It was late afternoon when Ivy found herself walking down the narrow hallway behind the east wing.
She wasn't sure why she was there.
Maybe it was boredom. Maybe it was curiosity. Or maybe it was the way Flora had once whispered, "The pretty rooms are over there," like it was a secret meant only for Ivy.
This part of Bly felt different.
The wallpaper was dark blue, faded and peeling, patterned with silver leaves that curled like they were trying to escape the walls. Tall windows lined the corridor, but their curtains were always closed. Dust clung to the floorboards. No footprints. No signs of life.
Ivy slowed when she reached a door left slightly open.
Light spilled through the crack.
She pushed it wider.
The room inside was smaller than hers, bathed in a soft golden glow from tall windows. The air felt still—too still. Like time had stopped the moment someone left.
A neatly made bed. A vanity near the window.
And above it—
A mirror.
The glass was cracked straight across the center, diagonal and sharp, like a wound that never healed.
Ivy stepped closer.
The air grew colder.
She stared at her reflection.
Then—
Someone stood behind her.
Tall. Thin. Dressed in black.
Not moving.
Ivy sucked in a breath and spun around.
The room was empty.
Her heart pounded. "Hello?" she whispered.
Nothing answered.
She turned back to the mirror.
Only her reflection stared back now. Pale. Wide-eyed.
"I'm imagining things," she murmured.
Still shaken, Ivy backed away and left the room quickly, closing the door behind her.
At dinner, Ivy barely touched her food.
She sat beside Kate, pushing peas around her plate. Flora hummed happily, completely unbothered, while Mrs. Grose served vegetables with careful hands.
Miles was quiet. Watching.
"Ivy found one of the old rooms today," Kate said suddenly, trying to break the silence. "In the east wing."
Mrs. Grose froze.
"Oh?" she said.
"There was a mirror," Ivy added softly. "It was cracked."
Mrs. Grose set the spoon down a little too hard. "You shouldn't go there."
Kate blinked. "Why not?"
"Some rooms are best left alone," Mrs. Grose said gently.
Miles finally looked up.
"The mirror," he said calmly. "Did it show you anything?"
Ivy's stomach tightened. "No."
His eyes stayed on her. "Nothing at all?"
She hesitated. "Just… me."
Miles smiled faintly.
Kate noticed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Mrs. Grose spoke quickly. "Just memories. That's all those rooms hold."
Her voice shook.
Flora suddenly giggled.
"I saw her once."
Everyone froze.
Kate turned slowly. "Saw who, honey?"
"The lady," Flora said cheerfully. "The one who lived in that room. She used to brush her hair a lot."
Ivy felt cold all over.
Miles glanced at Flora, then at Ivy—watching her reaction.
"That's enough, Flora," Mrs. Grose said sharply. "Don't tell stories at the table."
Flora shrugged and went quiet, swinging her legs.
Dinner ended soon after.
That night, Ivy locked her door for the first time.
She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the image burned into her mind—the cracked mirror, the woman standing behind her, silent and still.
But what unsettled her most wasn't the ghost.
It was the way Miles had smiled.
Like he already knew.