Whispers Between The Walls

The council left behind silence.

But not peace.

The Great Hall remained dim and flickering, shadows curling at the edges like smoke after a slow fire. The students whispered among themselves in cautious, fragmented tones—like speaking too loud might bring the council back.

Theo was the first to reach me.

He didn't say a word at first. He just stepped beside me, his hand brushing the hem of my coat, grounding me.

"They'll come for you now," he murmured. "Not the way they used to. Not with threats and tradition. This time, it'll be clever."

I glanced at him. "What do you mean?"

"They'll make you doubt yourself."

Petra joined us next, paler than usual, her uniform jacket draped over one arm like she'd torn it off during the meeting. She looked older now—like whatever she'd seen in the infirmary had shifted something in her.

"They want you to write the names, don't they?" she asked.

I nodded.

"But what if you write the wrong ones?"

I looked at her. At the fear, and the hope, and the strange clarity in her eyes.

"Then I become them."

That night, I didn't return to my dorm.

Instead, I followed the book.

Not literally—it didn't move, or glow, or whisper in riddles. But when I held it close and walked the empty halls of Ravencroft, it felt like it pulled.

A slight tug at the chest.

A tilt in the air.

A sensation like walking toward something I'd already dreamed.

It led me past the second library, down the spiral staircase most students didn't know existed, through the old music hall, and to a door I had never seen before.

A plain wooden thing.

No lock.

No plaque.

Just a handle.

I turned it.

And found a room that should not have existed.

The walls were lined with mirrors — all covered in black silk.

The floor was tiled in a shifting mosaic of tiny stone pieces — no image, just organized chaos.

And in the center: a single chair facing a desk. On the desk sat a cracked silver inkpot and a quill already dipped.

Behind the chair stood a statue.

I couldn't tell who it was meant to represent. It was headless. Female. Robed. One arm stretched out as if offering something invisible.

And at her feet: a plaque.

Only the Keeper may write what was stolen.

Only truth may speak without punishment.

I stepped inside.

The door shut behind me, on its own.

No sound.

No draft.

Just a calm, cold click that said: You're not leaving until you understand.

I sat in the chair.

Placed the book on the desk.

Opened to the first blank page.

And stared.

There were no instructions. No rules. No glowing text waiting for me to follow.

Just silence.

So I closed my eyes.

And thought of Anastasia Vale.

I thought of her journal.

Her hidden drawings.

The way her name still echoed through this place like perfume.

And as I thought—

The inkpot shimmered.

A name appeared on the page.

Anastasia Vale

But beneath it, in faint red:

Status: Erased. Seen. Never recorded.

Role: Initiate of the 3rd Mirror Circle

Cause of removal: Insurrection of truth

I stared.

Then turned the page.

Another name appeared.

Not one I knew.

But the description below read:

Silas Dorne — Lover of Anastasia Vale. Last seen in the Chapel of Eyes. Removed from record two days before the Burning.

The Burning?

I flipped again.

And again.

The pages now turned themselves — gently, like someone was helping me. Like the book could feel that I was finally listening.

And then it stopped.

At a page that had no name.

Just one sentence.

The current Keeper has been seen before.

My stomach turned.

I slammed the book shut.

And in the mirror to my left — the only one I hadn't noticed — a black silk sheet slid off by itself.

Behind the glass:

Me.

But younger.

Seven? Eight?

Standing in a Ravencroft uniform.

Holding a red feather in one hand and a page torn from a book in the other.

I blinked.

The image vanished.

I didn't remember that.

Not even vaguely.

But the ache in my chest said it was real.

That something about Ravencroft and me had started long before I thought I had arrived.

I left the mirror room in a daze.

The corridors had darkened — not just with nightfall, but with something heavier. Like the school itself knew what I had seen.

And as I stepped out into the open corridor, Julian was there.

Waiting.

Like always.

But this time, he didn't look calm.

He looked afraid.

"Elena," he said, voice low and fast, "you need to come with me. Now."

We ran through the east wing. Past the locked greenhouse. Down the faculty staircase.

Julian said nothing until we reached the sublevel archives.

And there—under the dim emergency lanterns—stood Theo.

Holding a file.

One of the old, dust-covered Ravencroft case files.

Initiate Memory Transfer — Subject: Elena M.

Date of Execution: 8 Years Ago

Witnesses: Vale, A. / Dorne, S.

Status: Incomplete

I stared at it.

Hands numb.

Heart loud.

"They tried to make you forget," Theo whispered. "You were already part of this. A long time ago."

I shook my head.

"I don't remember any of it."

Julian took the file and flipped the page.

And there, tucked between the sheets…

A photograph.

Faded. Bent.

But unmistakable.

Three children.

One was me.

One was a girl I now knew as Anastasia Vale.

And between us, holding both our hands…

Was a boy with dark hair.

Sharp eyes.

And a red thread tied around his wrist.

Julian dropped the file.

His face pale.

"That's me."

The air around us throbbed.

I couldn't breathe.

Not just because of the memory.

But because everything I thought was love, choice, and destiny… was starting to feel like something scripted long ago.

Like the past was finally pulling us into its final act.

And no one — not even me — was ready to read what came next.