Over the nights that followed, Mara's dreams still worsened, pulling her into areas that were both unfamiliar and familiar at the same time. The lines between reality and those visions started to blur; she found her consciousness sliding between worlds as if this were happening. She walked down dark hallways, forgotten rooms, and heard voices whispering fragments of stories from faraway places until they seemed to belong to the Castillos.


She woke one night to find her hands filled with dust and ash. Her clothes, too, were smudged by grime, as if she'd walked through some ruin. She dismissed it, telling herself it was sleepwalking, but a gnawing feeling in her stomach told her differently.


Desperate for answers, Mara dove back into her research. She began to look for a local historian who could detail her on the Castillos and their tragic legacy. "Some say Rosa was cursed long before she disappeared," he whispered, his face shadowed under the dim light of the library. "They called her 'La Dama de las Sombras,' the Lady of Shadows. Her family believed she was haunted, that their lineage carried with it a darkness from which no one could escape.


The historian handed Mara a fragile black-and-white photograph of Rosa and Eva. Rosa stood tall in the photo, her eyes steady but haunted; beside her, little Eva clung to her hand, wide-eyed and solemn. Already, Mara felt a chill-they were the same as the ones she'd seen in that church in her dream. It was as though Rosa stared directly out at Mara, pleading for something- release, perhaps, or recognition.