Rain trickled softly against the window, tapping gently on the glass of a room cluttered with old papers and books. In the middle of it all sat a girl with long, wavy black hair. Her face was delicate and kind, but her eyes held a sharp gleam—burning with curiosity. Her name was Moonella.
Her fingers danced across the keyboard, typing paragraph after paragraph about an old tragedy barely spoken of. About a girl named Elira, an orphan who died mysteriously… and an orphanage that no longer stood.
"Found dead in the woods with her mouth sewn shut…" Moonella read out loud from a printed article, the paper worn and yellowing.
She wasn't a detective. Not a journalist either. Just a writer who loved dark stories and forgotten tales. But this story—this one felt different. It felt… close.
On her corkboard, she'd pinned cutouts of newspaper clippings, a map marking the old orphanage's ruins, and a hand-drawn sketch of Elira based on online descriptions. There wasn't much information left. Most sources had been deleted, redacted, or mysteriously wiped clean.
"What really happened to you…?" she whispered.
She stood and picked up a faded photo of the orphanage—black and white, slightly blurry, but clear enough to show the rusted gates and crumbling building.
As she reached to pin it to the wall, a cold breeze slipped through the room, despite the windows being shut tight. And suddenly—
THUD!
The photo dropped from her hand.
Moonella froze. Her heartbeat slowed but pounded heavy. She knelt and picked up the photo again. Behind her, the large mirror in the corner of her room fogged slightly, like a breath had brushed against it.
She turned around… but no one was there.
"Get a grip, Moon," she muttered, forcing a smile.
But that night, after turning off the lights and crawling into bed… she dreamed.
In her dream, a girl stood in the middle of a dark forest. Her clothes were torn, her feet bleeding, and her eyes—hollow. But there was no fear on the girl's face. Only sorrow.
"Don't stop writing," the girl whispered. "You're getting close."
Moonella woke with a gasp, cold sweat on her brow, heart pounding. She glanced at her corkboard—and froze.
The sketch of Elira—
Her smile had disappeared.