THE Haunted Angel

The rain had stopped, but the sky remained heavy with silver clouds that refused to move.

At the top of Blackwood Hill stood Ashmore Manor, a forgotten mansion abandoned for nearly a century. The townspeople whispered that anyone who entered after sunset would hear a woman singing—a voice so beautiful it could make even the strongest heart follow it into the darkness.

No one dared go near.

Except Evelyn Hart.

Twenty-eight years old and a journalist known for chasing impossible stories, Evelyn had spent years exposing myths. Ghosts, curses, miracles—she believed every mystery had an explanation.

Until tonight.

She climbed the stone steps leading to the manor, flashlight trembling slightly in her hand. The old wooden doors slowly creaked open before she could touch them.

Cold air rushed past her.

The scent wasn't decay.

It was lilies.

Inside, the grand hall looked untouched by time. Marble floors reflected moonlight pouring through broken stained-glass windows. White feathers drifted gently from above, though there were no birds.

Then she saw her.

A woman dressed in a flowing white robe stood at the far end of the hall.

Long silver hair fell over her shoulders like liquid moonlight. Her pale blue eyes glowed softly, filled with sadness older than the building itself.

She looked... like an angel.

"You shouldn't be here," the woman whispered.

Evelyn's breath caught.

"I've been searching for this place for years," she replied.

The woman smiled faintly.

"And many searched before you."

"Who are you?"

Silence.

The temperature dropped.

The candles lining the walls suddenly lit themselves.

The woman's expression changed from gentle to terrified.

"Run."

Before Evelyn could react, dozens of shadowy hands burst from the walls, stretching toward her with silent screams.

A monstrous figure crawled across the ceiling—its body twisted into impossible shapes, its hollow eyes fixed on the woman in white.

The angel raised one hand.

A burst of brilliant light filled the hall.

The creature shrieked.

The shadows disappeared.

When the light faded, the mysterious woman had collapsed to her knees.

Evelyn rushed to help her.

The moment their hands touched, memories exploded through Evelyn's mind.

A wedding.

A chapel.

Two women exchanging vows in secret.

A jealous mob.

Fire.

Blood.

A curse.

The angel opened her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks.

"You remember..."

Evelyn stared at her, unable to understand why her own heart ached for someone she had only just met.

"Who are you?" she whispered again.

The woman answered with a trembling voice.

"My name is Seraphine."

"And I have been dead for one hundred and eighty-seven years."

Outside, thunder shook the hill.

Deep beneath Ashmore Manor, something ancient opened its eyes.