Ilda still shivered beneath the thick blanket. The shadow in the mirror haunted her thoughts, refusing to fade. She tried convincing herself it was nothing more than a fever dream, but her heart would not calm.
At school, her best friend noticed immediately.
"You look pale, Ilda. Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine," she forced a smile. "Just didn't sleep enough."
But during class, a whisper brushed against her ears—one no one else seemed to hear.
Soft, sorrowful, and unbearably clear:
"Do you remember… our blood, our bond?"
Ilda gasped, clutching her arm where the strange mark pulsed like another person's heartbeat.
After school, she went to the old charm shop she remembered from childhood. The elderly woman who owned it peered at her, then at the mark on her arm.
"What does this mean?" Ilda asked, lifting her sleeve.
The woman's eyes widened in shock. Slowly, she closed the shop door and whispered:
"You… child, you are the chosen one. That mark is not your own—it is a bond carried over… from your past life."