The days that followed felt like I was walking through a waking nightmare. Every shadow in the school halls seemed to stretch toward me, each whisper like a spider's web tightening around my chest. Lucas kept close, guiding me through the history I barely understood but felt burning inside me.
One evening, as the sky bled twilight, he handed me a brittle, blood-stained journal. "This belonged to the last queen," he said softly. "Her story is the key."
The pages spoke of battles between queens and darkness, but also of betrayal, sacrifice, and a crown forged not just of power—but of terrible curses. I read how the crown could grant dominion over shadows, but at a cost: the wearer's soul was slowly devoured, piece by piece.
Fear and fascination warred inside me. What kind of royalty deserves such a fate? And why was I next in line?
That night, the attic called again. The mirror's cracked surface pulsed with faint light, and the shadow queen returned—not to threaten, but to warn.
"You must find the crown before they do," she said. "There are those who crave its power to shatter worlds, not rule them. You cannot let the darkness win."
Suddenly, the attic door slammed, plunging me into darkness, and I heard a whisper that wasn't my own: *"The hunt begins. The true queen rises."*
I gripped the pendant tighter, feeling a surge of strength and dread. The line between hunter and hunted was blurring—and I had no choice but to run headlong into the storm