The rain hadn't stopped in three days.
Mikael stood at the edge of the orphanage's crumbling hallway, his candle flickering against the draft that crawled through the building's bones. The old manor, repurposed into Saint Lysandra's Home for Lost Children, groaned under the weight of wind and time.
He had never noticed the door before.
It was wedged between the old infirmary and the sealed basement stairs, an oddly narrow door, painted a pale shade of red, as if trying to hide its color beneath layers of dust. No lock, no handle. Just a keyhole, shaped like a doll's eye.
"What are you doing here?" came a whisper.
Mikael jumped. It was Elise, the silent girl who never spoke unless she had to. Her long black hair clung to her face, soaked from the open window she always sat beside.
"Do you know what this door is?" he asked.
She stared at it. Then at him.
"It wasn't here yesterday."
Something cold crawled down Mikael's spine. He hadn't dreamed it, had he?
"I saw it open last night," Elise said quietly. "Someone came out."
"Who?"
She didn't answer. Just turned and walked away, barefoot down the hallway.
Later that night, Mikael dreamt of porcelain faces watching him from behind glass. One of them looked just like him. And it whispered.
"Come home."