The photograph sits in the center of the frame. Three young women in identical white dresses with high lace collars. Their hair pinned up in the Gibson girl style so fashionable in 1903. At first glance, they appear perfect reflections of one another.

The same oval faces, the same solemn expressions, the same delicate features that speak of good breeding and gentle upbringing, the Caldwell sisters of Blackwood Manor, the pride of Ravenscraftoft County. But as we draw closer to this sepia toned portrait, something becomes evident about the sister in the middle.

While her face mirrors those of her siblings perfectly, there is something unusual about her neck. Just visible above the high collar of her dress is what appears to be a thin dark line, almost like a scar, too precise to be a flaw in the photograph, too deliberate to be an accident. This is the story of Elellanor, Margaret, and Catherine Caldwell.

Three sisters born of the same mother on the same day with the same face. Three sisters who would become entangled in a mystery that would haunt Ravencraftoft County for generations to come. A mystery that begins with this photograph and the secret hidden just beneath the collar of Margaret Caldwell’s dress.

Blackwood Manor stood at the edge of Ravencraftoft County like a sentinel, its gothic spires piercing the morning mist that rolled in from the nearby river. Built by Thomas Caldwell in 1867, the house had witnessed the rise of the family’s fortune in timber and railways and now served as home to his son William, William’s wife Evelyn, and their identical triplet daughters, a medical rarity that had made the family something of a local wonder.

When the girls were born 22 years ago, on this particular morning in late September 1903, the manor was busier than usual. Servants hurried through hallways carrying fresh linens and flowers. While in the kitchen, Mrs. Porter, the cook, supervised the preparation of what promised to be an elaborate dinner.

The occasion was the annual harvest ball, a tradition started by Thomas Caldwell himself, and maintained fidiously by his son. In the east wing of the house, Elellanar Caldwell sat at her vanity, pinning the last strands of her chestnut hair into place as the eldest of the triplets. by a mere 7 minutes. Eleanor had always carried herself with a certain authority.

Her posture was impeccable, her manners flawless, her dedication to propriety unwavering. “Catherine, have you seen my pearl earrings?” she called, not bothering to turn around. She knew her youngest sister would be within earshot. The three of them shared adjoining rooms, a practical arrangement that had suited them since childhood.

Catherine appeared in the doorway that connected their chambers, already dressed in her morning attire. a light blue tea gown with delicate embroidery at the collar and cuffs. Despite being the youngest by 15 minutes, Catherine possessed a confidence that sometimes bordered on impropriy while Elellanar embraced tradition.

Catherine looked forward, fascinated by the modern world that was rapidly changing around them. I haven’t, Catherine replied, adjusting a hairpin. Have you asked Margaret? You know how she borrows things without asking? Elellanar sighed. Margaret hasn’t emerged from her room yet. I knocked earlier, but she didn’t answer.

She was reading late again, I expect, Catherine said, moving to sit on the edge of Elellanar’s bed. I saw her light still burning when I retired. Well, past midnight, Ellaner frowned. Father won’t be pleased if she appears at breakfast with dark circles under her eyes, especially not today with all the preparations for the ball.

Margaret has always marched to the rhythm of her own drum, Catherine said with a small smile. Besides, it’s not as if anyone can tell us apart at first glance anyway. We could simply take turns being each other, and no one would be the wiser. Catherine, Ellaner admonished, though there was no real anger in her voice. This was an old joke between them.

The idea of switching identities, a game they had played as children, but had abandoned as they grew into young women with distinct personalities. At that moment, the door to the third bedroom opened, and Margaret Caldwell stepped into Eleanor’s room.

The middle sister was already fully dressed in a gown of deep forest green, her hair arranged perfectly, not a strand out of place. Unlike her sisters, Margaret wore a silk scarf around her neck, an accessory she had adopted in recent years. “Good morning,” Margaret said, her voice soft but clear. “I heard you asking about your pearl earrings, Elellanar. I believe I saw them on the small table in the library yesterday.

You were reading to Mrs. Porter’s daughter, remember?” Eleanor’s expression cleared. Yes, of course. Thank you, Margaret. Margaret nodded, her hand absently touching the scarf at her neck, a gesture her sisters had become accustomed to. Margaret had always been the quietest of the three, more given to observation than participation, where Elellanar managed the household alongside their mother, and Catherine engaged enthusiastically with visitors.

Margaret preferred the company of books and the solitude of the manor’s extensive gardens. “Will Dr. Barrett be attending the ball this evening?” Catherine asked. a mischievous glint in her eye as she looked at Margaret. A faint blush colored Margaret’s cheeks. “I’m sure, I don’t know.

Why would I have any knowledge of the doctor’s plans? Perhaps because he looks at you as if you hung the moon and stars,” Catherine teased. “And you, dear sister, are not as indifferent as you pretend to be.” “Catherine, that’s enough,” Eleanor interjected, noting Margaret’s discomfort. “Dr. Barrett is our family physician and a respected member of the community. There’s no need for idol gossip.” Dr.

James Barrett had arrived in Ravenscraftoft County just over a year ago, taking over the practice of old Dr. Winters, who had retired after serving the community for nearly four decades. Young, educated at a prestigious medical school back east, and possessed of both good looks and gentle manners, Dr.

Barrett had quickly become a favorite among the county’s prominent families. His particular attention to Margaret had not gone unnoticed, though Margaret herself rarely acknowledged it. We should go down to breakfast, Margaret said, clearly eager to change the subject. Father will be waiting, and you know how he values punctuality.

The three sisters made their way downstairs, moving with the synchronicity that often made people stare. Despite their different temperaments, there was something almost supernatural about the way they sometimes moved as one, as if connected by an invisible thread. In the breakfast room, William Caldwell sat at the head of the table.

A newspaper opened before him. At 52, he remained an imposing figure, tall, broad-shouldered, with a thick mustache, now stre with gray. He lowered his paper as his daughters entered, his stern expression softening slightly. “Good morning, father,” they said in near perfect unison, taking their usual seats. “Elanor,” to his right, then Margaret, then Catherine.

“Good morning, girls,” he replied, folding his newspaper neatly. “I trust you’re prepared for this evening’s festivities. Your mother has been up since dawn consulting with Mrs. Porter about the menu. We’re quite prepared, father. Elellanar assured him. I’ve reviewed the guest list and seating arrangements with mother yesterday.

William nodded approvingly before turning his attention to Margaret. Margaret, I notice you’re wearing that scarf again. It’s rather warm for such an accessory, don’t you think? Margaret’s hand went to her neck, a reflexive gesture. I find the morning air a bit chilly, father. I’m quite comfortable.

