The crash was sudden. One moment, Aveline "Ava" was driving, humming to the music on the radio, and the next, a blinding light tore through the air, followed by the deafening screech of metal twisting against metal. The car spun out of control, and before she could even react, it crashed into a guardrail, flipping over into a ravine. Then, nothing.
When she opened her eyes, Ava could barely make out the snowflakes falling gently against her skin. She was cold—so cold—yet she couldn't feel her body at all. Her head throbbed with a dull ache, and her thoughts were sluggish, like they didn't belong to her anymore. She tried to move, but it was as though her limbs had forgotten their purpose. The world around her seemed to blur in and out of focus, like a dream she couldn't wake from.
And then, she heard him.
"You shouldn't be here."
Ava's gaze snapped upward, her heart skipping a beat. A figure stood in the distance, just outside her vision. Tall, his silhouette framed by a faint, ethereal light. The air around him seemed to shift, bending reality itself. His voice was soft, almost detached, but there was something heavy about it. It was as if the weight of the universe sat upon his shoulders.
He took a step toward her. She could feel it—a presence drawing closer, more tangible than anything she had felt before. The ground beneath her felt unreal, as though she was no longer part of the world she knew. The figure's form blurred at the edges, but she couldn't look away.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Ava whispered, her voice hoarse, fighting to stay grounded in the chaos of her thoughts.
His lips curved, just slightly, but there was no humor in it. "Because you are supposed to be dead."
A cold shiver ran down her spine, and she gasped. She hadn't realized—she was supposed to be dead. How had she survived? Why was she still here, in this strange place, feeling so disconnected from everything? Was this real? Or had she crossed over to somewhere else, some limbo between life and death?
He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes softening, almost... pitying. Then, with a strange sense of resignation, he extended a hand toward her.
"You should go back, Ava. You're not ready to step beyond the veil just yet."
His voice held a note of finality, like he knew something she didn't. Ava stared at his outstretched hand, her pulse quickening. His words seemed to resonate in a place deep within her, somewhere she couldn't quite reach. The way he said her name felt unsettling, as if he was too familiar with her, like they had shared a history far longer than the few seconds she had known him.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he was already turning away, the shadows around him consuming him like a cloak, swallowing him whole.
"Wait!" She gasped, her hand reaching out as if to stop him, but the words were strangled in her throat. "Who are you?"
He didn't answer. His figure was already vanishing into the mist, disappearing like a wisp of smoke. The world around her felt colder. The weight of his presence was gone, and she was left with only the silence and the frost.
Her heart raced in her chest, the pull to follow him stronger than ever. But just as quickly as he had appeared, he was gone. And so was the warmth. Ava tried to push herself up, her limbs uncooperative, heavy as stone. She needed to understand. She needed to know what was happening to her, why she couldn't shake the feeling that everything had changed. But the world was slipping away again, and all she could do was close her eyes and wonder if she would ever wake up.
The days that followed were a blur. Ava found herself looking over her shoulder constantly, a gnawing sense of unease settling in the pit of her stomach. Her days felt like they no longer had weight, as though she was floating above them, a passenger in her own life. She tried to tell herself it was just the aftereffects of the crash. Maybe a concussion. Maybe the trauma. But deep down, she knew there was something else. Something more—something she couldn't explain.
She started to notice things.
One night, after coming home from work, she stopped in front of the hallway mirror, as she often did to adjust her hair. But something was off. The reflection staring back at her wasn't exactly right. For a split second, it didn't quite mirror her movements. Her reflection lingered just a moment too long, its eyes following her even after she moved away.
She blinked hard, rubbing her eyes, but the feeling didn't go away. It was like the reflection was… watching her. Waiting.
Ava quickly turned away, but the chill in the air around her only deepened. It felt as though she was no longer alone in the room.
It wasn't just the mirrors. The shadows in the corners of her room—once a simple part of the night—began to stretch unnaturally, flickering in ways that didn't align with the light. She would hear whispers in the wind, even when there was no breeze. Faint, almost inaudible voices that made her skin prickle, crawling across her nerves.
Ava tried to ignore it. She even tried to convince herself that it was all just a side effect of the trauma from the accident, but the whispers persisted. They were too familiar, too haunting.
That's when her grandmother Ruth began to watch her more closely. Ruth had always been distant, aloof even, as though she had one foot in this world and another in some faraway place. But now, Ava could see something else in her eyes—a knowledge that terrified her.
One evening, after Ava had seen another flicker of movement in the mirror, Ruth finally spoke up, her voice low and serious.
"Some doors, once opened, cannot be closed, Ava."
Ava turned to her, confused. "What do you mean, Grandma?"
Ruth's eyes darkened, her lips pressed into a thin line. "You've seen something, haven't you?"
Ava swallowed, a knot forming in her throat. "I—I don't know what you're talking about."
Ruth looked at her with a sharp, knowing gaze. "You have. And you need to stay away from it. From all of it. The mirrors, the shadows—they're not just figments of your imagination."
Ava's heart skipped a beat. "What are you saying?"
Ruth took a slow, deliberate step toward her, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. "The supernatural world is a dangerous place, child. You don't belong there. I tried to protect you from it, but it's already inside you."
Ava's heart raced, her breath caught in her throat. "Inside me? What does that mean?"
But Ruth simply shook her head. "Some things are better left forgotten. Some doors should never be opened."
Despite her grandmother's warnings, Ava couldn't shake the feeling that something was pulling her—a deeper, darker curiosity she couldn't resist. One evening, after the whispers in the wind had turned into full-fledged voices, Ava found herself walking through the woods, drawn by an inexplicable pull. It wasn't like she was looking for something. No, she was just… drawn.
Her steps led her to an old, abandoned building—forgotten by time and hidden deep within the trees. It was eerily silent, the air thick with the scent of decay. But something inside her urged her forward. The door creaked as she pushed it open, revealing an interior drowned in darkness.
The moment she crossed the threshold, she felt it—a presence. She wasn't alone. It was as though the room itself was watching her. The walls, covered in grime and dust, seemed to hold secrets, whispers of the past etched into their very bones.
And then, she saw it.
Rows of metallic drawers, long and narrow, lined the walls. They looked ancient, rusted, but strangely… familiar. Ava's heart pounded in her chest. She didn't know why, but she had to touch them.
Her hand brushed against one of the drawers. The instant her fingers made contact, a vision overtook her—a man, shackled and strapped down, his face twisted in pain and defiance. The air crackled with the surge of electricity, his body jerking violently as the current flowed through him. Ava felt a jolt of coldness so deep, it was as though her very soul had been ripped from her body.
The man's eyes, filled with rebellion, locked onto hers in the vision, and she understood—he was not just any man. He had been sentenced to die, executed for defying the laws of death itself. He was silenced before he could speak, his soul lost forever to the chamber's cruel grip.
As the vision faded, Ava staggered back, gasping for air. She was overwhelmed with the sensation of a presence nearby. It wasn't just the past she had touched—it was alive, still lingering. The very room hummed with energy, as if the man's defiance had left a mark that time couldn't erase.
A voice broke through her shock, low and familiar, echoing in the room.
"You shouldn't have seen that."
Ava turned sharply, her heart skipping as she saw him—Dorian—standing in the doorway, watching her with a conflicted expression. The shadows around him seemed to pulse with life.