Lord Cliff arrived and silently headed to his chambers.

  “We need to talk,” said Lynette, stepping closer.

  “Right now?” he asked in a calm tone.

  “My lord…” Roselyn chimed in. “Please, speak with the lady.”

  Cliff gave an involuntary nod.

  “So then,” he said as he entered his room. “What did you wish to discuss?”

  Lynette hesitated for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts.

  The lord’s room looked surprisingly restrained: heavy dark furniture without unnecessary ornament, a massive writing desk covered in documents, and old paintings on the walls — darkened by time, yet well cared for.

  The air carried the scent of wax and aged paper. It was the space of a man accustomed to keeping everything under control.

  “Did you know this moment would come?” she finally asked.

  “Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “I have... something to show you. ”

  She sat down in a carved armchair with dark upholstery and a high back.

  “The ghost that haunts me leaves behind... what one might call clues.”

  The air between them noticeably grew heavier.

  “I am listening,” said the lord.

  Lynette spoke slowly, choosing her words:

  “The girl died at a young age. She pursues women, punishing them for greed. She was engaged in painting…”

  A short pause stretched on.

  “The rooms of the missing women remained well-kept, as if someone deliberately maintained order there. And the girl who died was…”

  She raised her eyes to Cliff, watching his reaction.

  “A servant,” the lord said, finished for her.

  The words hung in the air, forcing the heart to beat faster.

  “Look at this,” he added, handing her a painting.

  It was a portrait whose colors barely showed through a gray film of dust. Yet despite that, Lynette recognized the figure instantly.

  No doubt… it’s her.

  The canvas depicted the same girl. The same face — recognizable down to the smallest detail. Only she looked different: more alive, warmer, as if death had not yet touched her.

  “Who is she?”

  Cliff looked away for a moment.

  “I myself know very little… She died when I was still a child… As long as I can remember, my father hardly interfered in my life. It seemed he regretted something…”

  Lynette gripped the edges of the frame tightly, feeling the wood dig into her fingers.

  “What kind of relationship did they have?.. Perhaps you know her name?” she asked, handing the portrait back to Cliff.

  “I’m sorry…”

  I should tell Dorian everything.

  “Did your father leave anything else behind?”

  “Unfortunately, no…”

  Lynette straightened her shoulders.

  “I think this is enough.”

  She rose and headed toward the door.

  “Please,” the lord said softly, almost gently.

  Lynette stopped, waiting for his words.

  “Shed light on the past.”

  Of course… that is the very essence of our work.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  Left alone, Lynette could only wait for the next day. She found no new information.

  ***

  The days dragged on, and the girl began noticing strange, almost imperceptible anomalies more and more often.

  The paintings seemed to watch her, and the servants, once friendly, began to keep their distance. A faint rustle or melody would arise in an empty room and vanish only when she touched the door handle.

  Despite her fear, Lynette felt prepared. She had heard of such phenomena many times before and now perceived them as part of her new world.

  With each anomaly, old premonitions surfaced in her mind, while her body reacted instantly: clammy sweat, racing heartbeat, rising temperature, dizziness, a light tremor, and at times strange visions that grew more frequent.

  To calm herself, she clutched her talisman in her hands — the only thing she could entrust with her life. It became her ally, her support amid the chaos.

  ***

  On the sixth day, the object that gave her a sense of safety lost its power. The white paper darkened, and the black symbols turned pale.

  That day Lynette went to wash, as usual.

  The cool water refreshed her body and thoughts. But when she raised her gaze, she saw not a mirror, but a painting. On it was a perfect portrait of herself.

  Unlike her own face, which showed little emotion, the smile on the canvas began to grow — then, with sharp convulsive movements, the portrait came alive.

  “What the—?!” Lynette cried, stepping back.

  From the painting, first one hand emerged, then the other, gripping the frame, and finally the body fully stepped out.

  Before Lynette stood her exact copy.

  An alter ego?

  Cold sweat ran through the original’s body. She could focus on nothing except the figure before her.

  It advanced slowly, with heavy steps, as if learning to walk. Lynette could only retreat until her back hit the wall.

  “Well?” the copy’s voice rang out, identical to Lynette’s. “Your little toy won’t save you. Tell me… what’s your plan?”

  What do I do?! Run?! Strike?!

  Her body refused to obey her will. Her own emotions paralyzed her, preventing clear thought.

  With a slow, cautious motion, the figure touched Lynette’s bare shoulder.