William studied his middle daughter for a moment, his expression unreadable. Very well, but for the ball this evening. Your mother has selected matching gowns for the three of you. I don’t believe a scarf would compliment the ensemble. A flicker of something anxiety perhaps, crossed Margaret’s face, but she quickly composed herself. Of course, father, I’ll speak with mother about suitable accessories.

The exchange was interrupted by the arrival of Evelyn Caldwell, who swept into the room with the energy that had helped her manage Blackwood Manor for nearly 25 years. At 47, she remained a handsome woman, her own chestnut hair, now with elegant streaks of silver, arranged fashionably.

Good morning, family, she said brightly. William, Mr. Hughes has arrived with the additional tables for the ballroom. He needs your approval on the arrangement. William stood, placing his napkin beside his barely touched plate. I’ll see to it. Girls, remember that the photographer will arrive at 3:00. I want a new family portrait before guests begin to arrive at 7:00.

After their father left, Evelyn took his seat, signaling for the maid to bring her tea. Now then, girls, we have much to accomplish today. Elellanor, I need you to oversee the flower arrangements in the main hall. Catherine, you’ll assist me with the final review of the music selections with the quartet. and Margaret.

She paused, looking at her middle daughter with a slight frown. Margaret, dear, you’ll need to remove that scarf for the photograph later. The dresses I’ve chosen have a lovely neckline that would be spoiled by such an addition. Margaret lowered her gaze to her plate. Yes, mother. Margaret hasn’t been without her scarves in public for nearly 2 years now.

Catherine observed, reaching for a piece of toast. People will think it’s strange if she suddenly appears without one. Catherine, Elanor warned. Evelyn sighed. Margaret, I’ve respected your and preference for covering your neck despite not understanding it. But today is important to your father.

The harvest ball is when we showcase our family to the county’s finest citizens. Uniformity among you three has always been our particular pride. I understand, mother, Margaret said quietly. I’ll wear the dress as you’ve designed it. Evelyn’s expression softened. Thank you, dear.

Now, after breakfast, I’d like the three of you to check that your ball gowns fit perfectly. Mrs. Simmons made some final adjustments yesterday. As breakfast concluded and the sisters rose to attend to their assigned tasks, Catherine lingered, waiting until their mother had left the room before speaking. “Margaret, are you certain you’re comfortable removing your scarf for the evening? You haven’t done so in company since.

” “I’ll be fine,” Margaret interrupted, her voice firmer than usual. It’s just for one evening. Eleanor and Catherine exchanged a glance but said nothing more as the three sisters left the breakfast room. The exchange, however brief, had cast a shadow over the morning, a reminder of things unspoken, of secrets kept, the gardens of Blackwood Manor stretched for acres, a testament to the Caldwell family’s appreciation for natural beauty carefully controlled.

Geometric flower beds, precisely trimmed hedges, and gravel paths that curved with mathematical precision created an environment that was both impressive and somewhat forbidding. Much like the family itself, Margaret walked these paths alone, as she often did when seeking solitude.

In one hand, she carried a book, Edith Wharton’s The Valley of Decision, published just the year before, though she hadn’t opened it. Her mind was too preoccupied with the evening ahead with the prospect of removing her scarf and exposing her neck to the curious eyes of Ravenscraftoft County’s elite. She paused by the stone fountain at the center of the rose garden, sitting on its edge and running her fingers through the cool water.

The morning sun cast dappled shadows through the oak trees that bordered this section of the garden, creating patterns on the gravel path. Miss Caldwell, the voice startled her, though she recognized it immediately. Turning, Margaret found herself looking up at Dr. James Barrett, who stood a few feet away, medical bag in hand. “Dr.

Barrett,” she said, rising quickly from her seated position. “I didn’t hear you approach.” He smiled, the expression warming his serious face. At 32, James Barrett cut an impressive figure, tall and lean, with intelligent eyes and a manner that put even the most nervous patients at ease. “Forgive me for startling you.

I’ve come to check on your father’s shoulder. The old hunting injury has been troubling him again. Margaret nodded. Yes, he mentioned it was paining him. He’s likely in his study. Thank you. Dr. Barrett hesitated, seeming reluctant to end the conversation. Will I have the pleasure of seeing you at the ball this evening? I understand the harvest ball is quite the event in Ravenscraftoft County.

You will, Margaret confirmed, her hand unconsciously moving to adjust her scarf. Father insists that all three of us participate fully in the evening’s festivities. Dr. Barrett’s gaze followed her movement, lingering briefly on the scarf before returning to her face. I look forward to it then. Perhaps you might save a dance for me. A faint blush colored Margaret’s cheeks.

I Yes, I should like that. His smile broadened. Excellent. I’ll hold you to it, Miss Caldwell. He hesitated again, then added, “How have you been feeling? any recurrence of the symptoms we discussed during my last visit. Margaret glanced around quickly, ensuring they were truly alone.

No, she said quietly, though I confess I’m concerned about this evening. Mother insists I appear without my scarf for the family photograph in the ball. Concern flickered across Dr. Barrett’s features. I see. And you’re certain you wish to comply. I could speak with your parents. Suggest that for health reasons? No, Margaret interrupted firmly. No, that won’t be necessary. It’s just one evening. I’ll manage. Dr. Barrett studied her face.

Very well, but please remember what I told you. If you experience any discomfort, any symptoms at all, send for me immediately. I’ll make sure to remain sober and alert throughout the evening. Thank you, doctor, Margaret said, genuine gratitude in her voice. With a respectful nod, Dr.

Barrett continued up the path toward the house, leaving Margaret alone with her thoughts once more. She watched him go, her hand still at her neck, fingers pressing against the silk scarf as if to reassure herself that it remained in place, that her secret remained hidden. The library at Blackwood Manor housed three generations worth of books, from leather-bound classics to the latest publications.

Tall windows allowed natural light to fill the space, illuminating the rich mahogany shelves and comfortable reading chairs arranged throughout the room. It was here that Catherine found Margaret seated in a window al cove, her book open, but her gaze directed outside where servants were erecting small lanterns along the garden paths for the evening’s festivities. “There you are,” Catherine said, approaching her sister.

“Elanor’s been looking everywhere for you. The dresses have arrived from Mrs. Simmons, and we’re to try them on immediately.” Margaret closed her book, placing it carefully on a small table beside her chair. “I lost track of time, I suppose.

