SHADOW OF THE HEIRESS

The Hargrove estate stood big and bold atop the rolling hills, its gigantic spires and large gardens a symbol of wealth and legacy. For as long as Charlotte could remember, it had been her home. She had grown up weaving through its complex of hallways, the elaborate decoration feeling less like a display of status and more like a comforting presence. For years, the Hargroves had treated her as their own.

The morning sun shunned through the gigantic windows of the dining room as Charlotte poured herself a cup of tea. Across the table, Oliver, the youngest of the Hargrove siblings, was so much into his book, his dark curls falling into his eyes. Mrs. Hargrove, elegant as ever, arranged flowers in a crystal vase. Everything felt normal, serene even.

"Charlotte, could you pass me the marmalade?" Oliver asked, not looking up.

Before she could respond, the butler, Mr. Grayson, entered the room, his usual unresponsive expression replaced with an air of unease.

"Mrs. Hargrove," he began, his voice firm, "there's a visitor at the gate. She claims to be… Evelyn Hargrove."

The vase slipped from Mrs. Hargrove's hands, scattering on the floor. An absolute silence followed. Charlotte's stomach tightened. She had heard the stories—Evelyn, the biological daughter of the Hargrove's, had been presumed lost in a tragic kidnapping decades ago.

"Evelyn?" Mrs. Hargrove whispered, her face became pale instantly. "That's impossible."

But moments later, the impossibility strode into the room.

Evelyn Hargrove was a lady filled with sophistication. Dressed in a tailored black coat, her presence commanded attention and respect. Her sharp features were an absolute look-alike of Mrs. Hargrove's, her piercing blue eyes checking the room around as if she were already reclaiming it.

"I see my return is unexpected," Evelyn said, her voice calm but with an attitude that went through the tension.

Charlotte stood frozen, the tea in her cup shaking slightly. She had always been told she was a Hargrove, even if not by blood. Now, the real heiress was here, and her place in the family suddenly felt fragile.

Mrs. Hargrove rushed to embrace Evelyn, her voice shaking and filled with emotion. "My darling, we thought we lost you forever."

Evelyn's gaze shifted to Charlotte as she returned the hug to her mom with an unresponsive attitude. "I see you've kept yourselves… entertained in my absence."

It wasn't an outright accusation, but the implication stayed heavily in the air allowing serious tension in the room. Charlotte's cheeks burned as Evelyn's eyes stayed on her.

The day unfolded awkwardly. Evelyn's arrival dismantled the household's rhythm. Servants whispered in corners, and even Mr. Hargrove, usually a man of few words, seemed at a loss. Evelyn moved through the estate with her usual authority pose, pointing out forgotten details in rooms, and questioning changes made in her absence.

At lunch, she leaned back in her chair, her gaze settling on Charlotte. "And who, exactly, is Charlotte?"

"I'm… adopted," Charlotte replied, her voice steadier than she felt. "The Hargrove's took me in when I was a child."

"Adopted," Evelyn repeated with her neutral tone but mixed with an unspoken question. "How generous of them."

Charlotte's hands tightened around her fork. Oliver gave her a sympathetic look, but even he didn't know how best to handle Evelyn.

As the day wore on, Charlotte tried to get herself busy in the library by drowning in reading, hoping to avoid further encounters with Evelyn. But the whispers of the servants and the tension in the house were impossible to ignore. Her mind raced with questions: Where had Evelyn been all these years? Why had she returned now?

When it was in the evening, Charlotte went to her room, longing for the safety it provided. But even there, the unease followed her.

As she settled into bed, a faint sound caught her attention—a soft, distant whisper.

"Charlotte…"

She sat up with her heart pounding. "Who's there?"

The room was still, the only sound available was the ticking of the clock. Yet the whisper came again, clearer this time.

"Charlotte… come…"

Her breath seized. The voice was faint, almost like music to her ears, but undeniably real. Grabbing the small lamp by her bedside, she stood and checked around the room.

That's when she noticed it—a draft. It came from the far corner of the room, where an ornate cloth hung.

Her heart kept racing, Charlotte approached the clothing. Pulling it aside, she revealed a small wooden door, its edges were old with age. She had lived in this room for years and had never noticed it before.

The whispers grew louder, pushing her forward. With shaking hands, she turned the old rusted handle.

The door opened with a creaking sound, showing a narrow staircase signaling downward. The air was cool and smelled of damp stone. Each of her instincts screamed at her to turn back, but curiosity wouldn't let her change her mind of finding out what was inside. Holding unto the lamp tightly, she descended.

The steps led her to a hidden chamber. The walls were filled with old books, and the core of the books were ages old. In the center of the room stood an object draped in a dusty cloth.

Charlotte hesitated before reaching out. She pulled the cloth away, revealing a large, ornate mirror. Its golden frame was complexly carved with symbols she didn't recognize.

Her reflection stared back at her through the standing mirror—or so she thought.

She tilted her head to the right. Her reflection didn't move.

Charlotte gasped, stepping back. The image in the mirror remained still, its eyes locked on hers. Then, slowly, it smiled.

Charlotte stumbled backward, dropping the lamp. The room went into darkness, the only lighting coming from the faint glow of the mirror. The whispers returned, louder now and echoing in her ears.

"Charlotte… you shouldn't have come…"

Panic went through her spine. She scrambled and ran for the stairs, her breath coming in short, rough gasps. As

she reached the door, she gave one last look at the mirror. Her reflection was gone.

Only the empty room stared back at her.

Charlotte ran out hurriedly to shut the door and catch her breath, she leaned on the door with her heart still pounding heavily in her chest as a result of what she just encountered. Suddenly she heard a soft knock from the other side.