Elias Blackthorne arrived at Ravenswood Academy under a sky suffocated by thick, slate-gray clouds. The moment he stepped through the wrought-iron gates, a chill that had nothing to do with the autumn wind slithered down his spine. He had always known something was off about the academy—his parents had never spoken of their time here, only that it was "necessary" he attend.
The towering stone walls of the boarding school loomed over him, ivy choking their surfaces like twisted veins. The main hall smelled of old books, damp wood, and something else—a faint whisper of decay that no one else seemed to notice.
His roommate, Adrien Vale, was a quiet boy with eyes too perceptive for comfort. "You shouldn't be here," Adrien murmured that first night, as Elias unpacked his things.
Elias frowned. "Why?"
Adrien's expression darkened. "Because something else is."
The days passed in a haze of unfamiliar routines. The faculty were polite but distant, their smiles never quite reaching their eyes. The other students whispered about Elias when they thought he wasn't listening. Strange occurrences piled up—doors opening on their own, the sensation of being watched, shadows that stretched a little too far under the flickering candlelight in the library.
Then there was the portrait. Hung in the east wing, where few dared to linger, it depicted a young woman in a dark dress, her gaze haunting and almost knowing. Elias found himself drawn to it, pausing in front of it longer than he should.
"That's her," Adrien said one evening, startling him.
Elias turned, frowning. "Who?"
Adrien hesitated. "Lillian Graves. She was a student here, once. They say she fell in love with someone she shouldn't have. When they tried to separate them, she made a deal—with something far worse than death."
Elias scoffed, but that night, the whispers began. Soft voices slipping through the cracks in the walls, caressing his skin like the touch of a lover in the dark.
The first time he saw her, it was in his dreams. Lillian, standing at the foot of his bed, her black eyes wide with something that looked like longing. "Elias," she whispered, her voice curling into his mind like smoke.
When he woke, his window was open, the cold night air pressing against his skin. A single black rose lay on his pillow.
And the whispers had only just begun.