The cult never really worshipped that thing. They didn't matter enough even to be pawns in the bigger picture.
They were just placeholders—broken messengers echoing a voice that never wanted to be heard in the first place.
Even the girl, Pale Mirror, wasn't chosen. She wasn't a vessel.
She was just a window—something that was used to watch from the outside without stepping all the way in.
But now, that window had shattered.
And if Lilith was right… the thing behind the girl had started searching for another way in.
She walked through the quiet corridor, past the study, headed toward a part of the estate that almost no one ever entered—and never without her say-so.
The vault wasn't protected by spells or physical locks. That would've been too simple.
It was protected by belief.
The world had to choose to forget it existed. And most had.
As she descended the steps, old runes along the walls lit up—not from fire or light crystals, but from recognizing her presence.
