The next two days were thick with silence, like the school was holding its breath.
No one spoke of Miss Voss anymore. Her classroom door remained locked. Her name was erased from the whiteboard. Some whispered she'd quit. Others claimed she was on leave.
But Amara knew better.
Elara wasn't gone.
She was hiding.
And the curse had only just begun.
Amara stood alone in the hallway before dawn, the sun barely a whisper over the horizon. Her fingers gripped the mirror shard tightly in her pocket, its surface still warm with leftover magic.
The reflections she had seen still haunted her—Elara's split form, the twisted voice that echoed through the auditorium. It wasn't a hallucination. It was a warning. A glimpse of what she could become too, if she let magic consume her.
She'd heard stories from her grandmother—of women who danced with spirits and bled with shadows. Of mothers who bore beasts instead of babies. It wasn't just fantasy.
It was history repeating.
And now, it was happening within the very walls of North Hollow High.
—
Micah found her during breakfast, eyes bloodshot and pale.
"You look like you haven't slept in years," she said, sipping stale orange juice.
He leaned closer. "I've been… seeing her."
Amara stopped. "Elara?"
"In dreams. She comes to me. Not like a ghost. Like she's… inside the school. Watching me. Asking me to help her."
Amara's voice dropped. "What does she say?"
"That she's sorry. That she didn't choose this. That she's trying to hold the baby in."
"She's stalling," Amara whispered, more to herself than him.
Micah frowned. "What do you mean?"
"The curse. It wants out. But it needs more power. She's holding it back for now, but it's feeding off her guilt. Her body can't contain it much longer."
Micah sat back, shaking his head. "So what, we just wait for her to explode?"
Amara stared into her juice. "No. We find her. Before the full moon."
—
The school library had always been a safe haven for Amara. But now, the books whispered too. The shadows shifted too easily behind shelves. As she searched through old records, she found something chilling.
Miss Elara Voss wasn't registered as a full-time staff member. In fact… she had no record at all. Her files had been created only two months ago.
And before that?
Nothing.
No previous employment.
No birth certificate.
No address.
Just a name.
And a curse.
As the sun crept higher, Amara traced her fingers down the old blueprints of the school. Her eyes stopped at a section beneath the gym. Labeled "maintenance tunnels."
She'd never heard of them before.
But something in her gut clenched.
That's where Elara was.
—
That night, Amara didn't sleep. She waited.
At 2:00 a.m., she crept from the dorms and met Micah behind the gymnasium.
"You're really doing this?" he asked.
"I have to," she said. "If I don't stop it now, she won't be the only one carrying the curse."
Micah handed her a flashlight and a string of blessed beads. "For protection."
She gave him a look. "I thought you didn't believe in this stuff."
"I didn't," he said softly, "until she came to me in a dream… and said the baby was mine."
Amara froze.
"What?"
Micah looked down, ashamed. "We… we had a moment. Months ago. Before she changed. I didn't think—"
Amara backed away. "Micah… if that thing is yours—"
"I have to stop it, Amara. Please."
She nodded tightly, and together, they descended into the tunnels.
The air was thick and damp, the walls slick with condensation. Old lights flickered overhead. As they walked deeper, strange markings appeared on the walls—symbols, circles, runes.
Shaman glyphs.
"I've seen these before," Amara whispered. "These are meant to trap spirits. My grandmother taught me this."
"Trap, or… birth?" Micah muttered.
Then they heard it.
A moan.
Long, low, and agonizing.
They ran toward the sound, the glyphs glowing faintly beneath their feet. And there, in the heart of the tunnel, lay Elara.
Her back against the wall. Belly enormous. Eyes glowing silver. Sweat pouring down her face.
She looked up and saw them.
"You shouldn't be here."
"We came to help you," Amara said, holding up the beads.
Elara snarled. "You came to end me."
"No," Micah stepped forward. "I came for the baby. If it's mine, I need to know what's inside it."
Elara cried out, clutching her stomach. "It's not a child anymore. It's a mirror of what cursed me. It will be you, Micah. Twisted. Eternal. It feeds on truth and hides in lies."
Then suddenly, her stomach split with a golden crack of light.
Something inside began to move.
Amara threw the beads.
A scream erupted—not from Elara, but from the creature inside her. The tunnel shook.
"RUN!" Elara shouted, voice layered with a hundred echoes.
But Amara didn't run.
She stepped forward, lifted the mirror shard, and faced the light.
What she saw would scar her forever.
It had Micah's eyes.
And her grandmother's smile.
A child made of all their truths and lies combined.
A curse destined to choose its next mother.
And it had chosen her.