Evelyn didn't speak much the next morning.
Not because she had nothing to say—because she was afraid of how she might sound if she said it.
Would it be her voice?
Or Lenore's?
She sat on the edge of the motel bed, knees drawn up, staring at the blood-stained towel she'd wrapped around her hands after digging through the graveyard.
She didn't want to wash it off.
It was hers now.
And yet, somewhere deep in the hollow of her stomach, something pulsed like a second heart.
Not Lenore.
Not quite.
Something older.
Elias was careful with her now.
Not in a patronizing way. But like someone who recognized a bomb just beginning to tick.
He made her tea.
He kissed her forehead.
But he didn't touch her the way he had the night before.
And that, somehow, made her feel even more haunted.
That evening, Evelyn stood by the motel window, watching the parking lot flicker beneath a dying streetlamp.
"You loved her," she said, not turning around. "I can feel it."
Elias's voice was low. Careful. "Yes."
"You still do."
A pause.
"Yes."
She turned. Met his eyes.
"She's still in me, Elias. I can feel her when I breathe. I see her when I dream. I am her—just enough to know what she lost."
He crossed to her. "You're not her."
She stepped back.
"But what if I want to be? Just enough to understand why you couldn't let her go."
He didn't answer.
And that silence…
It told her everything.
She didn't sleep.
Not even for a second.
Instead, she stood in the motel bathroom with the lights off, watching the mirror.
Waiting.
Not out of fear.
Out of invitation.
And at 2:47 a.m., the glass rippled.
Lenore stepped through, barefoot and ethereal, her hair hanging wet around her face.
"Did you miss me?" she asked.
Evelyn smiled faintly. "I think I finally understand you."
Lenore tilted her head. "That's dangerous."
Evelyn stepped closer.
"I think you didn't want to haunt him. Not really."
"Then what did I want?"
"You wanted someone to hurt the way you did. You wanted love to bruise."
Lenore's smile faded. "Isn't that all love is?"
Evelyn lifted a hand to the mirror.
"I think I could love him," she whispered. "But only if I bury you first."
Lenore didn't flinch.
"Then bury me. But understand, darling—you'll dig the grave inside yourself."
When Evelyn woke the next morning, there were rose petals in the sink.
Not from outside.
From her mouth.
She had coughed them up in her sleep.
She stared at them in silence.
Then picked one up.
A single red petal.
Soft.
Frail.
And shaped exactly like a tongue.
That night, Elias took her to a nearby lake. No words. Just silence and stars and cold air.
They sat at the edge of the dock. Their knees touched.
Evelyn leaned her head on his shoulder.
"Do you still see her in me?" she asked.
He hesitated. "Yes."
"Do you want her gone?"
His voice was almost too quiet to hear.
"I don't know."
She looked up at him.
"I'm not her, Elias."
"I know."
"But I could be. Just a little. If that's what you need."
He turned to face her.
"I don't want her back like that," he said. "But I don't want to lose you either."
Evelyn touched his lips with two fingers.
"Then kiss me."
He did.
And for a moment—
There was no ghost.
No curse.
No blood.
Just Evelyn.
Just Elias.
Just skin.
But when she opened her eyes—
She saw Lenore sitting at the edge of the dock.
Not angry.
Not vengeful.
Just waiting.
As if she knew:
Evelyn was still deciding whose love story this truly was.
[End of Chapter 15]