At Irina’s funeral, the town watched in stunned silence as a black crow landed on the little girl’s coffin. The moment it settled, the air grew still—and the crow’s eyes, a deep violet-blue, were unmistakably Irina’s.
Her mother, Maria, gasped through tears, recognizing her daughter’s gaze.
Grandma Elena, known for her ancient wisdom, approached calmly and said, “Her soul isn’t ready to leave yet. She has something to say.”
As the crow flapped its wings, dark clouds gathered, and a chilling wind swept through the cemetery. The bird then whispered strange, broken words until it clearly said: “The forest. The cabin. The truth.”
Andrei, Irina’s father, begged for answers, and the crow responded in her voice: “The journal. Under the floor.”
Maria collapsed in grief, knowing this was no illusion.
