Riya descended the ancient, slime-covered steps, her flashlight cutting a narrow beam through the oppressive darkness. The stairwell led to a forgotten, circular chamber. In the center, a stone altar was carved with the exact image of the weeping eye.
Above the altar hung an old, tarnished mirror. When Riya looked into it, she didn't see herself. She saw a village, hundreds of years ago. It was the same village from her birthday dream. A woman, whose face she now recognized as the one in her reflection, was being dragged toward the very forest she was in.
The woman was screaming, clutching her neck. The amulet! It had belonged to her. Riya saw the villagers bury the woman alive at the foot of the black, thorny tree. As the earth covered her, the woman's eyes turned crimson, the same color as the stone.
Riya understood the amulet's curse. It was fueled by the rage of a wronged soul. Clink. Clink. Clink. The silver anklet Ananya had found—that sound was gone. Now, it was just the heavy thumping of the earth. Riya gasped as a pale, mud-stained hand reached out from the mirror, trying to grab her.