Chapter Three: The Journal That Writes Itself
Lian froze in place, the candle trembling in her hand.
That voice… it wasn't entirely unfamiliar.
It carried a tone she recognized — as if she'd heard it before, maybe in a dream… or in one of the old recordings she found in the house.
She took slow, hesitant steps back toward the table where she had left the journal.
But the pages weren't as she had left them.
They were turning on their own, and the broken quill beside them was moving — as though an invisible hand was writing with it.
On the blank page, new words began to appear before her eyes:
> "Don't be afraid, Lian. I am you… after everything ended."
Her heartbeat quickened until she could hear it pounding in her ears.
She slammed the journal shut — but the letters began to crawl across the inside of the cover, forming in distorted handwriting:
> "The mirror is not what you think."
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the basement.
The candle fell, and the room was swallowed by darkness.
In the pitch black, she felt a cold hand grip her wrist.
She tried to scream… but no sound came out.
Then the same voice whispered again, closer this time — right behind her ear:
> "It's time to remember, Lian… where you came from."