A Door to the Past

The night air was thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth as Evelyn, Lucien, and Elias stood before the abandoned manor. Its grand structure loomed under the silver moonlight, vines creeping up its once-pristine walls. The past had long since claimed this place, yet something about it felt eerily alive.

Elias exhaled, gripping the book tightly. "This is where it begins. The key must be used here."

Evelyn's fingers trembled slightly as she withdrew the ancient key from her pocket. The moment it met the cool night air, a faint hum vibrated through the metal, as if it recognized its purpose. Her heart pounded.

Lucien placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Are you ready?"

She nodded, stepping forward. The large, ornate door before her bore the same engravings as the key—intricate symbols winding together in a language she didn't understand. Slowly, she inserted the key into the keyhole. A soft click echoed through the air, followed by a low, resonant groan as the door shuddered open on its own.

A gust of cold air rushed past them, carrying whispers—voices from a time long forgotten.

Elias's eyes narrowed. "The past is waiting. Be careful what you seek."

Taking a deep breath, Evelyn stepped inside, the others close behind. The moment they crossed the threshold, the world around them shifted. The dim, ruined manor flickered and blurred—like ink dissolving in water—before solidifying again. But it was no longer abandoned.

The chandeliers above blazed with golden light, the walls gleamed with polished wood, and distant laughter echoed through the halls. Servants bustled about, carrying silver trays, while elegantly dressed guests sipped wine in the grand ballroom.

Evelyn's breath hitched. "This is… the past."

Lucien turned, scanning the transformed manor. "We're inside a memory."

Elias nodded grimly. "Not just any memory. This is the night everything changed."

A woman in an emerald gown swept past them, her dark hair pinned with delicate pearls. Evelyn's chest tightened—she recognized that face.

It was Isadora.

And she was walking straight toward a man who looked eerily familiar.

Her pulse roared in her ears. Because the man standing in the center of the ballroom, dressed in regal black, bore a face that mirrored Lucien's.

The past had come alive, and they were now part of its story.