Journal Entry – December 4, 1871
The house feels lighter today.
So do I.
The guests spoke softly at breakfast, as though something in the walls might overhear. Mrs. Crane asked why I was smiling, though I swear I wasn’t. But when I stood before the mirror, my reflection disagreed.
My eyes looked different — sharper, colder, brightened by a color I’ve never seen in them before.
I touched the mark on my arm and felt warmth — not from the skin, but from something moving beneath it, slow as a tide.
I asked the voice in the dark what it made me do.
Its answer was gentle:
“What you were ready for.”
And the strange part is —
I think it’s right.