” Catherine sat in the adjacent chair, leaning forward with the conspiratorial heir that had both delighted and troubled her sisters since childhood. “Margaret, I’ve been thinking, if you’re truly uncomfortable removing your scarf this evening, perhaps we could devise an alternative,” Margaret raised an eyebrow. “What sort of alternative?” “Well,” Catherine said, lowering her voice though they were alone.

“We could switch places, as we used to do as children. I could be you for the photograph and the early portion of the ball. No one can tell us apart when we’re dressed identically, not even mother and father if we’re careful, Catherine. That’s absurd, Margaret said, though without much conviction. We haven’t played such games in years. Besides, it would be dishonest.

More dishonest than hiding behind your scarf for 2 years, Catherine challenged gently. Margaret, something happened to you that summer at Aunt Agatha’s. Something you’ve never fully explained. The three of us have never kept secrets from each other before. Yet, you returned from that visit changed.

Margaret looked away, her fingers once again finding their way to her neck. Some things are better left unspoken, Catherine. Are they? You visit Dr. Barrett far more frequently than your health would seem to require. You never remove your scarf, even in the privacy of our rooms, and sometimes late at night. I hear you crying out in your sleep.

Catherine reached for her sister’s hand. We’re triplets, Margaret. More than sisters, parts of a whole. Whatever burden you’re carrying, you needn’t carry it alone. For a moment, it seemed Margaret might finally confide in her sister. Her eyes identical to Catherine’s in every way, filled with unshed tears, and her lips parted as if to speak.

But then, like a door closing, her expression shuddered, and she withdrew her hand from Catherine’s grasp. “We should go upstairs,” she said, rising from her chair. “As you said, Elellanar is waiting.” Catherine sighed, but didn’t press further. She knew her sister well enough to recognize when Margaret had retreated behind the walls.

she’d built around herself since that summer two years ago. The summer when Margaret had gone alone to visit their elderly aunt Agatha in her remote countryside home, returning weeks later with a scarf around her neck and a haunted look in her eyes. The three ball gowns laid out on Eleanor’s bed were indeed identical, pale ivory silk with delicate bead work across the bodice.

The neckline cut low enough to showcase the collar bones, but high enough to maintain propriety. Beside each dress lay matching silk gloves, pearl hair ornaments, and satin slippers. “They’re beautiful,” Eleanor said, running her fingers over the beadwork. “Mother has outdone herself with the design.

” Margaret stood slightly apart from her sisters, her eyes fixed on the neckline of the dresses. Catherine, noticing her discomfort, moved to stand beside her. “It’s not too low,” she murmured. “And the lighting in the ballroom will be dim. No one will notice anything a miss. What are you two whispering about? Elellanar asked, turning toward them.

Nothing of consequence, Catherine replied smoothly. Just admiring mother’s taste. Elellanar looked skeptical but didn’t pursue the matter. We should try them on. The photographer will be here in less than 2 hours, and you know how particular father is about punctuality. The sisters retreated to their respective rooms to change, assisted by their ladies maids.

When they reconvened in Elellanar’s room 30 minutes later, the effect was striking. Three identical young women in identical gowns, their chestnut hair arranged in the same elegant style, pearls gleaming at their ears.

But Margaret still wore her scarf, a cream-colored silk that she had attempted to coordinate with the gown, though it clearly disrupted the uniformity their parents so prized. “Margaret,” Ellanar began gently, “you know mother will insist you remove it before the photograph.” I know, Margaret said, her voice barely above a whisper. I will when it’s time. A knock at the door interrupted the tense moment.

Eleanor’s maid entered after being bid to do so. Miss Elellanor, your mother asks that you and your sisters come down to the great hall. The photographer has arrived early and is setting up his equipment. Elellanor thanked the maid, who curtsied and withdrew. Turning to her sisters, she straightened her already perfect posture.

Well, it seems the moment has arrived sooner than expected. Margaret. Margaret stood frozen for a moment. Then, with hands that trembled slightly, she reached up and began to unwrap the scarf from around her neck. As the silk fell away, Catherine gasped softly, while Elellanar’s eyes widened in shock.

Around Margaret’s neck, previously hidden by her high collars and scarves, was a thin, dark line. Not a natural shadow or a quirk of the light, but what appeared to be a scar that encircled her throat completely as if Margaret Elellanar whispered. “What happened to you?” Margaret’s hand flew to her neck, covering the mark. “It’s nothing.” “Uh, a riding accident at Aunt Agatha’s.

” The rains caught around my neck when the horse was startled. The explanation sounded rehearsed, unconvincing. Catherine moved closer, gently pulling Margaret’s hand away to examine the mark more carefully. That’s no writing accident, she said, her voice low and troubled.

Margaret, that looks like we don’t have time for this, Margaret interrupted, stepping back. The photographer is waiting. Father will be displeased if we delay. Elellanar hesitated, clearly torn between pursuing the matter and adhering to their father’s expectations. Ultimately, duty won out, as it usually did with Elellanar. Very well, she said, but this conversation isn’t over, Margaret.

Whatever happened, whatever you’re hiding, we’re your sisters. We deserve the truth. Margaret said nothing. But the look in her eyes spoke volumes. Fear, shame, and something deeper. Something that sent a chill down Catherine’s spine.

For a fleeting moment, Catherine thought she saw something else in the scar on Margaret’s neck. A faint greenish tint that couldn’t be explained by any writing accident she could imagine. The three sisters made their way downstairs in silence, each lost in her own thoughts. In the great hall, William and Evelyn Caldwell waited with the photographer, who had set up his large box camera before a backdrop of heavy velvet curtains.

“Ah, here they are,” William said, his voice filled with the pride he always exhibited when presenting his identical daughters to visitors. “My three jewels, as alike as peas in a pod.” The photographer, a middle-aged man with spectacles and a meticulously trimmed beard, looked up from his equipment, his professional smile faltering slightly as he caught sight of the sisters, specifically the mark on Margaret’s neck. “Good afternoon, young ladies,” he recovered quickly.

“What a remarkable resemblance! If you would please arrange yourselves according to your mother’s direction, we can begin.” Evelyn stepped forward, her practiced smile firmly in place, though her eyes narrowed slightly when she noticed Margaret’s exposed neck. “Ellanar on the left, Margaret in the center, Catherine on the right,” she instructed, guiding each daughter into position.

As she adjusted Margaret’s posture, she leaned close to whisper. “We will discuss that mark later. For now, keep your chin up and try to ensure it doesn’t show in the photograph.” Margaret nodded slightly, tilting her chin at an angle that partially obscured the mark around her neck.

