The basement lights flickered violently, and then—complete darkness.
Only the sound of frantic breathing and someone whispering a prayer.
"Guys?" Akshara's voice quivered. "Is she… still here?"
Prajwal's hand found the locket in her pocket. It was ice cold.
"No one move," she whispered. "Just listen."
Silence stretched painfully.
Then, a click—followed by a small, battery-operated lamp turning on. Swara held it up, its dim beam casting shaky shadows across the basement walls.
The portrait of Margaret lay shattered on the floor, but something had spilled from the back of it. A torn letter, yellowed with age.
Swara picked it up carefully and began to read aloud:
"Dearest M,
I searched for you after the war. Eleanor told me you had died. My heart never recovered from losing you. If this letter ever finds you… know that you were the only one I ever truly loved.
– Edward."
Everyone stared at each other.
Khushi whispered, "So it was true. Margaret and Edward were in love."
"And Eleanor lied," Swarali added quietly. "She destroyed Margaret's life."
Apurva leaned against the trunk. "No wonder her spirit is still here. She was never given peace."
Akshada, still shaken but composed, stood up. "Okay. We need to do something. We opened this mess—now we fix it."
Prajwal nodded slowly. "We have to bring them closure. Both Margaret… and Ophelia."
"But how?" asked Rutuja. "We can't just… undo the past."
Prajwal's eyes narrowed as she looked at the locket again. "Maybe not. But we can tell the truth."
She turned to Swara. "You're the best with words. Write it all down. Everything. Margaret's story, Ophelia's story. The lies. The truth."
Swara blinked. "You want me to write… like a letter?"
"A confession," Prajwal said. "From Eleanor. As if she's admitting everything. A message Margaret and Ophelia never got to hear in life."
Swara hesitated, then nodded. "I'll do it."
They went back to their room and sat in silence as Swara began to write. Her pen moved slowly at first, but as the truths poured out, her hand moved faster:
"Margaret,
I wronged you. I feared losing what I thought was mine. But in doing so, I stole your life, your love, and your peace. I buried you with lies, not because I hated you—but because I couldn't bear to see you loved more than me.
Ophelia,
You were my daughter. My light. And I failed you.
I hope one day… you both forgive me.
– Eleanor."
Swara looked up. "Done."
Prajwal folded the letter and placed it in the locket. Then she turned to the others. "We're going back to the woods."
The night had fallen by the time they reached the hidden grave behind the chapel. Snow dusted the stone. The wind howled louder tonight, but no one turned back.
Prajwal placed the locket and letter at the base of the stone.
"We know your truth now," she said, her voice steady. "You don't have to stay angry. Or forgotten. You were loved. You mattered."
The wind quieted. For a moment, all was still.
And then… a soft golden light glowed from the grave. A warm breeze blew through the trees, and everyone swore they heard laughter—gentle, free, and full of peace.
No ghost appeared.
No scream echoed.
Just peace.
Khushi wiped a tear. "Is it over?"
Prajwal nodded. "For them… yes."
But in her heart, a seed of doubt remained.
Because the hotel still held secrets.
And not all of them had been buried.
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