The house was never haunted… but she was."
The roses in the east garden died the same day her aunt did.
They were white that morning—soft, blooming, alive. By evening, they lay curled and blackened on their stems, as if scorched by a fire no one saw. The gardeners said it was the weather. Selene knew better.
The mansion had never been a home. It was stone and silence. A place where love was a whisper and grief remained law. Her parents had died years ago—cold, distant deaths that left no warmth behind. Her uncle took over the estate, but not her heart. He was always away, somewhere important, doing things that had nothing to do with her. She saw him in letters, not in life.
Only her aunt had tried. A soft-voiced woman with kind hands and eyes that saw too much. She'd brush Selene's hair by the fireside and hum songs no one else remembered. Songs that made the shadows softer.
Now she, too, was gone.
And Selene stood alone at the edge of the east garden, where the roses had turned to ash, holding a silver locket in her palm.
It was the only thing her aunt left behind.
A delicate oval locket—silver and worn, always cold to the touch, as if it remembered sorrow. Inside, resting against dark velvet, was a single black feather—smooth, too perfect, like it had never belonged to anything of this world.
But beneath the feather, carved directly into the silver lining, was a rune.
A sharp, curved symbol that looked like a crescent twisted into a flame—both rising and breaking.
She had never seen anything like it. It glowed faintly when her fingers brushed it, as if responding to her touch.
Lady Anne had once told her runes were ancient markings, used by spellbound lovers in a time when magic still obeyed the heart.
"This one," she'd whispered once before her voice faded with age, "is the rune of fated ruin. It appears only to those whose souls are bound by destruction… or by love so powerful it turns dangerous."
Selene didn't know what that meant.
But the locket always felt heavier when she wore it.
As if someone, somewhere, was carrying the weight of the same symbol.
Lady Anne stepped forward then, handing her a folded piece of parchment tied with black silk.
Selene untied the ribbon, unfolding the brittle letter inside. The ink was faded, but the words—her aunt's last message—pierced through the silence:
My dearest Selene,
If you are reading this… then I am gone. And my heart grieves, even as it lets go.
There are truths I should have told you, but the world is not kind to those born with certain marks. You must understand—your life is not ordinary. You are not ordinary. And neither is the pain you carry.
The locket I left for you is older than you can imagine. It does not belong to me. It never did. I only held it… until it could return to you.
Inside, you'll find a rune—it will look unfamiliar, but I fear it will feel too familiar. It is the rune of fated ruin. A symbol that appears only when two souls are bound not by choice, but by prophecy. Destruction. Or a love so fierce it turns to fire.
This rune means your path is tied to another's.
Whether that will save you… or destroy you… I do not know.
But I have seen you dream of shadows, even as a child. I have heard you speak in names not yet spoken.
You are remembering. And you are awakening.
When you find him—the one who bears the same rune—you will understand.
Until then, trust no one easily.
But love—when it comes—do not run from it.
I will be watching, little one. Even from the other side.
With all my love,
—E.
The wind curled around Selene's ankles, whispering secrets. Lady Anne's eyes were sad but steady as she spoke:
"Your uncle sent word. You are to leave the mansion… to move away, to the city. For your safety. And for your fate."
Selene closed the letter, clutched the locket tight, and took her first step away from the house where everyone she loved had died.
She didn't look back.
If she had, maybe she would've seen the shadow standing in the third-floor window. Watching her leave. Smiling.