"You don't lose your mind in a single moment. It drips away—slowly—until you forget you ever had one."
The manor had gone silent again.
Not the quiet kind. Not the comforting hush of a sleepy house at night. This was something else—like the building itself was holding its breath. As if waiting for something awful to finish arriving.
Kate was dead. Ivy had accepted it now. Whether it had been the lake, the ghosts, or her own sister's growing obsession with Miles that killed her—it didn't matter anymore.
She was gone.
Mrs. Grose had followed.
Two women. Two warnings. And still Ivy remained.
Still she stayed in his room.
Still she let Miles touch her, whisper to her, call her things no boy should call a girl—not like that—not with that hunger in his voice.
But it wasn't just Miles anymore. That much was clear. He was becoming something else.
Or someone.
Peter.
Ivy stood in front of the cracked mirror in his room the next morning. Her hair was tangled, her eyes dull. She barely recognized herself.
Her reflection blinked—but her real eyes did not.
She stared.
Her reflection blinked again.
No...
The face in the mirror began to smile. But Ivy wasn't smiling.
She backed away.
And then a whisper: "He's inside you too, Ivy."
Downstairs, Flora had become eerily quiet.
She wouldn't go near the lake anymore. Wouldn't leave the sitting room. She sat by the fireplace, braiding her doll's hair and humming a tune Ivy didn't recognize.
"You okay, sweetheart?" Ivy asked softly.
Flora didn't look up. "They don't like that you're here."
"Who doesn't?"
"The ones who stayed."
Ivy crouched beside her. "What do you mean?"
"They're mad. Because you're stealing him away from them."
"...Miles?"
Flora finally looked at her, and Ivy's heart stopped.
Because those weren't Flora's eyes. They were... old.
Ancient.
"You're making him forget," she whispered. "And he doesn't like forgetting."
That night, Ivy couldn't sleep.
She heard footsteps pacing upstairs. Long, slow, deliberate. But no one else was supposed to be awake.
She rose and tiptoed toward the hallway, clutching her nightgown. The sound led her to a door that hadn't opened in weeks.
Kate's room.
It creaked open at her touch.
She stepped inside—and froze.
The windows were open, the curtains blowing gently. But it wasn't the breeze that stopped her breath.
It was Kate's suitcase.
Still there.
Still packed.
And resting on the bed was her necklace, the one she'd never take off. Ivy approached slowly, picking it up. It was cold. Too cold.
Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind her.
She whirled around. Miles.
But no—Peter.
His hair wild, his chest rising and falling with something animalistic. He stared at her with lust, hunger, and fury all at once.
"Why were you in her room?" he demanded.
Ivy backed up, necklace still in her hand. "It's Kate's—"
"She's gone. She doesn't matter. You matter now."
He crossed the room in seconds, grabbing her wrists, backing her against the wall.
"I chose you," he breathed.
"Miles—"
"No."
He slammed a hand against the wall next to her head. "Not Miles."
She swallowed, staring into his dark, bottomless eyes.
"You're scaring me," she whispered.
But her body didn't move. Her heart didn't fight.
"You like it," he said, lips brushing hers. "Don't lie. You've always wanted this."
She whimpered, the line between fear and desire blurring.
His lips met hers.
And this time... she didn't stop him.