Chapter 3: The Red Door

I couldn’t stop staring at the photo in the locket.

It was me. Or at least someone who looked exactly like me. But the picture was old—yellowed, cracked, and worn. How could it be me?

I touched the name written beneath it.

“Lyra…”

That was my name now. But what if… it had always been my name?

The thought sent shivers down my spine.

I looked up. Aerin’s little sister was gone, just like that. No sound. No goodbye. Only the locket remained in my hand—cold and heavy.

The mansion was silent again. The kind of silence that pressed against your ears like thick fog.

And still, I felt it.

The pull of the red door.

I stood and walked slowly down the hallway. Each step echoed louder than it should. My hand brushed the old wallpaper. It felt warm. Alive.

When I reached the end, the red door stood waiting.

Its color was deep, like dried blood. The wood was cracked, and a rusty keyhole sat beneath the handle.

My hand trembled as I reached out.

But before I could touch it, someone grabbed my wrist.

I gasped and turned around.

Aerin stood there, his eyes dark with fear.

“I told you not to come here,” he said, voice low.

“I need answers,” I said. “Who’s the girl in the locket? Why does she look like me?”

He looked at the door, then back at me.

“She wasn’t just a girl,” he said. “She was someone from this house. Someone… cursed.”

“Cursed?”

Aerin nodded. “Many years ago, a girl named Lyra lived here. She died mysteriously. Some say her spirit still walks these halls. Others say she never really left.”

I swallowed hard. “Are you saying… I’m her?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But the house remembers you. That’s why it called your name. That’s why you’re hearing whispers no one else hears.”

“Then I have to know the truth,” I said. “Even if it’s scary.”

Aerin’s face softened. He looked at me like he wanted to say something more—but instead, he let go of my wrist.

“I’ll come with you,” he said.

“But the door’s locked,” I whispered.

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, ancient key.

“I wasn’t supposed to keep this,” he said. “But I always knew you’d come back.”

He slid the key into the lock.

Click.

The door opened with a long, creaking sound.

Inside, it was dark. Dust danced in the air. The smell of old wood and something sweet—like roses—filled my nose.

I stepped in first. My heart was pounding so loud I thought it would break.

The room was filled with paintings. All of them were of the same girl.

Me.

Or her.

Lyra.

In one painting, she wore a long red dress and smiled. In another, she stood in a garden full of roses. And in one, her face was turned away—but blood stained the hem of her dress.

A large mirror stood at the far end of the room.

I walked to it slowly.

It was the same mirror from my bedroom.

And once again… my reflection didn’t move.

This time, she smiled.

“You came back,” she said again.

I reached out my hand to the glass.

“Who are you?” I whispered.

She leaned forward, her hand meeting mine on the other side.

“I’m you. But I never left.”

The mirror cracked.

Aerin grabbed my arm. “We have to go!”