Chapter 16 — The Forgotten Gospel
The fog rolled in thick as wool that morning, blurring the crooked fence posts and softening the outline of Marrow Creek. Isabelle wrapped her coat tighter, the whisper of last night's mirror rite still echoing in her ears.
She wandered deeper into the village, following instinct more than reason. A rusted iron gate, half-swallowed by ivy, led her to what once might have been a chapel. Its roof sagged, and the stained-glass windows were cracked like spiderwebs. No one followed her. Yet she felt watched.
Inside, dust veiled everything like snow. Pews splintered and rotted. The altar had been defaced — not with vandalism, but with careful etchings. Symbols. Circles. Runes she didn't recognize but somehow understood.
Behind the altar, she found a door. Locked, of course. But the old wood gave under pressure. The narrow stairwell led her into a crypt-like cellar, where parchment disintegrated under her breath and books crumbled like ash.
Only one thing remained intact: a bound leather journal, hidden beneath a broken tile. Its pages trembled in her hands. Written in spidery ink, the entries spoke of "mirrorfolk," of spirits who slipped through the veil, searching for vessels in each generation.
"I saw her again — the woman with my face but not my name. She called me backwards, through the glass. I almost followed."
As she read, a voice interrupted the silence.
"You feel it too, don't you?"
Isabelle turned. A girl, no older than twenty, sat on the steps, eyes gray as moonlight. Her name was Maeve. No one else in the village would speak to Isabelle, but Maeve watched her.
"I used to dream of other lives," Maeve said softly. "Then I stopped. I think they took them."
"Who?" Isabelle asked.
"The ones who remember too much."
Maeve handed her something — a pendant with a mirror shard embedded in it. "You'll need this."
Before Isabelle could respond, Maeve was gone.
Back in her room, Isabelle placed the pendant on the wooden desk. The mirror shard caught the light, just enough to reflect a word carved in its surface — barely visible.
"Awaken."
And for the first time, the glass didn't show her reflection.
It showed her past.