Whispers of the Forgotten

The moon hung low over the horizon, casting a silver glow across the desolate street. Mia stood at the edge of the crumbling bridge, her heart racing as the wind tugged at her hair. She had never been one to believe in ghost stories, but tonight was different. Tonight, the whispers were louder.

"Mia..."

Her name echoed, but there was no one in sight.

A chill crept up her spine. The voice-so familiar, yet so distant-was calling to her. She swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the secrets that had haunted her family for generations. The whispers were always there, but they were never this clear. Never this desperate.

She turned slowly, her eyes scanning the darkness. Something-or someone-was waiting.

"Mia," the voice whispered again, this time from behind her.

Her breath hitched in her chest, and she didn't dare to look back. Every part of her screamed to run, to escape the pull of the unknown. But she couldn't. Not anymore.

Because the truth she'd spent so long trying to avoid was finally catching up to her.

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