As Ezra rested, Chizzy was drawn again to the mirror in the hidden cellar. This time, she went alone.
The moment she stepped inside, the air chilled. Her breath fogged.
Her reflection didn't greet her. Instead, the mirror showed a version of the house long ago new, polished, filled with candlelight.
She saw her mother there. Young. Afraid.
Then the image shifted to the woods, the fog, and a tall shadow moving among the trees. His face was always blurred.
A voice echoed from within the glass.
"You are the vessel. Her blood is your blood. Finish what she began."
Chizzy touched the mirror, and it hissed beneath her palm. Smoke curled around her fingers, drawing a single word on the surface:
Choose.
She stepped back, breath shallow.
Was it a threat or a promise?