The road to Briarwood was no longer a road. Overgrown, forgotten, like it had been abandoned by time itself, the path twisted and narrowed into something unrecognizable. The trees crowded in closer, as if trying to suffocate the wayward travelers. Each bend felt like a promise to lead her deeper into the heart of something ancient, something that had always waited for her return.

Syra's hands gripped the steering wheel tighter as the forest closed in around her, cutting off all light but the weak beams from her headlights. The isolation was suffocating. Her stomach twisted in knots as the memories flooded back - the nights spent awake, listening to the sounds of something moving just beyond the windows. The presence in Briarwood. Something alive in the walls, something ancient.

Her car hit a pothole, jolting her back to the present. She barely noticed it. Her eyes were fixed on the Inn ahead, the destination she had tried to avoid for years. It stood like a sentinel, the broken sign creaking in the wind, its letters worn down by age and neglect. The Briarwood Inn. The place where her life had changed forever.

As she parked in front of the Inn, the door creaked open on its own. No one greeted her. No voice called from within. It was the silence that greeted her - cold, heavy, and familiar.

Syra stepped out of the car, her boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. She breathed in deeply, the scent of wet wood and forgotten things swirling in the air. Her breath caught in her throat. She felt as though she were stepping back into a dream she couldn't wake up from.

The door to the Inn opened with a groan, revealing a dimly lit foyer. A staircase wound up into the darkness. Dust motes floated in the air like the remnants of forgotten souls. The Inn had not been maintained. It had been left to rot.

But it wasn't the building that unnerved her. It was the feeling - the presence - within it. It was as if the walls knew her, knew exactly what she had come for.

She moved slowly through the foyer, passing the front desk that sat unmanned, the guestbook open to a single entry, its ink still wet, as though it had been written only moments before.

"Mirrorkeeper. Inward."

Syra's heart raced. The words seemed to echo off the walls, as if the room itself was calling her name. She closed the book and continued up the stairs, the worn carpet beneath her feet, the distant sound of creaking floorboards above her. It all felt too familiar. Too much like the past.

The air grew heavier the higher she climbed, the weight of forgotten memories pressing against her chest. When she reached the top of the stairs, she didn't even need to look at the door. She knew it would be there.

Room 327. The door stood waiting. No handle. Just the swirling blackness beyond.

And something more.

She reached for the door, heart hammering in her chest, and the air seemed to hold its breath with her.