Ashmoor was a town that clung to secrets like ivy to stone. Its fog-laced mornings whispered of forgotten tales, and its nights held a silence that pressed against the windows of its aging houses. Eira Vale hadn't set foot in Ashmoor for over a decade, but the letter changed everything.
The envelope was unassuming—no return address, the paper slightly yellowed, bearing only her name in a handwriting she hadn't seen since childhood. Inside, a single sentence:
*"The pact still binds us. Come before the veil thins."*
The words pulled at memories she'd buried deep—of whispered games in the woods, of a circle drawn in chalk, of promises made under a blood moon. She had spent years convincing herself those memories were mere childhood fantasies, distorted by time and trauma. But the letter's arrival shattered that illusion.
Eira packed a small bag, leaving behind her meticulously organized apartment and the life she'd built in the city. As the train carried her closer to Ashmoor, the landscape grew wilder, the trees denser, as if nature itself was reclaiming the land. The town emerged from the mist like a specter, unchanged yet unfamiliar.
Stepping onto the platform, she was greeted by the scent of damp earth and the distant tolling of the old church bell. The streets were quiet, the houses standing like sentinels of the past. She made her way to the Vale family home, a Victorian structure that had weathered time with stoic grace. The door creaked open, revealing dust-covered furniture and memories lurking in every corner.
In the attic, she found a box labeled "Summer 2005." Inside were photographs of five children—herself, Soren, Lark, Tobias, and Calla—smiling with the innocence of youth. Beneath the photos lay a worn journal, its pages filled with childish handwriting detailing their adventures and the formation of their secret pact.
As night fell, Eira sat by the window, the journal in her lap, the letter on the table beside her. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it echoes of the past. She knew that returning to Ashmoor meant confronting the shadows she'd long avoided. But the pact was calling, and the veil was thinning.
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