NOVEL ONLINE FREE Chapter 8: Chapter 8: The Room She Forgot
Talia didn't walk. She glided.
Elara stood frozen as the girl who looked just like her—only colder, more hollow—stepped fully through the mirror. There was no sound, no shimmer, no magical spark. Just that terrifying silence and a slight ripple, like glass turning to water.
Talia's eyes were darker than Elara's, with shadows swirling inside them. She wore the same nightgown Elara had worn on her first night at Hollowmoor, but it looked older—stained with something brown at the hem. Her smile didn't reach her eyes.
"You forgot me," she whispered.
"I didn't," Elara said, backing toward the door.
Talia tilted her head. "Then why are you in my place?"
"This isn't your place. I—" Elara's voice broke. "I didn't know."
Talia stepped closer. "I burned for this room. I bled for this life. You just woke up in it, didn't you?"
Elara gripped the notebook tighter in her hand. "You were part of me. I didn't steal anything."
Talia's face twitched. "No. You're the copy. The puppet they built to cover up what they did to me."
Elara turned and ran.
The hallway outside was darker than before. The walls leaned inward, like they were breathing. Paintings she'd passed earlier were now slashed beyond recognition. A trail of ash followed her footsteps.
She didn't stop until she was back at her dorm.
She slammed the door shut and shoved a chair under the handle.
The mirror was still covered. Still.
But the Grimoire was open again.
The page was filled with one phrase, written over and over in red:
"She remembers."
"She remembers."
"She remembers."
Elara flipped the page.
More writing appeared.
"You must reclaim what was taken."
"Or she will."
"Only one of you survives the Trial of the Forgotten."
A cold wind blew through the room, though the windows were closed.
The Grimoire flipped again.
This time, a list appeared.
1. The Mirror
2. The Room
3. The Memory
4. The Fire
Elara touched the first line.
It vanished.
A knock echoed behind her.
Three soft knocks.
From inside the mirror.
She didn't turn around. Not yet.
Lira met her outside the Chapel that evening.
"You look like you saw your own ghost," she said casually.
"I did," Elara whispered.
Lira didn't even flinch. "Talia's awake, then."
"You know her?"
"She was a top student. Brilliant. Obsessive. The kind Hollowmoor notices. Until she asked the wrong question."
"What happened to her?"
Lira exhaled slowly. "She vanished. No body. No trace. No one talked about it. That's when they started the Mirror Ban."
Elara blinked. "Mirror Ban?"
"No mirrors allowed in dormitories. Didn't you wonder why all the rooms had them covered?"
"I thought it was tradition."
Lira smirked. "Everything in Hollowmoor is tradition. Especially the dangerous things."
They sat in the back pews, out of sight.
Elara pulled out the notebook again.
"Talia wrote this," she said. "She said she's still here."
"She is," Lira said. "But she's not human anymore. Mirrors preserve things, Elara. That version of her is frozen in the moment she was erased. All rage. No mercy."
"She wants her life back."
"She'll take more than that."
Elara returned to the red door.
The room inside hadn't changed.
The air was colder now, though. The bed was made. The mirror was no longer cracked.
And on the desk, another notebook.
Not the one Elara had taken.
This one had her name on it, too.
But the writing inside was foreign.
Sharp letters. Angry lines. Drawings of fire, mirrors, and twisted faces.
She flipped to the last page.
"They said I asked too many questions. That I looked too deep. But Hollowmoor owes me answers."
"If I can't have my life back, then no one can."
Elara closed the book and looked up at the mirror.
Talia was inside it again.
Not moving.
Just staring.
A tear rolled down her cheek.
The first human expression Elara had seen on her.
"I didn't want this," Elara whispered.
Talia tilted her head.
Then, she spoke for the first time since the encounter.
"You're the memory. I'm the truth."
Then the mirror cracked down the middle.
Elara barely slept. Every creak of the floor felt like Talia coming for her.
The next morning, she found a summons pinned to her door.
Burned around the edges. Written in smudged ink:
"You are summoned to the Memory Trial. Room of Cinders. Midnight."
She showed it to Lira.
"Trial of the Forgotten," Lira said, voice grim. "It's a death sentence."
"Why?"
"No one survives it. It's where they send people who remember too much."
"But I don't know anything!" Elara cried.
Lira looked at her, slowly. "You don't remember. That's the problem. And someone wants you to."
Elara arrived at the Room of Cinders just before midnight.
The hallway leading to it was silent. No torches. Just flickering black candles.
The door looked like it had been burned shut and then reopened.
She entered.
The room was circular, with ash covering the floor.
In the center: a chair.
On the walls: hundreds of mirrors.
All covered.
A voice echoed overhead. Mechanical. Ancient.
"Sit."
Elara obeyed.
One by one, the mirror covers lifted.
Each reflection showed a different version of her.
One laughing.
One screaming.
One covered in blood.
One empty-eyed and smiling.
Talia appeared in the final mirror.
She stepped out again.
"You took my seat," she said.
Elara stood. "I didn't mean to."
"But you're here. And I'm not."
The voice above returned.
"One must remain. One must be forgotten."
Talia lunged.
Elara ducked. Grabbed a shard of broken mirror from the ground.
They struggled. Their hands locked. Their faces inches apart.
"You don't belong here!" Talia shouted.
"Maybe not," Elara gasped. "But neither do you."
She stabbed the shard into the reflection.
Not Talia.
Her own.
The room exploded in light.
And then—
Darkness.
When Elara opened her eyes, she was lying on cold stone.
The mirrors were all gone.
Talia was gone.
Only the chair remained.
And the Grimoire.
It was open to a new page:
"You chose to forget. She chose to be remembered."
"Balance restored."
"Three questions remain."
Elara sat up, breathing hard.
Something had changed.
She didn't remember the Trial.
But she remembered Talia's scream.
And she knew this wasn't over.
Not even close.