Chapter One - The New Arrival

The bus rumbled down the lonely road, its headlights cutting through the dense fog that clung to the trees like a heavy veil. Lina pressed her forehead against the cold glass of the window and watched the twisted branches blur by. Each mile took her farther from the life she had known, and deeper into the unknown.

St. Mary’s Boarding School. That was where she was going. A place that seemed plucked from the old gothic novels she used to read when she was younger. Her mother had said it would be “a fresh start,” but the words had tasted bitter. A fresh start after her father’s death, after her mother remarried, after everything she thought of as normal had cracked apart.

The bus driver, a man with a permanent frown etched into his face, had said little during the long journey. When the school finally appeared through the mist, even he looked unsettled.

“There it is,” he muttered, as if to himself.

Lina leaned forward. Beyond the fog rose towering gates of wrought iron, their black bars twisted into the shapes of thorns and crosses. Beyond the gates loomed the school itself—a massive, stone building with sharp angles and countless windows that reflected no light. A bell tower pierced the sky, its pointed roof vanishing into the mist. Even at a distance, Lina felt as though the tower was watching her.

The bus stopped. The air that rushed in as the doors opened was colder than before, thick with the scent of rain-soaked stone and something faintly metallic. Lina gathered her bag, her hands trembling despite herself.

“You’ll be fine,” the driver said gruffly, though his eyes darted nervously toward the school. “They’re expecting you.”

Expecting her. That didn’t make it better.

The gates creaked open as she approached, as if an unseen hand had been waiting. The courtyard was vast, paved with cracked cobblestones and lined with leafless trees. Statues of saints stood on either side of the entrance, but their faces had eroded until they looked more like mourners than protectors.

Lina’s footsteps echoed as she crossed the courtyard. Each sound bounced back at her, too loud, as though the building itself was listening.

When she reached the heavy oak doors, one of them swung open before she could knock. A woman stood there, tall and severe, with iron-gray hair pulled into a bun so tight it seemed to lift her eyebrows. She wore a dark dress buttoned to the throat and an expression that gave nothing away.

“Miss Lina Winters,” she said. It wasn’t a question. “We’ve been waiting. I am Headmistress Blackwood. Come inside.”

Lina obeyed, stepping into a corridor so dimly lit she had to blink to adjust her eyes. The air was colder inside than outside, carrying the faint smell of chalk, mildew, and something else—something like old blood.

The corridor stretched on endlessly, lined with portraits of former headmasters and students. Their painted eyes followed her, glinting with an uncanny sharpness. One portrait in particular made her pause: a girl about her age, with long dark hair and eyes that seemed too alive for paint. There was no nameplate beneath the frame.

Headmistress Blackwood noticed her hesitation. “Don’t dawdle,” she snapped. “Your dormitory awaits. Classes begin tomorrow, and punctuality is sacred here at St. Mary.”

They walked in silence, their footsteps muffled by the faded crimson carpet that ran the length of the hall. The building was vast, its high ceilings arching like the ribs of a cathedral. Shadows pooled in every corner, and Lina could swear she heard whispers just beyond the edge of hearing.

Finally, they arrived at a door marked North Wing – Dormitory. The headmistress handed Lina a brass key that was worn smooth with age.

“Room thirteen,” she said. “Unpack and rest. Attendance is called at dawn. Do not be late.”

The way she emphasized the last words sent a shiver down Lina’s spine.

Room thirteen was at the very end of the corridor. Lina pushed the key into the lock and turned it, the door groaning as though protesting her presence. The room inside was small and cold, with a single iron bed, a desk, and a wardrobe that smelled of mothballs. The window overlooked the courtyard, where the fog still swirled, refusing to disperse.

As she set her bag on the bed, the silence of the room pressed down on her. She tried to distract herself by unpacking, but halfway through folding her clothes, she heard it—faint at first, like a sigh.

Lina.

She froze.

The voice was soft, almost drowned by the creaking of the old pipes, but it was unmistakable. Someone had whispered her name.

She spun toward the door. It was closed. The corridor outside was silent.

Slowly, she turned back. The mirror above the desk caught her reflection—but for the briefest second, it wasn’t her face staring back. It was the girl from the portrait, her dark eyes full of sorrow and rage.

Lina stumbled back, her hand flying to her mouth. The reflection blinked, and it was her own face again, pale and terrified.

A sudden clang rang out, sharp and resonant, echoing through the halls. It was the bell tower. Midnight.

The sound reverberated deep into her chest, and as it faded, she heard a second voice—clearer, closer, filled with venom.

They didn’t answer for me. They will answer for you.

The air grew icy, and the lights flickered. Lina’s breath came in clouds. She backed toward the bed, clutching her bag like a shield.

The wardrobe door creaked open, slowly, as though pushed by invisible hands. Darkness yawned inside, deeper than it should have been.

And then, faintly, the sound of chalk scratching across a blackboard.

Attendance was being taken.

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