The sisters arranged themselves according to their mother’s directions, assuming the solemn expressions considered appropriate for formal photography. The photographer disappeared beneath the black cloth attached to his camera, emerging a moment later. “Please remain very still, ladies. The exposure will take several seconds.

” In the stillness that followed, as the camera captured their image for posterity, Catherine found herself wondering what other secrets might be hidden beneath the perfect facade of their family. What had really happened to Margaret at Aunt Agatha’s? Why did her sister wake screaming in the night? And why did that scar, a perfect circle around Margaret’s throat, seemed to shimmer with an unearly tint when the light caught it just so? The ballroom of Blackwood Manor glowed with the light of a hundred candles, supplemented by the modern electric lights that William Caldwell had installed just the previous year, a luxury that few homes in

Ravenscraftoft County could boast. Crystal chandeliers caught and reflected the light, casting prismatic patterns across the polished wooden floor where couples would soon dance. From her position near one of the tall windows, Catherine watched as the first guests began to arrive, their carriages pulling up to the front entrance where footmen waited to assist them.

The quartet played softly in the corner of the ballroom, the musicians warming up with gentle melodies that would soon give way to waltzes and quadrills. Eleanor approached, a list in her hand and the satisfied expression of someone who had checked off every item. “Everything is in order,” she reported. The refreshments are arranged in the dining room.

The card room is prepared for those who prefer games to dancing, and father has instructed the staff about the serving of the champagne at midnight. Catherine nodded absently, her mind elsewhere. Have you seen Margaret? Eleanor’s expression tightened slightly. She’s still upstairs. Mother is with her, helping her apply rice powder to to her neck to make the mark less visible.

We need to know what happened to her, Eleanor. That’s no ordinary scar. I agree, Ellaner said, lowering her voice as a servant passed nearby. But tonight is not the time for such discussions. Father has worked for months to ensure this ball is perfect. We will play our parts as we always do, and tomorrow we will speak with Margaret properly.

Catherine wanted to argue, to insist that their sister’s well-being was more important than a social event, no matter how prestigious. But she knew Eleanor was right, at least about the timing. Creating a scene at the Harvest Ball would only make matters worse. “Very well,” she conceded. “But first thing tomorrow, we insist on the truth.

No more evasions, no more half explanations about riding accidents.” Elellanor nodded in agreement, then straightened as their father entered the ballroom, respplendant in his formal evening attire. “William Caldwell surveyed the room with the critical eye of a man accustomed to perfection, nodding in satisfaction at what he saw.

” girls,” he said as he approached his daughters. “You both look lovely.” “Where is your sister?” “Margaret is with mother,” Eleanor explained. “They’ll be down shortly.” William frowned slightly. The Barretts have just arrived. Dr. Barrett was specifically asking after Margaret’s health. I assured him she was in excellent spirits for the ball.

Catherine and Elellanar exchanged glances at the mention of Dr. Barrett’s interest in their sister. Before either could respond, the murmur of conversation in the ballroom dimmed noticeably, and heads turned toward the main entrance. Margaret stood there, a vision in ivory silk, her mother beside her.

The mark on her neck was indeed less visible, artfully concealed with powder, though Catherine could still detect it if she looked carefully. What struck her more forcefully, however, was her sister’s expression, a mask of perfect serenity that didn’t quite reach her eyes, which remained wary, almost haunted.

As Margaret and their mother made their way across the ballroom to join them, Catherine noted how the other guests watched them. The three identical sisters had always been objects of fascination in Ravenscroft County. But tonight, there was something more in those stairs. A curiosity perhaps about the middle sister who had become so reclusive in recent years, who now stood before them with her neck uncovered for the first time in public memory.

“You see, hardly noticeable,” Evelyn said quietly as they joined the family group, though her smile remained fixed and tense. “Now, girls, your father and I will greet the remaining guests. The three of you should circulate, ensuring everyone feels welcomed. And remember, you represent the Caldwell name. Comportment is everything.” As their parents moved away to greet the arriving judge and Mrs.

Harrington, Elellanar turned to her sisters. “We should separate,” she suggested practically. “We’ll cover more ground that way.” Before either Margaret or Catherine could respond, a male voice interrupted their conference. “Miss Margaret Caldwell, I believe you promised me a dance.” Dr.

James Barrett stood before them, handsome in his formal attire, his eyes fixed on Margaret with an intensity that surprised Catherine. This was more than the polite interest of a family physician or even the admiration of a potential suitor. There was concern in his gaze and something else, a knowledge perhaps of things the sisters didn’t yet understand.

Margaret’s composure faltered momentarily before she recovered with a small smile. “Indeed I did, Dr. Barrett, though I believe the dancing has not yet commenced. Then perhaps you would honor me with your company for a prominade around the room,” he suggested, offering his arm. After a moment’s hesitation, Margaret placed her gloved hand on his arm. I would be delighted.

As the pair moved away, Catherine turned to Elellanar. Did you see the way he looked at her? He knows something about that mark on her neck. Catherine, please. Eleanor cautioned. Not here. Not tonight. We agreed to wait until tomorrow. But Catherine’s curiosity and concern for her sister had reached a breaking point.

You fulfill your social obligations, Ellaner. I intend to keep an eye on Margaret and Dr. Barrett. Something isn’t right. and I won’t wait until tomorrow to discover what it is. Before Ellaner could protest further, Catherine moved away, circulating among the guests as their mother had instructed, but keeping Margaret and Dr. Barrett within her line of sight.

She watched as they completed their circuit of the ballroom, noting how the doctor positioned himself to keep Margaret’s marked neck away from curious eyes, how he bent his head close to hers as they spoke in hushed tones that no one else could hear. When the music shifted to announce the commencement of dancing, Catherine positioned herself near the refreshment table where she could observe without being obvious. Dr.

Barrett led Margaret onto the dance floor for the first walts, his hand respectfully at her waist, maintaining the proper distance as they moved in perfect time to the music. To casual observers, they would appear as nothing more than an eligible young doctor dancing with one of the county’s most sought-after young ladies. But Catherine saw more.

The way Margaret’s gaze frequently darted to the doors and windows as if calculating escape routes. The protective manner in which Dr. Barrett guided her through the other dancing couples. The brief moment when his hand moved from her waist to gently touch the concealed mark on her neck. A gesture both intimate and clinical.

