The three of them stood outside a crooked, moss-covered cottage on the far end of Thornsfield.. The man they'd spoken to earlier—a jittery librarian with trembling hands—had pointed them here, mumbling something about "The Seer of Hollowend Lane."
Victor knocked, sharp and firm. No answer. Eliza exchanged a glance with Lorenzo before nudging open the door.
The inside was dim, lit only by half-melted candles perched on furniture draped in cloth. The air smelled of herbs and ash and something faintly sweet—like rotting fruit. In the center of the room, in an old armchair carved with roses, sat the woman.
She looked ancient and ageless all at once. Her skin was paper-thin, almost glowing under the candlelight, and in her lap rested a small glass orb wrapped in metal vines. A short shooter—a charm of protection—hung from a cord around her wrist, swaying gently as if stirred by an unseen wind.
"Ma'am?" Eliza stepped forward, cautious but calm.
The woman didn't blink. Instead, she raised a hand slowly and touched the orb.
Then everything happened at once.
The candles flickered violently.
A wind howled through the sealed room.
And the woman's eyes—oh God—her eyes turned pure white.
She let out a strangled gasp, her head snapping back against the chair. And then she spoke.
But it wasn't her voice.
It was something sinister ....Broken....Crawling through the air like smoke.
"Complete the ritual," she hissed.
They froze.
"Complete the ritual before it's too late."
Her voice trembled the floorboards. The orb in her lap cracked.
"No one is going to be spared. The blood is already watching. The veil will rip."
Then the voice turned shrill.
"Everyone... is going... to die."
And with that, the woman collapsed, her body limp, the orb falling from her lap and rolling across the floor with a soft clink clink clink.
Eliza rushed forward without thinking, catching the woman just before her head hit the ground. "She's burning up," she whispered, placing a hand to the woman's cheek. "Victor, help me lay her down!"
Victor moved beside her, already checking the woman's pulse. "Still alive… barely. Whatever she channeled—she wasn't ready."
Lorenzo stood frozen, his voice barely a whisper. "She said the blood is watching. What the hell does that mean?"
Eliza didn't answer. She couldn't. Because her heart was thudding too hard, her thoughts swimming with panic and half-memories.
The ritual.
What ritual?
And why did it feel like she was somehow already part of it?
Victor knelt, picking up the cracked orb and examining the faint scorch mark on the floor beneath it. "This isn't just possession," he murmured. "This was a warning."
"I know," Eliza said, her voice hollow. "But we have to complete that ritual as soonas possible."
The woman stirred, eyes fluttering open for just a moment. She clutched at Eliza's hand, her voice ragged and hoarse now.
"Go my dear only u can do this"