The salt-kissed air stank of brine and decay as Elara pressed her palms against the rusted gate, its chains groaning like wounded beasts. The lighthouse loomed ahead, its skeletal silhouette etched against the bruised sky. She’d heard the stories—how the…
Mara’s boots crunched over frost-bitten gravel as she approached the iron gates of Blackvale Orphanage, the morning air sharp with the scent of pine and decay. The structure loomed ahead, its gothic spires clawing at a bruised sky, windows like…
The first time Lila saw the shadow, it was clinging to the wall of her bedroom, writhing like oil in water. She’d been ten, her mother’s voice echoing from the kitchen—*Don’t stare at the wall, Lila. It’s just the light.*…