The air was different in the house now, carrying a weight that pressed against Vivian’s chest. It wasn’t loud, nor was it overt, but it was persistent—like a melody woven into the silence, low and dissonant. She could feel it wherever she went, the vibrations prickling against her skin.

Sebastian had noticed her discomfort but said little. His focus had shifted, consumed by research in his study. Books, maps, and relics sprawled across every surface as he chased answers to questions they hadn’t dared to fully articulate.

Vivian, meanwhile, found herself wandering aimlessly through the estate. The emptiness of the halls gnawed at her, the quiet wrapping around her like thorned vines. She tried to shake the sensation, but every corner she turned seemed sharper, more foreboding.

By late afternoon, she found herself drawn to the greenhouse on the far end of the property. It had been years since she last set foot inside, but something about the memory of its warmth called to her now.

The glass panes were grimy, streaked with time and neglect, but sunlight filtered through them in fractured beams, casting fragmented rainbows across the stone floor. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decay, yet beneath it lay a faint sweetness, like honey melting on her tongue.

Vivian’s fingers brushed against a nearby table where clay pots sat, long abandoned. She trailed her hand over the surface, disturbing a thin layer of dust. Her heart clenched at the sight of an overturned pot spilling dried, brittle roots onto the table.

She thought of the flowers from her room—their pale, fragile beauty masking something darker.

A rustling sound pulled her from her thoughts.

She turned sharply, her eyes darting to the far corner of the greenhouse. The light there was dim, shadows pooling like spilled ink.

“Is someone there?” she called, her voice shaking slightly.

The only response was silence.

Vivian hesitated, then stepped closer, her boots crunching against dead leaves. As she moved deeper into the greenhouse, the air seemed to change. It grew heavier, charged, as though the space itself was holding its breath.

And then she saw it.

Nestled among the withered plants and fallen vines was a single bloom—a rose. Its petals were unlike anything she had ever seen, shimmering faintly as though laced with starlight. It pulsed faintly, almost as though it were alive, its light casting strange, shifting shadows against the walls.

Vivian knelt before it, her hand trembling as she reached out.

“Don’t touch it.”

The voice startled her, and she spun around to see Sebastian standing in the doorway, his expression grim.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her heart racing.

“I could ask you the same,” he replied, stepping closer. His gaze flicked to the rose, his jaw tightening. “That shouldn’t be here.”

“What do you mean?” Vivian asked, rising to her feet.

Sebastian didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he crouched near the rose, studying it with a mix of fascination and dread. “This isn’t natural,” he said finally. “It’s connected to the mirror. To… whatever is haunting you.”

Vivian felt her stomach drop. “How? It’s just a flower.”

“It’s never just a flower,” Sebastian muttered. “Things like this—symbols, manifestations—they don’t appear by chance. They’re echoes, fragments of something larger. Something alive.”

Vivian looked back at the rose, its glow captivating and sinister all at once. “What do we do with it?”

Sebastian rose, his face set in a grim line. “We destroy it. Before it spreads.”

That night, Vivian lay awake, replaying the events in the greenhouse over and over in her mind. The rose, its glow, the way it seemed to hum with life… It all felt too deliberate, too pointed.

She thought of the reflection in the mirror, its taunting words echoing in her mind.

Let them bloom. Let them take you.

Vivian’s chest tightened. The reflection hadn’t been speaking metaphorically. It had been planting seeds—inside her, around her, throughout the estate.

A soft sound drew her attention, and she sat up in bed, her heart pounding.

The room was dark, but the faint glow of the mirror was unmistakable.

And in its surface, she saw them—roses blooming in infinite rows, their petals shimmering with unearthly light.

They were growing, spreading, and she was their garden.

To be continued...