Chapter 4 The Curse Of The Hollow

The Blackthornes had always lived at the edge of the forest, where the trees pressed close and the mist never quite lifted. Their mansion, once grand, now slouched beneath the weight of ivy and sorrow. Its stone walls were cracked, its windows shadowed, and its halls whispered with memories.

Evelyn's mother had once been warm, vibrant, full of light. Now she moved like a phantom through the house, her eyes glassy, her hands trembling when they lingered too long on her daughter's face. Evelyn saw the fear behind her smile-the way she flinched, as if Evelyn might vanish again at any moment. Or worse, turn into something unrecognizable.

Her father fared worse. He rarely looked at her at all. He spent his days locked in the study with drawn curtains and a bottle in hand. Words were rare. When they came, they were slurred and bitter.

And then Evelyn found the journal.

She hadn't meant to. A loose floorboard in the attic gave way beneath her foot as she explored the dust-choked rafters, drawn by a strange, low hum. Beneath it was a weathered leather-bound book, edges curled with age, pages brittle and yellow. The name etched inside the cover made her breath catch.

Isadora Blackthorne. Her grandmother.

She sat cross-legged in the dim attic light, the book open on her lap, heart pounding.

"The Hollow is not a forest. It is a prison. Our family has kept the seal for generations. But the cracks are spreading. If the Hollow opens, the dead will walk, and the living will fall."

Evelyn's hands shook as she flipped through the pages, the ink dark and hurried, filled with symbols she didn't recognize.

"In every generation, a girl is chosen to bear the curse. She must die to keep the seal intact. I did not tell Rose. I could not. But now Evelyn must know.

She is the Hollow's bride."

She froze. One word burned itself into her mind like a brand.

Bride.

The journal slipped from her fingers and thudded to the floor.

A shadow shifted at the attic door. Evelyn turned.

Ash stood in the doorway, half-lit by the gloom, his eyes unreadable.

"You knew," she whispered, her voice thin, cracking. "Didn't you?"

He said nothing at first. Silence stretched between them like a blade.

Then, finally, he nodded.

"Yes," he said. His voice was low, rough with something deeper than regret. "And I swore I wouldn't let it happen again."

Evelyn stared at him, anger rising behind her ribs like fire. "You lied to me."

"I protected you," he said. "As long as I could."

She stepped back, her breath catching in her throat. "I'm not a sacrifice."

Ash's gaze darkened. "You're not. Not yet. But the Hollow's waking. It's calling you."

Outside, the wind moaned through the trees. The ivy shuddered on the walls. And beneath the house, something old and hungry stirred.

The seal was breaking.

And Evelyn's blood was the key.