Chapter Fourteen
Her Name Was Never Elvira
The silence here wasn't normal silence.
It pressed against Amelia's skin like cold breath, like something watching her without eyes.
The memory space was dim—bathed in shades of green and black, as if the lake had swallowed the world and only this single thread of truth remained intact.
Amelia stood in a marshy clearing surrounded by black water and weeping trees. The moon above was full, but pale—as if it too had forgotten how to shine.
Before her stood Elvira.
But she was different.
Her hair was longer, darker, twisted with silver strands. Her face was calm, eyes unblinking. And her voice... wasn't soft this time.
It was sharp. Measured. Ancient.
"You've come too far," she said without turning. "But I knew you would."
Amelia stepped forward, cautiously. "Where am I?"
Elvira looked over her shoulder, her face illuminated by a flickering blue flame in her palm. "Not where, Amelia. When. This is the lake's first lie. The one it tried hardest to bury."
She turned fully now, revealing a black mark etched across her collarbone—a sigil that pulsed faintly, like it was alive.
Amelia's voice shook. "Why do you look... different?"
Elvira's smile was bitter. "Because I wasn't always Elvira. That was a name I took to hide. My real name was Isolde. I was the first."
The trees whispered.
The water rippled around Amelia's ankles, though she hadn't moved.
"The first what?" she whispered.
"The first girl to see the lake for what it truly was: a living mirror. A collector of souls. A god of memories twisted into power."
Elvira—Isolde—stepped into the dark water, unafraid.
"I was meant to serve it. To feed it. But I learned its secret. And I tried to escape. That's when the lake punished me. Split me into pieces. Gave one of those pieces to your father."
Amelia's heart skipped. "You're saying... you weren't even whole when you met Dad?"
"No," Elvira said softly. "He fell in love with the part of me that remembered how to love. The other part... stayed here."
The blue flame in her hand grew brighter, casting long, dancing shadows across the marsh.
Behind her, rising from the lake, came figures.
Silent. Faceless. Covered in glass skin, cracked and bleeding memories. They stood still... watching.
"Those are the ones who chose the mirrors," Elvira said without looking at them. "And lost themselves inside."
Amelia backed up a step. "You brought me here to warn me?"
"No," Elvira said. "I brought you here to show you why you must break the lake entirely. Not free me. Not save yourself. End it."
Amelia trembled. "But how? It's everywhere. It's inside me."
Elvira turned and looked directly at her, voice eerily calm.
"Then you must become the storm that silences reflection. You must destroy your image."
The shadows behind the faceless figures moved.
Not just trees.
Eyes.
A presence.
Watching.
Smiling.
The lake was waking up.
And it was angry.
The wind didn't blow.
It breathed.
Every movement around Amelia came with a hush, a whisper, a tug—like invisible fingers combing through her thoughts. The trees tilted at unnatural angles, draped in vines that twitched without wind. The sky remained frozen, the moon stuck in a blink it would never finish.
The faceless figures in the water—once still—began to sway.
Back and forth.
Synchronized.
Like puppets pulled by a silent rhythm.
Amelia's fingers clenched around the chain on her wrist. It throbbed, faintly, like it could sense danger she hadn't yet understood.
Elvira... or Isolde... stood at the center of it all like a monument, her black cloak dripping despite the dry ground.
"I didn't show you this to frighten you," she said softly.
But her voice echoed too long, as if the forest itself repeated it, whispering pieces back with mockery.
"Frighten you... frighten you... frighten..."
"You said the lake split you," Amelia said, stepping forward carefully. "How did you survive?"
"I didn't," Elvira answered. Her eyes met Amelia's now. Hollow. Endless. "Not all of me."
Something rustled behind Amelia. She turned sharply.
One of the faceless figures had moved. Closer.
Its mirror-skin body bent at impossible angles, joints twitching backward, head cocked like it was listening. Its surface showed her reflection—but she wasn't moving.
The reflection stood still. Staring back.
And then it smiled.
Amelia gasped and stumbled back.
The lake around them laughed.
Not loud.
Not shrill.
But a low, sloshing, cruel laughter—like children playing in water, only the splashes sounded more like bones hitting stone.
Elvira's voice dropped to a whisper. "This place doesn't like you knowing the truth. It's already unraveling."
The moon began to melt.
Dripping light like wax from the sky, sizzling as it hit the water. The trees swayed faster. The figures stepped forward again.
Closer.
The reflection in their bodies no longer mimicked her.
It watched her.
All of them watched her.
Amelia's head throbbed, her knees weak. "How do I get out?"
Elvira turned to her, eyes suddenly glowing faint blue. "By doing what I never could."
"What's that?"
Elvira stepped forward and gently pressed two fingers to Amelia's temple.
"You have to break your own reflection."
Suddenly—CRACK.
One of the mirror-bodied figures slammed a hand into the ground. The forest rippled like a pond, and the light from the pendant around Amelia's neck snapped.
Darkness surged in.
Dozens of hands reached from the water.
Grabbing her ankles.
Tugging.
Pulling her down into the black.
Elvira's voice echoed one last time—calm even as the world collapsed:
"Don't forget, Amelia... the lake remembers who you are, but only you decide who you become."
The water swallowed her whole.