Rain tapped softly on the roof of Blackmoor Manor, each drop whispering secrets into the night.
Ava stood at the threshold of the old guestroom, staring at her reflection in the cracked mirror leaning against the corner.
But the mirror didn't reflect the room accurately.
Behind her shoulder stood a woman in a white gown—silent, unmoving. Yet when Ava turned around, the room was empty.
"Probably just a trick of the light," she whispered, trying to calm her racing heart.
But each night, the footsteps upstairs grew louder.
And when the clock struck 3:17 AM, the whisper returned:
"You are not the first... and you won't be the last."
That's when Ava began to wonder…
What really remains of those who came before?