WHISPERS OF THE OBSIDIAN MIRROR

Chapter 1: The Inheritance** of *Whispers of the Obsidian Mirror*

### **Chapter 1: The Inheritance**

The road to Morrow's End wound like a serpent through the forest, each twist and turn flanked by thick trees that seemed to whisper secrets between their branches. The further Kira Langley drove, the more her cell signal faded, until even the familiar hum of digital life disappeared into static silence. The car's tires crunched over gravel as the estate came into view-a towering Victorian mansion cloaked in ivy and shadow, standing as if it had been exiled from time.

Kira parked just outside the rusted iron gates. A raven perched atop the stone arch, eyeing her like a sentinel. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. "Just a house," she murmured, though her stomach disagreed.

The air here felt heavier, laced with the scent of moss, old wood, and something else-damp, metallic. She grabbed her backpack, slung it over one shoulder, and approached the gate. It let out a groan of protest as it swung open with surprising ease, as if it had been waiting.

Her grandmother, Evelyn Langley, had died just two weeks ago-alone, in this very house. The lawyers hadn't explained much, only that Evelyn left everything to her "sole remaining bloodline." That was Kira. Her mother, Evelyn's only daughter, had passed when Kira was ten. She hadn't seen her grandmother since.

The front door loomed ahead, paint peeling, brass knocker tarnished but still shaped like a roaring lion. Kira hesitated, then pressed the key into the lock. It turned with a reluctant *click*, and the door creaked open.

Inside, the air was musty, thick with the scent of aged paper and something faintly floral-lavender, maybe. Dust danced in shafts of light that filtered through stained glass windows. The grand foyer yawned before her, a sweeping staircase splitting the space with regal disdain. Portraits lined the walls-stern-faced ancestors staring down from gilded frames. One of them was Evelyn, much younger, in a long black gown. Her painted eyes followed Kira as she moved.

Her footsteps echoed off the hardwood as she wandered into the parlor. The room had the kind of beauty found in forgotten places: a dusty grand piano, lace curtains yellowed with age, a fireplace choked with ashes long gone cold.

On the mantel sat a photograph in a silver frame-Evelyn holding a baby. Kira. She touched the glass with her fingers, tracing the image as memories stirred. Her grandmother had once held her close, sang her lullabies. But those days had faded into stories of silence and distance.

A knock startled her.

She turned. No one was there.

Then she noticed it-the air had shifted. Cooler. Heavier. She followed the sensation up the staircase, her hand grazing the banister, which was smoother than expected. Halfway up, her foot caught on a creaky step. She paused. Something was different about this place-not haunted, exactly, but *expectant*.

She explored the second floor: bedrooms sealed in dust, wardrobes filled with moth-eaten dresses, bookshelves packed with volumes on folklore, history, and... occult rituals?

In one room, she found a chest sealed with a lock. The initials "E.L." were carved into the lid. A small, brass key on a nearby dresser matched the lock. Inside were letters-dozens of them-tied in twine and addressed to someone named Elias Vane. Most were unopened, unsent. The writing was her grandmother's. Kira took a few, tucking them into her bag for later.

By late afternoon, the sun had dipped behind the trees, casting long shadows across the walls. She made her way to the attic, drawn by a strange pull in her chest. The door groaned open to reveal dust-thick air and old trunks. As she stepped inside, the floor creaked ominously.

Her eyes caught something unusual-a patch of wall behind a bookshelf that didn't match the rest. The seams were too clean. She pressed her fingers along the edges until something clicked. The bookshelf slid an inch. Heart racing, she shoved it aside to reveal a narrow wooden door.

No handle. Just a round, obsidian stone in the center, polished like glass.

She hesitated-then touched it.

The door clicked open on its own.

Inside was a small room, windowless, lined with dark velvet curtains. At the center stood a towering mirror, its frame wrought from dark wood twisted into almost serpentine shapes. But the glass... the glass was black. Not like tinted windows. Like stone.

It didn't reflect her. Not exactly. Her outline shimmered there, but not her face. Not her expression. Just a shadowy echo.

Kira stepped closer.

The air was freezing now, her breath visible. The silence pressed in from all sides.

Then, something moved in the glass.

She jumped back, heart hammering. Her reflection-or something that looked like her-tilted its head, just slightly, and smiled.

But Kira hadn't.

She stumbled out of the room, slammed the door shut, and shoved the shelf back into place.

The attic felt colder now. Watching.