Miss Catherine, may I have the honor of this dance? Catherine startled, turning to find Thomas Everett, the son of her father’s business partner, standing beside her with an expectant smile. With reluctance, she accepted his invitation, allowing herself to be led onto the dance floor, though she positioned herself to keep Margaret within her field of vision as much as possible.

As the evening progressed, Catherine danced with several partners, made appropriate conversation, and played her role as a Caldwell daughter with the perfection expected of her. But her attention remained fixed on her sister and Dr. Barrett, who remained together far longer than propriety typically allowed, speaking with an urgency that became more pronounced as the hour grew later. Shortly after 11:00, as the orchestra paused between sets, Catherine observed Dr.

Barrett lean close to Margaret’s ear, saying something that caused her sister’s face to pale visibly. A moment later, Margaret excused herself from the company around her and slipped from the ballroom with Dr. Barrett following at a discrete distance.

Catherine waited only long enough to ensure that neither her parents nor Ellaner had noticed the departure before following the same path. The corridor outside the ballroom was dimly lit and empty of guests, most of whom remained inside, enjoying the music and refreshments. Catherine hesitated, unsure which direction Margaret and Dr. Barrett had gone, until she heard the soft sound of voices from the direction of the library.

Moving quietly, Catherine approached the partially open library door. The voices became clearer. Margaret’s tense and frightened and Dr. Barretts, low and urgent. It’s happening again, isn’t it? Dr. Barrett was saying, “The symptoms have returned.” “Yes,” Margaret’s voice was barely audible.

“Since this morning, the burning sensation, the the throbbing, and the mark. It’s beginning to glow again. Can’t you see it? Let me examine it properly,” Dr. Barrett said. his tone shifting from concerned friend to professional physician. The powder your mother applied is obscuring the details.

Catherine edged closer to the door, peering through the narrow opening. What she saw froze the blood in her veins. Margaret sat in one of the libraries leather chairs, her head tilted back to expose her neck. Dr. Barrett stood over her, using a handkerchief to carefully remove the powder that had concealed the mark. As the powder came away, the mark became more visible, and it was indeed glowing.

A faint greenish light emanating from what Catherine now realized was not a scar at all, but a perfect circle of symbols etched into her sister’s flesh. “The cycle is completing itself,” Dr. Barrett said grimly. “Just as your aunt’s journals predicted. 2 years to the day. What will happen to me?” Margaret asked, her voice steady despite the fear evident in her eyes. Dr.

Barrett knelt beside the chair, taking Margaret’s hands in his. I don’t know precisely. Your aunt’s notes were incomplete. She died before she could document the full cycle, but the connection is clear. The night sky tonight will mirror exactly the configuration that existed when you found the artifact in her attic.

The celestial alignment combined with the proximity to water, the river near Blackwood Manor, creates the conditions necessary for for whatever comes next. And if I refuse, if I fight against it, Dr. Barrett’s expression grew grave. Your aunt tried that approach, Margaret. You found her body. You saw what became of her.

Catherine stifled a gasp, her mind racing to assemble these fragments into a coherent picture. Aunt Agatha, their mother’s eccentric older sister, had indeed died during Margaret’s visit two summers ago. The family had been told it was a heart seizure, sudden but not unexpected given her advanced age. Margaret had discovered the body and summoned help from the nearby village.

But by then it had been too late. “Then what am I to do?” Margaret asked, desperation creeping into her voice. “I can’t simply surrender to this this thing that has marked me.” “We follow your aunt’s final instructions,” Dr. Barrett said firmly.

“The same instructions she gave to you before she died, the ones you shared with me during your first visit to my practice. We go to the river at midnight with the artifact and we complete the ritual, but correctly this time with the proper protections in place. Margaret shook her head, rising from the chair to pace the room. It’s too dangerous.

If something goes wrong, if the entity crosses over completely instead of just taking what it wants and retreating, then all of Ravenscraftoft County could be at risk. Dr. Barrett finished for her. Yes, I understand the stakes, but we have no choice, Margaret. The mark on your neck is a doorway. And tonight, when the stars align, that door will open with or without our participation in the ritual.

The only question is whether we control what happens next. Catherine had heard enough. Pushing the door open fully, she stepped into the library, causing both Margaret and Dr. Barrett to turn toward her in alarm. “Catherine,” Margaret exclaimed, her hand flying to her neck, though it was too late to hide the glowing mark.

I think, Catherine said calmly, though her heart raced that you both have some explaining to do. And quickly, before I fetch father and have Dr. Barrett removed from our home for whatever he has done to you, Margaret, Dr. Barrett straightened, meeting Catherine’s accusatory gaze without flinching.

Miss Catherine, I understand how this must appear, but I assure you I am trying to help your sister, not harm her. Help her? Catherine repeated incredulously. My sister bears a glowing mark around her neck like some some brand speaks of entities and rituals and you claim to be helping her. Catherine, please. Margaret moved toward her sister, hands outstretched in a placating gesture. Dr. Barrett is telling the truth. What’s happening to me began before I ever met him.

He’s the only one who believed me, the only one who studied enough to understand what we’re facing. Catherine hesitated, torn between her instinctive distrust of the situation and her deep connection to her sister. Then explain it to me, she said finally. All of it from the beginning. Margaret and Dr.

Barrett exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them. Then Margaret gestured toward the library seating area. We don’t have much time, she said quietly. Midnight approaches and we must be at the river before then. But you deserve to know the truth, Catherine. Perhaps. Perhaps you can even help us. The grandfather clock in the corner of the library chimed the quarter hour 11:15.

Margaret sat beside Catherine on the leather sofa while Dr. Barrett remained standing, his expression grave as Margaret recounted the events of two summers past. Aunt Agatha had always been considered eccentric, Margaret began. Mother always attributed it to her spinsterhood and isolation, living alone in that old house by the river.

But there was more to it than that. Aunt Agatha was a scholar of the esoteric, of ancient mysteries and forgotten knowledge. As she collected artifacts from around the world, Dr. Barrett added, items of historical and other significance, Margaret nodded.

During my visit, she seemed distracted, almost feverish with excitement about a recent acquisition. A small stone disc covered in symbols unlike any language I’d ever seen. She kept it locked in a wooden box in her attic study. But one evening while she was meeting with a colleague from the university, curiosity got the better of me. Catherine could picture it easily.

Margaret had always been the most inquisitive of the three sisters, drawn to puzzles and mysteries. I found the key to the box hidden in a hollow book. Margaret continued, her voice growing softer as the memory took hold. When I opened it, the disc seemed to to pulse with light, reacting to my presence.

