No one in the kingdom had seen Princess Elira’s face for seven years. After the queen’s sudden death, Elira appeared at court wearing a silver veil and never removed it again. The servants whispered that grief had broken her, but the guards knew something darker lived in the palace.

Every night at midnight, the palace bells rang on their own. When the echoes faded, a soft humming drifted through the corridors—an old lullaby the dead queen used to sing. Anyone who followed the sound never returned.

Sir Rowan, a young knight, decided to uncover the truth. Armed with courage and a lantern, he followed the humming to the highest tower. There, he found Princess Elira standing before a cracked mirror, her veil glowing faintly.

“Leave,” she said gently, without turning.

Rowan refused. With trembling hands, he pulled the veil away.

Elira’s face was flawless—too flawless. Her eyes were empty hollows, reflecting the mirror behind her. In the glass, Rowan saw the truth: the real Elira stood screaming inside the mirror, her hands pressed against the surface as if trapped beneath water.

“I died the night my mother did,” the princess whispered. “This body is only what the palace remembers.”

The bells rang louder. Shadows poured from the walls, forming courtiers, servants, and guards—people who had followed the humming before. All of them had hollow eyes.

Rowan tried to run, but the floor turned cold and soft like flesh. The mirror cracked wider, and ghostly hands reached out, pulling him in.

By morning, the bells were silent again. A new shadow stood beside the princess in the mirror.

And the silver veil was neatly back in place.