Rain hammered against the windows of Aurora Vale's house as she sat clutching the flannel shirt of Elias, the man she loved and had just lost. His sudden death left her haunted and broken. The doctors claimed it was natural, but Aurora felt otherwise—there was something dark and unnatural in the way he'd died. It wasn't an accident or illness, but something far worse.
Three nights before his death, Aurora had heard Elias whisper strange words in his sleep—words not his own. "She will trade the soul for love. She will cross the veil." At first, she had dismissed it, but when she found his hidden journal in the attic, wrapped in black silk, her doubts turned to dread.
The journal contained arcane symbols, cryptic drawings of doorways, and phrases in languages she could barely comprehend. At its center was the phrase, "Love is the darkest hour." Aurora couldn't sleep anymore, her mind gripped by fear and confusion.
Now, alone in their house, she heard a faint voice calling her name in the hallway. Her heart raced as she followed the sound, but every time she tried to reach Elias, the hallway seemed to stretch endlessly, making him vanish like a cruel illusion. Her breath caught when she saw him—pale, distant, and almost not himself—but when she blinked, he was gone.
On the floor lay Elias's journal, pages flipping on their own until they stopped on a single word glowing red: "Pact." Suddenly, the lights died, and an unnatural cold wind swept through the house. The voice she heard now was deeper, older, and filled with menace. It warned her that Elias was no longer hers to claim, and that he had given himself willingly to a darkness she couldn't yet understand.
Despite the terror, Aurora's love made her defiant. She screamed for Elias to be returned to her, but the voice only laughed, telling her she was too late. The shadows around her grew thick and threatening as the voice whispered a deadly invitation: "Come and bleed for love."
She collapsed to the floor, waking hours later in the attic, soaked and trembling, clutching the journal but no longer holding Elias's shirt. The nightmare was real—the voice still haunted her, the chill still lingering. But now, something strange happened. The symbols in the journal began to make sense. She understood the ritual described—a forbidden way to cross into the underworld to rescue a lost soul.
The ritual was called The Descent. It required a blood offering, a mirror, and a name—Asriel. The journal warned that once the path was crossed, nothing would remain the same.
Determined, Aurora prepared the ritual in the basement, clearing a space Elias had once used for painting. She drew a protective circle, surrounded by salt and symbols, and placed the cracked mirror Elias had brought home months ago. Cutting her palm, she let her blood fall onto the sigil. The candles flared violently, and the air thickened, heavy with a dark power.
The mirror's surface rippled and twisted until a voice spoke from beyond the glass, asking who dared disturb the seal. Aurora, trembling but resolute, named herself and demanded Elias be returned. The voice warned that love would not protect her here; it would be the very blade that could tear her apart.
With a final pulse, the glass seemed to open like a portal, and Aurora stepped forward into the unknown—ready to face whatever darkness awaited to save the man she loved, even if it meant losing herself forever