I picked it up and the moment my fingers touched it, the symbols began to glow. Before I could replace it, I heard Aunt Agatha rushing up the stairs, calling my name in a voice filled with terror. Margaret’s hand moved unconsciously to her neck, tracing the glowing circle. She burst into the room, saw me holding the disc and her face. I’ll never forget the look on her face.

Catherine, she knew immediately what had happened, what was beginning. She knocked the disc from my hand, but it was too late. The symbols had already transferred from the stone to my skin, wrapping around my throat like a necklace that burned as it settled into place. “What exactly is this entity?” you mentioned,” Catherine asked, struggling to accept what she was hearing, yet unable to deny the evidence glowing on her sister’s neck. Dr.

Barrett stepped forward. According to your aunt’s research, which she shared with Margaret in her final days and which Margaret later shared with me, the disc was created by an ancient civilization as a means of communication with beings they believed existed in the spaces between stars.

These beings, entities, for lack of a better term, were thought to possess knowledge and power beyond human understanding. But there was a price for this knowledge, Margaret continued. The entity requires a host, a human vessel through which it can experience our world for a brief time. The mark is both invitation and doorway.

And Aunt Agatha, Catherine asked, though she feared she already knew the answer. Margaret’s eyes filled with tears. When she realized what had happened to me, she tried to take my place. There’s a ritual, a way to transfer the mark from one person to another. She attempted it that night, but something went wrong.

The entity was already connected to me, resistant to the transfer. It It took her instead, but not in the way the ancients had intended. It consumed her, Catherine. Her body simply collapsed as if something essential had been extracted from it. Catherine felt a chill run through her. And now, 2 years later, the entity is returning. For you, Dr. Barrett nodded grimly.

The cycle completes itself tonight. the celestial alignment, the proximity to water. These are the conditions under which the doorway can fully open. But we have an advantage, Aunt Agatha didn’t, Margaret said, a hint of determination entering her voice. Dr. Barrett has studied her journals extensively.

We understand the proper ritual now, the protections required. We can allow the entity its brief experience of our world without risking what happened to Aunt Agatha. Catherine looked between her sister and the doctor, trying to absorb the fantastical tale they had shared.

Under normal circumstances, she might have dismissed it all as delusion, but the glowing symbols on Margaret’s neck could not be explained away by any rational means she knew. “I’m coming with you,” she said firmly, surprising herself with the decision. “Catherine, no,” Margaret protested. “It’s too dangerous. If something goes wrong, all the more reason for me to be there,” Catherine interrupted. We’re triplets, Margaret.

More than sisters, parts of a whole. As I told you earlier, whatever you face, we face together. There’s no time to argue, Dr. Barrett interjected, checking his pocket watch. It’s nearly 11. We need to reach the river by midnight, and we still need to retrieve the disc from my home. What about Elellaner? Catherine asked.

And our parents? They’ll notice our absence. I’ve arranged a distraction, Dr. Barrett said. My colleague, Dr. Williams. We’ll create a minor medical emergency. Nothing serious, just enough to occupy attention while we slip away. He should be arriving any moment. As if on Q, a commotion could be heard from the direction of the ballroom raised voices.

A woman’s cry of alarm, Dr. Barrett nodded in satisfaction. That would be Mrs. Henderson’s fainting spell. He said, “We should go now while everyone’s attention is diverted.” Margaret rose from the sofa, her decision made. Catherine, if you’re coming with us, we must leave immediately. There’s a side door through the conservatory that leads to the gardens. Dr. Barrett’s carriage is waiting by the south gate.

Catherine hesitated only briefly before nodding. Lead the way. The carriage moved swiftly through the night. Its lanterns casting eerie shadows on the trees that lined the country road. Inside, Catherine sat beside Margaret, watching as her sister’s marked neck glowed more intensely with each passing minute.

The greenish light now bright enough to illuminate the interior of the carriage without the need for additional lamps. Dr. Barrett sat opposite them, a leather satchel on his lap containing the stone disc they had retrieved from his home. A simple circle of dark stone covered in the same symbols that now adorned Margaret’s neck, though the markings on the disc remained dormant, not glowing as those on Margaret did. “We’re approaching the river,” Dr.

Barrett announced, peering out the window at the landscape passing by. I’ve instructed the driver to stop at the old ferry crossing. It’s secluded away from curious eyes, and the water is deep there. Ideal conditions according to your aunt’s notes.

Margaret nodded, her composure remarkable given the circumstances, she had changed out of her ball gown before leaving the manor. Now dressed in a simpler frock that would allow easier movement. Around her shoulders, she wore a dark cloak that partially concealed the glow emanating from her neck, though nothing could hide it completely.

Now, what exactly will happen when we reach the river? Catherine asked, trying to keep her voice steady. What does this ritual entail? Dr. Barrett hesitated, exchanging a glance with Margaret before responding. Margaret will enter the water, he explained. Not fully, just enough to submerge the mark on her neck. I’ll recite the words your aunt transcribed from the disc while holding the artifact itself.

If all goes as it should, the entity will emerge, experience our world briefly through Margaret, and then return to its own realm. And if all doesn’t go as it should, Catherine pressed, then we implement the contingency plan, Margaret said quietly. Dr. Barrett has prepared a seditive that will render me unconscious.

In that state, according to Aunt Agatha’s research, the entity cannot fully manifest. The doorway will remain partially closed. And what happens to you in that case? Margaret’s expression grew solemn. The mark remains. The cycle begins again. Two more years until the next alignment. Catherine took her sister’s hand, squeezing it tightly. That won’t happen.

We’ll see this through together. Whatever comes. The carriage came to a stop, and Dr. Barrett opened the door, helping each sister descend. The night air was cool and damp, carrying the scent of the river nearby. A three/arter moon hung in the sky, partially obscured by wisps of cloud, providing just enough light to navigate the path down to the water’s edge. “Wait with the carriage,” Dr. Barrett instructed the driver.

“If we’re not back within the hour, return to Blackwood Manor and inform Mr. Caldwell that his daughters are with me, attending to a medical emergency in the village.” The driver, clearly uncomfortable with the unusual situation, but respectful of the doctor’s position, nodded his agreement.

As he settled back to wait, Catherine noticed him make a subtle sign of the cross protection against whatever stranges he sensed in the night’s proceedings. Dr. Barrett led the sisters down a narrow path that wound through a cops of ancient oak trees, emerging finally at the riverbank.

