The attic had always been a place of forgotten things. Dust coated trunks, stacks of old newspapers, and broken furniture piled haphazardly beneath wooden beams. You’d only gone up there to find a spare lightbulb, but curiosity had other plans.
Your fingers trailed over a heavy trunk pushed against the far wall, its once rich design worn down by time. It looked different from the other storage, more intentional, as if it had been placed here not just to be forgotten, but to be hidden.
With a creak of rusted hinges, the lid lifted. The scent of aged fabric and something faintly sweet, like old perfume, wafted into the air. Inside, a collection of garments lay neatly folded, untouched by time.
Atop the pile sat a dress, its deep burgundy fabric shimmering despite the dim attic light. The embroidery was intricate, golden swirls that curled like vines across the fabric, thick enough to have been stitched by hand. You couldn’t explain why, but the sight of it sent a shiver down your spine.
Your great-aunt Eleanor had been a legend in family stories, a larger than life woman in every sense of the phrase. Well fed and well dressed, she had been a woman of indulgence and mystery. This must have been hers.
Feeling oddly compelled, you lifted the dress from the trunk, the fabric surprisingly soft between your fingers. Just to see how it looks, you thought, stepping in front of the dusty attic mirror.
You slipped it over your head, the material draping over your frame with an unexpected weight. It was way too large, of course, swallowing your body completely, but as you adjusted it on your shoulders, a strange warmth prickled through your skin.
A whisper, so faint it might have been the wind, brushed against your ear.
"There now… that’s better, isn’t it?"
You spun around, heart hammering, but the attic was as silent as before. The only movement was the slow sway of the dress around you, as if the fabric itself had taken a breath.
Brushing off your nerves, you gave yourself another glance in the mirror. For just a second, less than a blink, your reflection looked… different. Softer. Fuller. The hint of a knowing smile curled at the edges of lips that weren’t quite yours.
A sudden drowsiness washed over you, heavy and insistent. Maybe the attic air was just getting to you. Maybe the excitement of the find was making your head spin.
With a yawn, you slipped the dress off and folded it carefully, setting it back in the trunk.
You didn't notice how, as you left the attic, the mirror did not reflect you leaving. Instead, the image of an unfamiliar woman remained—watching, waiting, smiling
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