  The touch was icy, piercing to the bone. On the skin Lynette had been touched, a bruise appeared instantly — the very one Sophie had mentioned.

  The entity stepped back and spoke:

  “I can’t wait for the moment you learn what it means to burn… But first… let me savor your fear.”

  Lynette swallowed nervously, feeling a tight knot in her throat.

  The figure slowly ran its tongue across its lips and stepped backward into the canvas, which vanished along with it.

  The mirror returned. The reflection in it said much — pale, terrified, and frozen.

  She threw on her clothes and rushed into the corridor, running down toward the hall.

  Dorian, where are you?! Damn you!

  “Hello, I’m not late, am I?” the detective’s voice sounded as he had just entered the mansion.

  “You were gone a long time!” Lynette said irritably.

  “I know. You look… unwell,” he said, assessing his assistant carefully.

  “I’m her target…”

  Despair and hope were written on Lynette’s face at once.

  “Hmm… understood,” Dorian said thoughtfully.

  The butler approached.

  “How is the investigation progressing?”

  “We’re on the final stretch. Vern, gather everyone and order them to leave the estate.”

  “Now?” the usually calm butler’s face twitched for a moment.

  “Yes. My assistant, the lord, and I will remain here. We need to clarify everything.”

  “Okay, I'll deal with it.”

  Vern left them at a faster pace than usual.

  “I’ll go fetch something.” Dorian said, heading toward the stairs.

  Lynette sat quietly, watching the workers pass one by one: some ran, some walked slowly, and different emotions were reflected on every face.

  “What is this commotion?” the baron approached.

  “Dorian returned and ordered the servants to leave the grounds.”

  “So I must stay?”

  “Correct,” the detective replied, returning with a bag.

  The black bag was made of expensive material — simple in appearance, but convenient for travel.

  “Won’t our actions provoke her?” Lynette remarked. “Innocent people might get hurt.”

  “I am familiar with their nature. And I know what they think…”

  ***

  On the roof of the mansion stood a creature invisible to the human eye. Its form was blurred, and it saw the world the same way — as though through a thick veil.

  And yet… through it all, it felt emotions it thought were long forgotten.

  Ah… what is this?

  The indistinct being was in ecstasy, savoring the sight of people fleeing beyond the estate’s boundaries.

  “Inspiration?.. Excitement?.. Or everything at once?!”

  When was the last time I felt this?

  “It’s in moments like these that I feel alive! At last… I will have my fun.”

  ***

  Dorian clapped his hands, drawing everyone’s attention.

  “Spirits exist in two worlds. The material — where contact is possible. And the prismatic — hidden from ordinary sight. There the ghost cannot harm anyone, but it can observe.”

  “Judging by your words…” Cliff said, “you see the prismatic world?”

  “Correct,” the detective nodded. “They perceive the world rather indistinctly and cannot materialize instantly.”

  “If we’re discussing this, it means she isn’t here,” Lynette said firmly.

  “At least I neither see nor sense her presence.”

  “And what's in that black bag?” the lord asked.

  Everyone’s gaze turned to it.

  “I can see the objects to which such beings are bound. I found none here, so I assumed the spirit was bound to the house… but I was mistaken.”

  “What do you mean?” Cliff said.

  “Even before we arrived, I saw a dark, ominous aura seeping beyond the borders of the territory. It’s unusual for a ghost tethered to a specific place.”

  “Could it be…” Lynette froze. “There is a place we don’t know about?”

  “Exactly. In the bag are several talismans I already took. And also a hammer, in case the object is solid.”

  “Is a ritual required?” Cliff asked.

  “No. First we must find the cursed object and destroy it.”

  “Is it dangerous?” Lynette asked.

  “I cannot say for certain, but it is better not to hold it for long.”

  Dorian handed her a small square hand mirror.

  “You must place any object nearby.”

  “And that’s all?” the lord asked.

  “After the cursed object is destroyed, the restless soul will move into the nearest vessel. The acting avatar will disappear as well.”

  I need to remember this...

  “Well then… We still haven’t named the girl who has been relentlessly hunting for several decades,” the detective said in a cheerful tone. “Her name is… Esther.”

  Esther… Why did she become like this? How did she die? So many questions.

  “Whether this place stood empty or not, she would have continued the hunt...” Dorian said.

  “And where is the place we need to find?” Cliff asked.

  “For that… let us immerse ourselves in the past. In the time when she was still alive…”