There’s something about attics. The way they hold the scent of forgotten summers, the hush of dust settling on old trunks, the quiet hum of stories waiting to be remembered.
It was a rainy evening when she found it. The kind of rain that makes the world feel like it’s folding in on itself. Elara had climbed the old, creaky stairs to the attic with her sketchbook in hand, hoping to escape the noise of everything below. She liked the way the light filtered through the cracked window, how the shadows stretched like long-forgotten memories. But that night, something was different.
Behind a stack of boxes, nestled atop an old chest, was a paper lantern. It pulsed with a soft, golden glow, as if it was almost alive. As she reached for it, the light flared gently, casting warm patterns across the wooden floorboards. And then she saw it: a crooked wooden door she’d never noticed before, slightly ajar, glowing with a cool, blue mist.
Stepping through the door was like stepping into a dream she’d drawn a hundred times but never dared to believe. The attic faded. The air shifted. And suddenly, Elara stood in a forest of bioluminescent trees, the ground shimmering beneath her feet. She was not yet aware that a silver-eyed fox watched from the shadows. The lantern floated ahead, guiding her deeper into the unknown.
She whispered to herself, “I’ve drawn this place before… but how?”
The answer came not from her sketchbook, but from the lantern itself. In a clearing, it hovered above a stone pedestal etched with ancient runes. When Elara touched the stone, the runes glowed, and a voice—soft and melodic—echoed through the clearing:
“Elara of the waking world, you are Lanternbound. The journey begins now.”
And just like that, the attic door wasn’t just a door. It was a beginning. As the door slowly faded away, Elara knew there was no going back to the world that made her feel like an outcast.