She wasn't in the attic anymore. The room was vibrant, filled with the scent of lavender and candlelight. She saw a girl—no, she was the girl—standing before a mirror, wearing the dress. It was 1906. She was looking at her own face, yet it was different, older in spirit. She felt a profound, aching love for someone named Elias, and a terrifying, cold fear of a man with eyes like shadowed glass.
She looked around the attic again. It didn't feel menacing anymore. It felt waiting. 18eighteen sarah
In the center of the room stood a lone, velvet-covered mannequin, wearing a pristine, white Edwardian dress—a stark contrast to the decay around it. She wasn't in the attic anymore
The creaking of the house seemed to settle, a deep, resonant sigh of satisfaction, as 18eighteen Sarah finally accepted the weight of the secrets she was born to carry. It was 1906