Chapter Two: Echoes of the Past
Aileen sat cross-legged on the dusty floor of the locked room, the journal open before her like an illicit treasure. The flickering light of her lantern cast erratic shadows on the walls, and the mirror in the corner seemed to shimmer faintly, as though waiting for somethingโor someone.
Her fingers trembled as she turned the pages. Each entry was dated, but the handwriting varied, suggesting that the journal had passed through multiple hands. It wasnโt just a diaryโit was a ledger of the houseโs strange and sorrowful history.
“February 14, 1925.
He warned me that love in this house is never simple. The manor has its own will, its own desires. But how can a house desire anything? Itโs just stone and wood, isnโt it?
And yet, I feel it watching me. It knows my heart better than I do.”
The name signed below the entry was Eleanor Rothschild. Aileenโs breath hitched. Rothschild. The name carried weight in Everspringโs history. The Rothschilds had been the original owners of Solace Manor, their wealth and influence unmatched. Yet their legacy was marred by whispers of betrayal, loss, and disappearances.
Aileen traced the faded ink, her mind racing. Could the woman in the mirror be Eleanor? And if so, what had happened to her?
As though answering her thoughts, the mirror rippled again. She looked up, her pulse quickening. The surface smoothed, and once more, the womanโs face appearedโEleanor, as Aileen now suspected. Her features were delicate, framed by dark curls, and her eyes brimmed with unshed tears.
Aileen rose cautiously, clutching the journal as she approached the mirror. โWho are you?โ she whispered.
The figure in the mirror didnโt speak, but her expression grew more desperate. She raised a hand and placed it against the glass. Instinctively, Aileen did the same, her fingers brushing the cold, smooth surface. A jolt of energy surged through her, and for a moment, the room around her vanished.
Aileen found herself standing in the manor, but it wasnโt the decayed shell she knew. The walls were vibrant with fresh paint, the chandelier above her glittered like a constellation, and laughter echoed from unseen rooms.
She turned in awe, her heart pounding. This was the house as it had been in its prime. Servants bustled through the halls, their faces unfamiliar yet strangely comforting. Music drifted from the ballroom, a hauntingly beautiful melody played on a grand piano.
Aileen followed the sound, drawn like a moth to a flame. In the ballroom, she saw herโthe woman from the mirror. Eleanor sat at the piano, her fingers dancing over the keys, her expression a mix of sorrow and determination.
Before Aileen could approach, a man entered the room. He was tall and striking, with dark hair and an air of authority. Eleanor looked up at him, her hands faltering on the keys.
โDamien,โ she said, her voice trembling.
โYou shouldnโt be here,โ he replied, his tone sharp. โYou know what this house demands.โ
Eleanor rose, defiant. โI wonโt let it take him. Heโs my son, Damien. Ours.โ
Aileenโs breath caught. A son? The conversation continued, but the words grew faint, drowned out by the sound of the wind howling through the room. The scene began to blur, and before she could process what she had heard, she was pulled back into the present.
Aileen gasped as she stumbled back, the journal slipping from her grasp. She was back in the locked room, the mirror still shimmering faintly. Her reflection stared back at her, but it felt like somethingโor someoneโelse was looking through her.
The journal lay open on the floor, its pages fluttering as though turned by an invisible hand. It stopped on an entry dated several months after the last.
“May 10, 1925.
I can no longer fight it. The house has claimed him, just as it claimed the others. Damien was rightโwe were foolish to believe we could outwit it. But I will not surrender. If there is a way to break this curse, I will find it, even if it costs me everything.”
The air in the room grew colder, and the lantern flickered violently. Aileen felt a presence behind her, and every instinct screamed at her to run. But she didnโt. Instead, she turned slowly, her heart hammering in her chest.
No one was there, but the door to the room was now wide open.
Aileen swallowed hard and stepped into the hallway. The house felt alive in a way it hadnโt before, as though it were aware of her presence. She clutched the journal tightly as she descended the stairs, determined to uncover more.
In the library, she found what she was looking forโa collection of ledgers and personal letters, all covered in a thick layer of dust. She began sorting through them, piecing together fragments of the Rothschild familyโs history.
The more she read, the more she realized the curse Eleanor had written about wasnโt just a metaphor. It was tied to the manor itself, its origins shrouded in mystery. There were references to a Rite of Union, a ritual conducted by the original owners to bind their fates to the house in exchange for power and wealth. But the ledger also hinted at a terrible priceโa bloodline cursed to suffer loss and betrayal for generations.
Aileenโs blood ran cold. If what she suspected was true, the curse didnโt end with the Rothschilds. Her grandmotherโs insistence that she was the only one who could uncover the houseโs truth now seemed less like a request and more like a responsibility she couldnโt escape.
As she sat back, exhausted but resolute, the lantern flickered again. The mirror in the corner of the library caught her eye, its surface rippling once more.
This time, she didnโt hesitate. She rose and approached it, ready to face whatever truth awaited her on the other side.
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