The water flowed dark and silent before them, reflecting the moonlight in rippling patterns. On the far shore, nothing could be seen but more trees and the vague outline of hills beyond. It’s almost midnight, Margaret said, her voice tight with tension. I can feel it stirring. The mark burns indeed. The symbols on her neck now pulsed with light, the glow intensifying and dimming in a rhythm that reminded Catherine of a heartbeat. Dr.

Barrett opened his satchel, removing the stone disc with gloved hands and placing it on a flat rock near the water’s edge. From the satchel, he also produced a small vial of dark liquid and a folded paper containing what appeared to be dried herbs. The sedative, he explained, noticing Catherine’s questioning look, and an herbal mixture your aunt believed would strengthen the boundary between our world and wherever the entity exists. A precaution only, Margaret moved toward the water, removing her cloak and handing it to Catherine.

In the moonlight, with the mark on her neck pulsing with unearly light, she looked both familiar and strange. Still Catherine’s sister, yet somehow more or perhaps less than entirely human. Remember what we discussed, Dr. Barrett said to Margaret. Allow it to emerge, experience, and withdraw.

Do not resist, but do not surrender completely. Maintain your sense of self throughout. Margaret nodded, then turned to Catherine. Whatever happens, stay back. Don’t interfere. No matter what you see or hear. Promise me, Catherine. Margaret, promise me, Margaret insisted, her eyes pleading. I promise, Catherine said reluctantly.

Satisfied, Margaret turned back to the river and began to wade into the water. The night was quiet, save for the gentle lapping of water against the shore and the occasional call of a nightbird in the distance. Dr. Barrett picked up the stone disc, holding it before him as he began to recite words in a language Catherine had never heard before.

Harsh syllables that seemed to catch in the throat, combined with flowing phrases that resembled water over stone. As Margaret waited deeper, the water reaching her waist, the glow from her neck intensified dramatically, casting a column of greenish light upward into the night sky.

The symbols began to move, rotating slowly around her throat like a living necklace. Margaret’s head tilted back, her eyes closing as the rotation increased in speed. Dr. Barrett’s recitation grew louder, more insistent, the disc in his hands now glowing in response to the mark on Margaret’s neck. Catherine watched in horrified fascination as the air above the river began to shimmer like heat rising from summerbaked earth, but with a geometric precision that nature rarely displayed, angles and curves forming and dissolving in patterns that made her eyes water if

she tried to follow them too closely. And then, without warning, Margaret screamed, a sound of such agony that Catherine started forward instinctively before remembering her promise. Dr. Barrett’s recitation faltered for only a moment before continuing with renewed urgency.

The water around Margaret began to churn, though there was no wind to disturb it. The glowing symbols on her neck detached themselves from her skin, floating in the air before her face, rearranging themselves into new configurations that pulsed with meaning. Catherine could almost, but not quite, comprehend. “It’s coming through,” Dr. Barrett called over the increasing roar of the disturbed water.

Stand ready with the seditive if I give the signal. Catherine clutched the vial he had given her earlier. Her eyes fixed on her sister, who now stood motionless in the river, her arms outstretched, her head still tilted back, the floating symbols spun faster, their glow intensifying until Catherine had to shield her eyes against the brightness.

And then Margaret spoke, but the voice that emerged from her lips was not her own. It was deeper, resonant with harmonics that seemed to bypass the ear entirely and vibrate directly in the bones. I am here. The words echoed across the water, causing ripples to spread outward from where Margaret stood. Dr.

Barrett continued his recitation, though sweat now beaded on his forehead despite the cool night air. “Who calls me?” Dr. Barrett paused in his recitation long enough to respond. “We honor the ancient pact,” he called. experience, then withdraw. This vessel is temporary, willingly offered, but not surrendered. There was a pause, during which the symbols spun ever faster, and the air above the river seemed to fold in upon itself, creating a darkness deeper than the night around it, a void in which distant points of light that were not stars glimmered and pulsed. Acceptable. Margaret’s body convulsed once

violently, and then grew still again. Her eyes opened, but they were no longer the warm brown that matched Catherine’s own. Instead, they glowed with the same greenish light as the symbols, which had now reattached themselves to her neck, but continued to rotate slowly.

The entity within Margaret turned her head, surveying the riverbank, the trees, the night sky. It lifted her hands, examining them with evident curiosity, flexing the fingers as if testing their capabilities. When it spoke again, the voice was still inhuman, but modulated now, as if it were learning to use Margaret’s vocal cords more effectively.

This form, limited, but interesting. It took a step in the river, then another, moving Margaret’s body with a grace that was almost bletic, but subtly wrong. Movements too fluid. Joints bending in ways they shouldn’t quite be able to bend. Time. How much is permitted? Dr. Barrett glanced at his pocket watch.

The alignment lasts 17 minutes more, he replied. Then you must withdraw. The entity made a sound that might have been laughter, though it held no humor. Agreed. It turned Margaret’s gaze toward Catherine, studying her with evident interest. Another similar yet different. Fascinating.

Catherine fought the urge to retreat as the entity guided Margaret’s body toward the shore, emerging from the river with water streaming from her soden clothes. It stopped a few feet from Catherine, head tilting as it examined her. “You share connection, blood, more than blood. You are echoes of each other.” “She’s my sister,” Catherine said, surprised at the steadiness of her own voice. “My triplet. We were born together.” “Triplet,” the entity repeated as if testing the word. Three from one. Yes.

I perceived the third absent but connected still. Interesting. It reached out suddenly. Margaret’s hand moving to touch Catherine’s face with cold wet fingers. Catherine flinched but didn’t pull away, meeting the glowing eyes that were and were not her sisters. You are not afraid, the entity observed. Curious, yes. Concerned for this vessel, but not afraid of me.

Why? Because you’re inside my sister, Catherine replied simply. And I know she’s still in there, too. The entity withdrew Margaret’s hand, turning to examine the night sky. Your species, so brief, so limited, yet you create, you imagine, you conceive of beings like me, though you cannot truly comprehend what I am. What are you? Catherine couldn’t help asking.

The entity turned back to her, and for a moment, Catherine thought she saw something like amusement in its expression. Though filtered through Margaret’s features, it was difficult to interpret. I am between, not matter as you understand it, not energy as you define it. I exist in the spaces your science has not yet named.

I observe, I collect, experiences, sensations, knowledge, and what do you want with my sister? Want? The entity seemed to consider the concept. I do not want. I experience. Your sister’s ancestor found a way to call to me. created the doorway your sister now bears. When the stars align, the doorway opens. I come through. I experience. I return.

