Rhea stared at the ceiling fan spinning slowly above her bed. The hum of its blades was steady, almost comforting. Yet her chest felt tight, like something unseen sat on it, watching. She'd barely slept since that night. Since she'd rejected the mansion. Since it vanished before her eyes like a dying shadow.
But the nightmare hadn't ended. Not really. She knew that now.
Therapy. That was Aarav's suggestion. He was right, of course. Whatever this was—curse or not—was eating her from the inside. So, she went. She walked into a sterile office with white walls and a clock that ticked too loudly. And met Dr. Sanaya Verma.
Dr. Verma had warm brown eyes and didn't look surprised when Rhea mentioned DaMira Mansion. She didn't interrupt. Just listened. When Rhea finished talking, the room went silent. Finally, the doctor handed her a notebook.
"I want you to write what's real and what you think isn't. Every day. Morning and night. It'll help us track what's in your control," she said.
That night, Rhea opened the journal.
Day 1: Morning
Real: I had tea. Talked to Aarav. Went to therapy.
Not sure: The mirror in the hallway looks wrong. My reflection blinked before I did.
She laughed it off. Just stress. Trauma. Maybe even lack of sleep.
But the reflection kept acting strange. At first, it was small things. Its smile was slower. Its blink was mistimed. But then, one evening, it walked away. Rhea stood frozen, yet in the glass, she watched herself turn around and walk toward the other side of the room. It disappeared offscreen.
Her breath caught in her throat.
"Stop," she whispered.
The mirror version of her reappeared, standing still now. Then, it smiled—and mouthed something. Rhea leaned in. Her heart thudded. The words were clear.
"You buried her… but she's not done."
She screamed. Aarav burst into the room seconds later.
"What?! What is it?" he asked, grabbing her shoulders.
She pointed to the mirror, panting. "It—it spoke. It moved! It said something—about the woman. About Marissa."
But the mirror showed only their reflections now. Still. Normal.
Aarav didn't argue. He didn't laugh. He just nodded. Later that night, he left without a word, driving toward the mansion's former site.
---
The land where DaMira Mansion once stood was cold, even in the summer heat. A blackened patch of soil marked where it had burned. All around it, nature was slowly reclaiming the space.
But something shimmered in the moonlight.
Aarav stepped carefully, then stopped. There, standing upright in the ashes, was a mirror. Its glass was untouched. Its frame, ornate and carved with strange vine-like symbols, looked almost… wet.
He touched it—and a cold pulse ran up his arm.
Aarav didn't tell Rhea about the mirror. Not yet. He loaded it into the trunk of his car, covered it, and drove home.
The next day, Rhea sat in her room, staring at her hallway mirror. She was afraid to approach it. Her journal lay beside her.
Day 3: Night
Real: Ate lunch. Aarav hasn't said much.
Not sure: New journal pages appeared. I didn't write them.
She opened to the next page. There, in unfamiliar handwriting:
"She's watching you. Not just from mirrors. From the cracks. From the whispers."
She dropped the book and backed away.
"Dr. Verma said it's just trauma," she whispered. "It's not real. It's not real."
But how do you explain handwriting that isn't yours?
---
Aarav, meanwhile, studied the mirror in his garage. Beneath its frame, he found a hidden slot. Inside, an aged, folded police report:
Missing Person Report – 1971 Name: Clara Wynn Last Seen: DaMira Mansion Grounds
He frowned. Clara? There was no mention of her in the diaries. No trace in Marissa's story. He scanned further.
"Believed to be connected to a family dispute involving Nathaniel and Gregory Mira. Report closed due to lack of evidence."
His stomach turned. Clara Wynn. Erased. Forgotten. But why?
He reached for his phone to call Rhea, then hesitated.
---
That night, Rhea dreamed again.
She was standing in a foggy corridor of glass, with mirrors lining the walls. On the other side of each one, women stared back—some screaming, others silent, and one… one stood calm. Pale. Eyes hollow.
She mouthed a name: "Clara."
Rhea turned, saw her reflection—but it was Clara now. Smiling. Holding a shard of broken glass.
She woke with a gasp, drenched in sweat.
The hallway mirror was fogged. Someone—or something—had written on it:
She wasn't the only one they buried.
Her hands shook. She called Aarav.
"I need to see you," she said. "There's more to this. More than Marissa."
He hesitated. Then replied, "I know. I found someone. A woman. Her name's Clara."
Silence held the line. Then Rhea whispered, "She came to me in a dream."
Outside, the wind howled. And somewhere, behind a wall of glass, a forgotten soul waited to be seen again.
To be continued....