Chapter 8: The Mark of the Forgotten
519 Words
That night, Evelyn could not sleep.
The mirror's crack had not repaired itself. When she returned to her room, she found her door locked behind her—though no one had touched it. The tray of food was gone. The roses remained.
She sat by the window, watching the moon shift in hue. First silver. Then a dull amber. Then red. Crimson bled into the sky like ink in water.
Something was coming.
---
She woke late the next morning. This time, the door was open. A woman in gray robes stood beside her bed.
“I’m Miriam,” the woman said softly. “The housekeeper.”
Evelyn blinked. “You’re the first person who’s spoken to me since I arrived.”
The woman’s face remained still. “That is because you are not meant to be here.”
Evelyn sat up. “Then why was I invited?”
“Because the manor has a memory. And so do you.”
---
Miriam led her through a different corridor today. One Evelyn hadn’t seen before. Its walls were lined with portraits—but their eyes were gouged out, every last one. Some had names scrawled beneath, most unreadable. But one name stood out:
Elira Thornhart.
She froze. “That’s my mother’s name.”
Miriam didn’t stop walking. “The Thornharts are older than this town, child. Older than you’ve been told.”
She rushed to the painting. The face was ruined. The name, however, was untouched.
She turned. “Was she here?”
Miriam nodded. “She was more than here. She was part of the pact.”
“What pact?”
“The one that kept the wolves from tearing this world apart.”
---
Later that day, Nathaniel summoned her.
This time, she wasn’t taken to the ballroom or the mirror. Instead, to a courtyard in bloom, though the air still smelled of winter.
He was there, sword in hand, practicing. Shirtless. The scars on his back spoke more than any conversation ever could.
She stood silently until he spoke.
“There are things I cannot tell you. Not yet.”
“Then why am I here?”
He looked at her. “Because your soul has remembered what your mind has not.”
He stepped closer, his voice low. “Tell me. Do you ever dream of fire?”
She blinked. “How do you know that?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he lifted her hand and turned it palm up.
A small mark, nearly invisible, had begun to glow.
She gasped.
“I didn’t—”
“It’s not new,” he said. “It’s old. As old as the vow your bloodline broke.”
She stepped back. “What are you saying?”
He looked to the sky. “That you are not who you think you are, Evelyn. And neither am I.”
The air shimmered.
And from the shadowed arches of the courtyard, glowing red eyes began to appear.
One. Then three. Then seven.
Nathaniel turned toward them.
“The Forgotten are awake,” he whispered. “And they remember everything.”
- Writer
