Chapter Eight: Stage Three – The Garden of Echoes
The archway to the third stage opened like the mouth of a sleeping beast—wrought from thorned vines and broken mirrors. The air inside was warm, too warm, like breath on the back of the neck.
Serah stepped through.
The moment she did, the world shifted again.
She stood now in a sprawling garden, but nothing about it felt alive. Trees were frozen mid-bloom. Leaves whispered with voices, not wind. Flowers opened and closed like mouths.
"This is the Garden of Echoes," said the reaper behind her. "Here, you do not speak. You listen."
Serah opened her mouth to ask what that meant, but no sound came out. She tried again. Nothing. Her voice was gone.
Suddenly, the garden bloomed with voices from the past—not hers, but those she had affected. Every word spoken about her, every whisper, every curse, every prayer. They rang out like a chorus.
"She healed me," one voice said softly.
"She lied to us," came another, sharp as glass.
"She told me God forgave me. Then told others I was damned."
"She gave me hope."
"She took mine away."
The path through the garden wound forward, each step triggering new voices. Some praised her. Some wept. Others screamed.
Then she saw them—ghostly figures in the mist. Faces she recognized.
Leah Briggs' sister, pale and sorrowful.
The rival preacher she slandered, eyes dark with betrayal.
The abused girl, silent, staring through Serah.
They didn't speak.
They didn't need to.
Serah stumbled, heart pounding.
"I didn't mean to hurt you. I was trying to help everyone."
But the garden did not care about her intentions.
It cared about impact.
The reaper's voice echoed once more:
"The seeds of words bloom in others. Whether they become thorns or fruit is not your choice—but it is your responsibility."
As Serah continued down the twisting path, the voices grew louder, overlapping into cacophony:
"Liar."
"Saint."
"Savior."
"Monster."
"God's voice."
"No one's truth."
Her own name became a weapon.
Her own reflection—now glimpsed in the broken mirror shards growing like petals—distorted further with every lie she had told herself.
Then came the final echo.
Caleb's voice, trembling, weary:
"She built herself a throne of light. But the roots were rotting all along."
Silence fell.
And then the garden began to die.
Flowers curled inward. Branches cracked. The ground dried beneath her feet.
At the path's end stood another gate—carved of charred stone, guarded by two veiled figures with eyes like smoldering coal.
Serah stepped toward it, her knees shaking.
But before she passed through, she turned once more—back to the Garden of Echoes.
One final voice rang out from its fading core:
"You silenced us in life. Here, we speak forever."
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Back in the Real World
Earthbound – The Girl Who Stayed Silent
Her name was Maya Ellis, and she hadn't spoken Serah Monroe's name in almost six years.
Not since that night in the sanctuary basement, where she'd been promised healing... and left instead with shame pressed between her ribs like splinters.
Now, twenty-two and working as a night janitor in a hospital, Maya tried not to think about the past. She swept floors, emptied bins, and kept her head down.
But ever since Caleb Monroe's revelations broke the headlines, her hands had started trembling again.
Every time she passed a chapel, she felt it.
> The pull.
The memory.
The lie she had swallowed to survive.
At first, she told herself it didn't matter. Serah was dead. The world would move on.
But the world didn't move on.
The world put her face on billboards.
On prayer candles.
On a golden statue that Maya passed every morning on her way to the bus stop.
> "The Woman of Light," the plaque read.
She stared at it now, beneath the glare of the rising sun.
People gathered around it still—kneeling, crying, clinging to her memory like salvation.
And Maya felt the scream rising in her throat again.
She'd swallowed it for too long.
> "She told me I was dirty," Maya whispered.
"She said God wouldn't want me if I didn't keep quiet."
The words came out soft—but they came out.
For the first time in years, Maya didn't walk away from the statue.
She pulled out her phone. Opened her voice recorder.
> "My name is Maya Ellis. And Reverend Serah Monroe ruined my life."
She hit record.
And began to speak.
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(Continued): Stage Four – The Hall of Masks
The gate of charred stone closed behind Serah with a heavy, echoing finality.
Ahead stretched a long corridor, curved like a serpent's spine, lit by flickering torches whose flames whispered secrets in forgotten tongues. The walls shimmered with dark, mirrored glass—twisted, not in reflection, but in interpretation.
And mounted between each flame was a mask.
Hundreds of them.
Some grinning.
Some weeping.
Some carved in the likeness of saints.
Others—monstrous.
She took a cautious step forward. The reaper at her side said nothing.
Then the voice came—not from outside, but from within.
> "You wore many faces in life."
As she walked, the masks began to move. They turned toward her, tracking her steps. One mask resembled her Sunday smile, pristine and hollow. Another—her press face, hardened and firm. Another still—her face when she lied to the girl in the basement.
Then one mask spoke.
> "Do you remember us, Serah?"
She froze.
The mask melted from its wooden mold into the weeping face of Maya Ellis.
Another face appeared beside it—Leah Briggs' sister.
Then a man she destroyed through rumor and prophecy.
More and more faces surrounded her.
> "You preached salvation, but traded it for power."
"You wore God's name like armor and used it to wound."
"You manipulated grief into currency."
She backed away.
The masks began falling from the walls, shattering as they hit the floor. Each broken mask spilled not dust—but memories.
She was in her old office, gaslighting the vulnerable.
She was behind the pulpit, preaching forgiveness while signing secret settlements.
She was in her own mirror, removing her makeup—smiling at the lie she'd become.
> "I helped people!" she cried aloud, her voice somehow restored—but hoarse, desperate.
> "Did you?" came the reply.
In the center of the chamber stood a final mask—larger than the rest. Gilded, regal, holy.
It bore her exact face.
Serah stepped toward it and raised her hand.
It shattered before she could touch it.
A gust of wind howled through the corridor, extinguishing the torches.
And from the darkness, the reaper whispered:
> "The world saw your mask. We see your face."
The floor dropped.
Serah fell—screaming, not in fear, but in shame.
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