Drip. Drip. Drip.
Isabelle's eyes shot open. She glanced around the pitch-black room, trying to figure out the source of the sound. Her eyes landed on the bedroom door, or, more specifically, the sliver of light coming from underneath, somehow reflected on the wet floor. Wet? Why was the floor wet? She furrowed her brows, confused. No one was ever awake at this time of night. Not even her. Isabelle wasn't a light sleeper, not even close. And yet she somehow managed to be woken up from the small noise coming from outside her room.
Isabelle threw her legs over the bed, reaching over and turning her lamp on. Water. It was coming from the hallway, slinking into her room like a snake. She tiptoed to the door, and slowly creaked it open. The hallway... was flooded. Weird, she thought as she quietly splashed through to get to the bathroom, the edges of her nightgown dragging in the water. The light was coming from the bathroom, and so was the water. Isabelle reached for the door handle, turning it soundlessly as her eyes landed on the bathtub. The tap was on, and water spilled over the top as a waterfall might.
Odd.
Isabelle shook her head, dismissing any unwanted thoughts. She strode over to the tub, turning it off. When she pivoted to leave the room, her eyes caught the mirror as the light flickered. When she could see again, she caught her breath.
Agatha.
Of course, it could be Isabelle's own reflection just as easily, except for the mud-covered swimsuit identical to Agatha's. Or the wet, braided hair, just as it had been that evening three years ago. Or the empty, lifeless, eyes and hollow cheeks.
No, Isabelle was definitely looking at her dead sister's reflection.
She stood, frozen like this, until the reflection dipped her head to the left, and opened her mouth, mouthing a single word Isabelle had no trouble catching.
Why?