THE ART OF LURING GHOST
Location: Venice, Italy -Galleria di Luce
Time: 6:47 p.m. The spotlight cut across the room like a blade.
The Galleria di Luce was known for its exclusivity where only the powerful were invited and only the cursed were remembered.
Tonight, Amira didn't come to admire the paintings.
She came to start a fire.
Wearing a crimson silk dress that shimmered like blood in candlelight, she stood before the crowd, wine glass untouched. Around her: collectors, artists, old money, and masked whispers.
She took a deep breath and tapped her glass.
The room fell quiet.
"Good evening."
"I wasn't invited here tonight to speak. But I've learned that in Venice, silence is often bought. And I've never been good at keeping quiet."
Some murmurs. A few narrowed eyes. She pressed forward.
"My name is Amira Fontaine. My sister Celeste died under mysterious circumstances connected to people in this very city."
A hush spread like frost.
"She was silenced. But she left behind her voice, her art, and a name." Amira let the pause burn. "Elira Vale."
Gasps. Someone dropped a champagne flute.
"I believe Elira is alive. And if she's here tonight... I'm asking her to stop hiding."
A masked man in the corner tensed.
"Tell me what happened to my sister. Or I will make sure your silence becomes an exhibit every sketch, every letter, every lie."
She lifted a small black notebook, Celeste's journal and placed it on the podium.
"This is her voice. And now it's mine."
10 Minutes Later - Back Gallery Hallway
Security ushered her away quickly. Some applauded. Some whispered threats.
As Amira moved through the back corridor, heels echoing, she felt it:
She was being followed.
She reached into her purse, fingers brushing the pepper spray but the footsteps stopped.
She turned.
Nothing.
But tucked beneath her notebook now was a folded card.
No name. Just two words, handwritten.
"Follow me."
Midnight at Calle de le Bande, Flooded alleyway.
The alley was narrow, wet, smelling of moss and paint thinner. Old lanterns flickered on the walls like ghosts watching.
Amira stepped carefully, adrenaline rushing.
At the end of the alley, a woman stood with her back turned. Hair dark, coat long, posture sharp like a statue ready to shatter.
"Elira?" Amira said softly.
The woman turned.
And for a heartbeat Amira saw Celeste's eyes.
But colder.
Smarter.
Older.
"You should've left," Elira said.
Amira's breath caught. "You're real."
"I stopped being 'real' the day I chose to disappear."
Elira stepped closer.
"You want the truth? Fine. But it comes with a price."
"What price?"
Elira smiled like the Mona Lisa tired, knowing, dangerous.
"You'll have to burn someone you love."
Back at the Galleria, the masked man removed his disguise.
It was Dominic Vale.
He held a photo in his hand Amira and Elira, face to face.
And behind him, Theo leaned against the wall, smirking darkly.
"She took the bait," Dominic said.
Theo nodded. "Now it begins."