A soft lullaby echoed in the air, hauntingly familiar.
Ava blinked awake, her lashes sticky with tears. The scent of lavender and old wood wrapped around her like a blanket from another life.
She sat up.
Her small hands gripped a stuffed rabbit.
She was six again.
The Childhood That Wasn't
Sunlight spilled across pale pink walls. Dolls sat neatly on shelves. A family photo stood on her nightstand—her father, smiling. Her mother, arms around her.
But it wasn't her.
It wasn't real.
Yet when Ava touched the photo, her heart twisted. "Why… does this feel right?"
Her mind swam. She saw flickers—a man with dark hair whispering her name, fire dancing on her palms, a girl crying out—
Lily.
The thought punched her like a fist. "Lily!"
She stumbled out of bed. Her legs were smaller. Her body too light. Her hair tangled in ribbons she didn't remember tying.
The House of Echoes
Ava pushed the door open.
The hallway stretched endlessly. Shadows pulsed on the walls. Picture frames shifted when she wasn't looking—changing faces, warping smiles.
A voice called out gently, "Sweetheart, breakfast is ready!"
It was her mother's voice.
But not the real one.
Ava moved toward the stairs. Every step echoed louder than the last, like someone—or something—was matching her pace from the shadows.
She reached the kitchen.
Her mother—the Ember Witch wearing a younger face—turned from the stove, apron dusted in flour, humming softly.
"There's my girl."
Ava stood frozen.
Her throat burned. "Where's Lily?"
The woman's smile faltered. "Who's Lily?"
The Stranger in the Window
A knock rattled the front door.
Her "mother" glanced up. "Stay here. I'll see who it is."
Ava pressed her back to the wall as the woman walked down the hallway.
Then—a voice whispered in her ear, from nowhere.
"This is not your home. You don't belong here."
She spun.
Nothing.
But outside the kitchen window—a flash of movement.
A man stood in the snow-drenched yard.
His coat torn, hair windswept, eyes wild with desperation.
Damian.
Ava gasped.
He raised his hand—pressed it to the glass.
But her hand… couldn't move.
Like invisible threads were sewn through her veins, holding her still.
The Split
The front door opened. The Ember Witch stepped out to greet him.
From the kitchen window, Ava saw it unfold in warped silence.
Damian shouted something.
The Ember Witch tilted her head—smiling.
And then—she touched his chest.
His knees buckled.
Ava screamed.
But in the house, no sound left her lips.
She watched Damian fall—dead-eyed into the snow.
The Mirror Speaks
Ava turned, shaking, and ran into the bathroom.
Her reflection didn't follow her.
It stared back, with rage in its eyes.
It moved before she did—raised its hand and touched the glass.
"You're not a child," it said. "You're a flame. Burn it all down."
Ava touched the mirror.
And flames erupted in her hand.
The fire was still inside her.
She remembered everything.
The house trembled.
The Ember Witch's voice called from below.
"Time for your nap, Ava."
But Ava was no longer playing her game.
She turned to the mirror, her voice steady and wild.
"I'm coming for my daughter."
A crack ran through the mirror.
And in its reflection—
Lily stood behind her. Eyes black. Smiling.