug, alive.
"You think you're the first to wear the crown?" Evelyn sneered, her lace collar pristine despite the rot. "The Carters stole it, but it was mine. My pain. My power."
Threads burst from Clara's hands, lashing at the mirrors. Glass shattered, but Evelyn's image multiplied. "You're just a vessel. A hollow girl carrying my curse."
Clara's vision blurred—a memory not her own:
*Evelyn, 14, whispering to the oak's roots. "Take the Carters. Take them all."
*The mill burning, children screaming.
Evelyn's smile as the first Carter heir drowned in the river.
Clara gagged. "You wanted this."
Evelyn's ghost leaned close, her breath icy. "I invented this. Now finish it. Let the rot consume you… or fight me and die screaming."
The Blood Oath
Aboveground, Liam tightened the tourniquet around Aisling's arm, her blood dripping into a rusted bowl. The oak's roots twitched hungrily beneath them.
"This is insane," he muttered.
Aisling smirked, her thorn-split eyes gleaming. "Insane's all we've got." She tossed a dagger into the bowl. The blood hissed, etching symbols into the blade. "Harlow blood breaks Harlow curses. But it'll cost you."
Liam eyed the dagger. "How much?"
"Your turn to bleed."
The roots surged. Liam slashed his palm, his blood mingling with hers. The oak shrieked.
The Rot's Retaliation
The cemetery erupted. Gravestones cracked, skeletal hands clawing free. Townsfolk—or what remained of them—lurched forward, their throats bloated with lilac thorns.
Aisling spun, dagger flashing. "Distract them. I'll reach the heart."
Liam grabbed a shovel, swinging at a lunging figure. Mrs. Harlow's jaw unhinged, thorns snapping toward his throat. He ducked, driving the shovel into her ribs. She collapsed, twitching, as black petals spewed from her mouth.
"Go!" he roared.
Aisling vanished into the roots' labyrinth.
Evelyn's Gambit
Underground, Clara writhed as Evelyn's threads burrowed deeper. "You're weak. Just like your brother."
"Don't… talk about him," Clara snarled.
Evelyn's grin widened. "Why? Because he's dying?"
The chamber's walls shimmered, revealing Liam aboveground—bloodied, cornered by thorns.
"No!" Clara thrashed, the crown's roots tearing her skin. "Let him go!"
"Beg," Evelyn whispered. "And I'll make it quick."
Clara's threads lashed, not at Evelyn, but at the roots binding her. "I don't beg."
The Pact's Price
Aisling found the oak's core—a pulsing, blackened heart veined with silver. She raised the dagger.
"Wait!"
Liam stumbled in, arm bleeding, face streaked with dirt. "If you destroy it, Clara dies."
Aisling rolled her eyes. "That's the point."
"There's another way." He gripped her wrist. "Use me. My blood, my life—trade it for hers."
Aisling's smirk faded. "You'd die for a monster?"
"She's my sister."
The heart shuddered. Aisling pressed the dagger to his chest. "Say goodbye, Carter."
The Unlikely Sacrifice
Clara felt the roots weaken. Liam—
Evelyn's ghost wailed. "No! The pact is mine!"
Clara tore free, threads shredding Evelyn's form. "You don't own anything."
Aboveground, Aisling plunged the dagger—not into Liam, but the heart.
"Harlows don't play fair," she hissed.
The oak exploded.
The Aftermath
Clara awoke in the cemetery, Liam's arms around her. The oak was ash. The townsfolk, lifeless.
Aisling stood over them, dagger dripping. "The rot's dormant. For now."
Clara touched her crown—cracked, but intact. "Why save me?"
Aisling's smile was all thorns. "Dead queens can't suffer."