When Emma awoke, she was lying on the cold floor of the strange room, her head throbbing. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious.
The room was dark now, the light from the mirror gone, and the only sound was her own ragged breathing.Panic surged through her as she scrambled to her feet, her
legs shaky and weak. She had to get out of there, had to find Lily and the
others, but as she reached for the door, she realized it was no longer there.
The room had changed while she was unconscious; the walls
seemed closer, the air heavier, suffocating.
Emma felt around the room, desperate to find a way out, but
there was nothing—no door, no windows, no escape. The walls were cold and damp,
and as she pressed her ear against them, she heard faint, rhythmic tapping,
like someone was on the other side.
“Help me!” she screamed, banging her fists against the wall.
But the sound was swallowed by the oppressive silence. The tapping stopped,
replaced by a low, rumbling growl that seemed to emanate from the walls
themselves.
Emma backed away, her eyes darting around the room. There
was something in there with her. She could feel it, a presence lurking just out
of sight, watching her, waiting. Her gaze fell on the mirror, now completely
black, a void that seemed to pulse with malevolent energy.
She had to find a way out, but every direction felt like a
dead end. The room was a labyrinth, shifting and changing around her, trapping
her deeper within its clutches. She stumbled over something on the floor—an
old, leather-bound book covered in dust. She picked it up, her hands trembling,
and opened it.
The pages were filled with strange symbols and drawings of
grotesque figures. She couldn’t read the language, but the images filled her
with dread.
One drawing, in particular, caught her eye—a figure stepping
out of a mirror, reaching out to claim its victim. The face of the victim was
distorted, but there was something familiar about it.
It was her.
Emma dropped the book, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
The walls began to close in, the darkness pressing down on her. She felt the
cold touch of the presence again, closer this time, almost tangible.
“No,” she whispered,
backing away until she hit the wall behind her. “This isn’t real. It can’t be
real.”
But the darkness only deepened, and the presence grew
stronger, more insistent. She was trapped, with no way out, and the mansion’s
sinister history was closing in on her, piece by piece.