Jilian squinted at the old mirror propped against the attic dresser. Sunlight speared through the dust, highlighting the tarnish. Wiping away a smudge, she paused. There, a glint she hadn't noticed before. Beneath her fingertips, an engraved symbol winked into view. A circle, split by a single line.

"That wasn't there a minute ago," she whispered.

The symbol glowed faintly, then vanished. An old floorboard creaked behind her and Jilian spun around, heart pounding. There were just cobwebbed shadows and forgotten boxes. Yet, when she turned back, the symbol pulsated with renewed light. She traced its curves, feeling a pressure against her fingers and a whispering voice echoing in her mind: Help.
"Who's there?" Jilian breathed, but only silence answered.

The mirror became her obsession. The symbol throbbed beneath her touch, whispering pleas and angry demands. Sleepless nights followed, spent flipping through dusty history books, a frantic search for any mention of the strange mark.
Jilian nearly jumped out of her skin when her grandmother tapped on the open attic door. "Dear, are you alright?" Concern creased her face.

"Gran, do you know anything about…" Jilian gestured at the mirror.

Gran shuffled closer, then gasped. "Jilian, is that the Delanxy crest?"

"The who?"

"The Delanxys. The forgotten family who built this house. Folklore, I thought." Her eyes held a mixture of interest and caution. "I think someone – something – is trapped in that mirror."

Gran put a gentle hand on Jilian’s arm. "Perhaps. But be careful. Old tales often hold dark secrets."

That night, alone in the attic, Jilian decided. She would answer the call, the plea for help. It wouldn't be easy; it might even be dangerous. But whoever, or whatever, was trapped on the other side... they needed her.