It is an arrangement. Dr. Barrett checked his watch again. 7 minutes remaining, he announced. The entity nodded Margaret’s head in acknowledgement, then turned her body in a slow circle, taking in the river, the trees, the night sky once more. “Your world changes,” it observed. Since last I came through.

New structures, new machines, the same stars, but you understand them differently now. How often have you come through? Catherine asked, fascinated, despite her concern for Margaret. Many times, many doorways, many vessels. Your measurement of time means little to me, but hundreds of your years at least.

The entity suddenly stiffened Margaret’s body, head tilting as if listening to something neither Catherine nor Dr. Barrett could hear. The alignment shifts, it said. The doorway begins to close. Dr. Barrett nodded. You must withdraw now as agreed. The entity turned Margaret’s body to face the river once more. But instead of moving toward the water, it remained on the shore, her head tilting in that unsettling way again.

Perhaps not yet, it said, and there was something new in its voice, a hunger, an eagerness that sent a chill down Catherine’s spine. Dr. Dr. Barrett stepped forward. The disc held before him like a shield. We had an agreement, he said firmly. Experience then withdraw. The vessel was offered temporarily, not surrendered. Agreements change, the entity replied.

This form I find it suitable, more suitable than I anticipated. The connection to the others of its kind, the triplets as you call them, provides stability. I could remain longer, experience more. No, Catherine said, moving to stand beside Dr. Barrett. You can’t have her. Margaret is coming back now. The entity turned Margaret’s glowing eyes toward Catherine, and the expression that crossed her sister’s face was one of cold calculation. You cannot compel me, it said.

The ritual brings me through, but once here, I choose when to depart. Dr. Barrett’s expression hardened. Catherine, the sedative, he said quietly. We need to implement the contingency. The entity hissed, a sound no human throat should have been able to produce. You would close the doorway with me still within it.

Trap me in this form, unconscious, unable to experience or withdraw. That would be unwise. Then honor our agreement, Dr. Barrett countered. Withdraw now while the alignment still permits easy passage. For a tense moment, the entity stood motionless. Margaret’s body unnaturally still, not even appearing to breathe. Then abruptly it laughed, that same humorless sound from before.

Very well, it conceded. This vessel will be available again when the stars next align. I can wait. Without further warning, Margaret’s body convulsed, collapsing to the ground as the glowing symbols detached themselves from her neck once more, spinning upward into the air above her.

The shimmering distortion that had formed over the river reappeared, the void with its not stars opening wider. The symbols spun faster, their light intensifying one final time before they shot upward into the void, which folded in upon itself and vanished, leaving only the ordinary night sky above. The stone disc in Dr. Barrett’s hands flared briefly, then went dark, the symbols upon it dormant once more.

“Margaret,” Catherine cried, rushing to her sister’s side. Margaret lay motionless on the damp ground, her eyes closed, the mark on her neck now just a faint outline, still visible, but no longer glowing or moving. Dr. Barrett knelt beside her, pressing two fingers to her wrist to check her pulse. “She’s alive,” he confirmed.

The entity is withdrawn as agreed, as if in response to his words, Margaret’s eyelids fluttered, then opened. Her eyes were her own again, the same warm brown as Catherine’s, though now confused and disoriented. Catherine,” she murmured. “Dr. Barrett, did it? Is it over?” “Yes,” Catherine assured her, helping her sister to sit up. “It’s over.

The entity is gone,” Margaret raised a trembling hand to her neck, feeling the mark that remained there. “Not gone entirely,” she said quietly. “Just withdrawn. It will return when the stars align again. But we’ll be prepared,” Dr. Barrett said, carefully replacing the stone disc in his satchel. We know more now than we did before.

Each time we learn more about the entity, about how to manage these encounters safely. Catherine helped Margaret to her feet, supporting her as she swayed slightly. We should return to Blackwood Manor, she said. By now, they must have noticed our absence. Dr. Barrett nodded in agreement. I’ll explain that Margaret felt unwell and that you accompanied us to my office for a consultation.

It’s close enough to the truth to be believable. As they made their way back up the path toward the waiting carriage, Margaret leaned heavily on Catherine’s arm, exhausted by her ordeal, the mark on her neck, though no longer glowing, remained visible above the neckline of her dress, a permanent reminder of the burden she carried. “Will you tell Ellaner?” Margaret asked quietly, so that Dr.

Barrett, walking ahead of them, couldn’t hear. Catherine considered the question carefully. “Do you want me to?” “I don’t know,” Margaret admitted. Part of me wants to keep this secret to protect her from the knowledge of what’s happening to me, but another part wants to share the burden. Catherine finished for her. I understand. Let’s not decide tonight.

We’re both exhausted, and there will be explanations enough to give when we return home. Margaret nodded, grateful for her sister’s understanding. As they neared the carriage, she paused, turning to look back at the river one last time. It wasn’t evil, you know, she said softly. The entity, not in the way we understand evil.

It’s just different, alien. It experiences our world through me, learns from us, but it doesn’t truly understand us or what it means to be human. And yet, it was willing to take your body permanently, Catherine pointed out. To trap you inside your own mind while it experienced our world. Yes, Margaret acknowledged. Because it doesn’t understand what that would mean for me.

It doesn’t comprehend suffering or loss or the value we place on our autonomy. It simply wants or whatever its equivalent of wanting might be. They reached the carriage where Dr. Barrett waited to help them inside. As they settled onto the seats, Margaret closed her eyes, leaning her head against the carriage wall.

2 years, she murmured, already half asleep from exhaustion. 2 years until it returns. Catherine took her sister’s hand, squeezing it gently. And when it does, you won’t face it alone. Never again, Margaret. Whatever comes, we face it together. As the carriage began to move, carrying them back toward Blackwood Manor and the explanations that awaited them there, Catherine gazed out the window at the night sky.

Somewhere in the vast darkness between the stars. The entity had returned to its own realm, carrying with it experiences and knowledge gathered during its brief time in their world. And on Margaret’s neck, the mark remained, dormant now, but still a doorway, waiting for the stars to align once more. The photograph sits in its frame.

The three identical sisters in their white dresses staring solemnly at the camera. But now, as we know the truth, our eyes are drawn inevitably to the middle sister, to the thin dark line just visible above her high collar. Not a flaw in the photograph, not a trick of the light, but a doorway between worlds, a burden carried by one sister but shared by all three.

For in the end, that is what the Caldwell sisters understood better than most, that some bonds transcend the ordinary, that some secrets must be carried together, and that even in the face of forces beyond human comprehension, the connection between them remained their greatest strength.