As I hovered mid-air, the weight of everything was suffocating despite being dead. My mind raced, replaying the man's words over and over. Was he talking to me? There was no way he wasn't. But how? Did he know I was the woman Malik killed yesterday, or was I just some wandering ghost in his eyes? The questions looped in my mind, becoming the only thread keeping me tethered to sanity in this whirlwind of supernatural madness.Henry.The name slammed into me like a tidal wave, dragging with it emotions I had tried to bury. Grief, guilt, fury—all of it. I clenched my fists instinctively, though they felt more like echoes of hands than anything real. As if responding to my emotions, the shadows around me began to twist, stretching and contorting like living creatures.What was happening to me?I shoved the thought aside and focused on a single goal: getting out of the alley. If I couldn't figure out why I was here—or why Henry was killed—then maybe someone or something could help. The only problem? No one could see me. No one could hear me. I couldn't even touch anything, let alone interact with it. I was... trapped.As I floated out of the alley, it became clear I wasn't in control. My body—if you could call it that—was being pulled, anchored to a place I couldn't define. The pull led me to the heart of downtown Chiran, a city that felt both familiar and foreign now.Time stretched on, and with nothing to do, I drifted into a museum. It wasn't like I had better options, and I needed the distraction. The exhibit title, Death Is Not the End, seemed like a cruel joke in my situation. I scoffed, scanning the artifacts and structures, when a voice cut through the quiet."Hello, everyone. My name is Miranda, and I'll be giving you a tour of this museum exhibit."I barely glanced her way, brushing her off as another guide doing her job. But when I turned back to the displays, I caught her staring—no, looking—directly at me. It wasn't the kind of glance you give a floating vase or a shadow on the wall. It was intentional, direct, and chilling.I froze. How could she see me?Before I could test it, she turned abruptly. "Okay, everyone, this way," she said, her voice clipped as if she wanted to move on quickly.The first stop was a depiction of the "Great Burning of Seven Witches." Miranda's words flowed smoothly as she recounted the tale of women from different nationalities, accused of wielding mystical powers."They were said to be monsters disguised as humans," she explained, "captured by witch hunters for the good of the world. Some believe they created a spell—a veil—that still exists today."The mention of the veil sent my thoughts spiraling. Could they have made the barrier keeping the supernatural hidden? The idea seemed too convenient, too coincidental. But doubt seeped in. What were the odds this random exhibit could answer the questions tearing me apart?As I mulled over it, I noticed him—a man standing apart from the crowd. Bandages covered most of his body, and a glowing yellow tattoo going its way up his arm, pulsing faintly. He wore a blue vest, and an Eye of Ra tattoo sat prominently on his face, aligned with his real eye. Something about him felt... magnetic. I couldn't explain it, but my entire being seemed drawn to him.Supernatural people, I thought. I'm tethered to them.Before I could explore the idea further, Miranda spoke again. "Moving on, this is a depiction of the Seven Witches."My attention snapped to the artwork. At first, they looked human—ordinary even. But as I stared, something shifted. A faint glow enveloped them, peeling away their disguises to reveal monstrous forms. One figure stood out, sending a cold, sinking feeling through me.It was my mother.Or at least, someone who looked just like her. Her smooth dark skin, long curly hair, and piercing blue eyes were unmistakable. But then, the transformation began. Her hair turned ghostly white, tinged with violet hues. Her eyes darkened the pupils glowing purple. Sharp claws extended from her fingers, and her teeth morphed into jagged fangs. Scratch marks ran down her face, as though she had tried to claw her own eyes out.I recoiled in horror. The other eleven were just as grotesque—one with wings for arms, another with a fox-like maw and unnerving white fur. No one else seemed to notice the changes, which meant it had to be a supernatural phenomenon.I couldn't look away. Is this my mother? Was this who my mother was? Was she one of them?The tour pressed on, but my mind was stuck on that image. Miranda stopped in front of a document. "This," she announced, "is a list of known witch hunters throughout history."I floated closer, scanning the names in hopes of finding a clue random names like Mordred ALI Knight, Ronald Lancelot Knight. One name stopped me out of all of them: Sir Henry Tristan Knight, First of His Name, Fifth Knight of The Order.My breath hitched. The words felt like a punch to the gut. Henry? Henry Knight? He was part of... this?The shock broke through everything else, and the only words that escaped my lips were, "You've got to be shitting me."