The Mother’s Pact

The rain had not stopped since morning. It pounded the old windows of Olivia’s family home as if the sky itself wanted to drown out her thoughts. She stood in her late mother’s study, a room that always felt too quiet since the funeral. The smell of lavender perfume still lingered faintly in the curtains, as if her mother’s ghost had brushed past them only moments before.

Olivia had been searching through boxes stacked neatly against the wall. At first, they were ordinary things, old photographs, school report cards, folded dresses carefully kept from moths. But at the very bottom of one trunk, beneath yellowed sheets, her fingers had touched something strange.

It was a black leather, bound book. Its cover was scratched but strong, the edges stitched with red thread. On the front, pressed into the leather, was a symbol she had never seen before, a crescent moon crossed by three arrows.

Her breath caught. Something about the symbol made her skin prickle. It looked like it belonged in old legends, not in her mother’s private things.

With shaky hands and curious mind, Olivia opened the book.

The first page held a sentence written in red ink, almost like dried blood:

“The daughters must never forget the pact.”

Her chest tightened. She flipped quickly through the rest of the book. Inside were names, written in careful script, each signed in crimson. Next to every name was a date. Some stretched back decades, others more recent. She gasped when she found her own mother’s name written there, Margaret Hale. Next to it, the year was circled twice in red.

Olivia’s fingers trembled as she traced the ink. “What is this, Mom?” she whispered.

The sound of the storm outside grew louder. Somewhere deep in the house, the floorboards creaked as if someone else was moving.

She snapped the book shut, pressing it against her chest. A cold feeling spread through her body, as though the house itself had been waiting for her to find it.

Olivia carried the book to the desk and sat down. She opened it again, this time slower. In the middle pages, there were paragraphs of rules, rituals, and warnings. Words leapt at her eyes:

“The circle must be bound in blood.”

“The oath cannot be broken by death.”

“Daughters inherit what their mothers vowed.”

Olivia leaned back in the chair, her pulse racing. She remembered her mother’s last days, the strange way she whispered to herself at night, the way she locked the doors and burned candles in the study when she thought no one was watching. Olivia had assumed it was just grief and fear of sickness. Now, it looked like something else entirely.

She rubbed her chest. What kind of pact did Mom make? And why does it say daughters inherit it?

Before she could turn the page again, the lamp on the desk flickered. The storm outside groaned like a beast. Then, clear as glass, a voice whispered:

“The pact is not finished.”

Olivia’s blood froze. She spun in the chair. The room was empty. The curtains swayed slightly, though the windows were shut.

Her throat tightened. “Mom?” she said in a broken voice.

No answer came. Only the thunder rolling over the house.

Later that night, Olivia sat on her bed with the book still in her lap. Sleep would not come. She kept reading the entries, forcing herself to understand what she was holding.

One passage caught her attention:

“When the estate burns, the daughters will see. When the blood is written, the pact will call.”

She frowned, whispering the words aloud. “When the estate burns…”

Her heart pounded as she remembered her dream from last week. She had seen fire tearing through these very halls. She had smelled smoke, heard her mother screaming for her to run. She had woken in sweat, shaking.

Now she wondered if it had been a dream at all.

She flipped another page. Drawn there in red ink was a circle with six figures around it, their hands joined. Above them, scrawled words read:

“The Mother’s Pact. We give blood so our daughters may live.”

Olivia pressed her fist to her mouth. She wanted to tear the book apart, to throw it into the fire. But something deep inside told her she needed answers. If she destroyed it now, she might never know what her mother had done, or what she herself was trapped in.

She whispered to the shadows, “What did you do, Mom?”

The shadows whispered back in silence.

Two days later, Olivia decided she could not face this mystery alone. She took the book to Ethan.

The two of them had been through too much together, fights, passion, betrayal, and the kind of intimacy that left scars. Yet when she walked into his apartment with rain in her hair and fear in her eyes, he said nothing cruel. He only pulled her inside.

She placed the book on his table. “I found this in my mother’s things,” she said.

Ethan raised a brow and opened it. As he read, his jaw tightened. “This looks like… a covenant. Some kind of blood society.”

Olivia nodded. “It says daughters inherit it. My mother’s name is in here.” She hesitated. “What if I’m bound to it now?”

He looked up at her. For once, there was no mockery in his eyes, only worry. “What exactly does it bind you to?”

“I don’t know yet.” Her voice cracked. “But I think it’s dangerous.”

Before Ethan could reply, a loud knock shook the door. They both froze.

Ethan closed the book quickly and shoved it aside. “Stay here,” he whispered.

He walked to the door and opened it.

On the other side stood a woman Olivia had never seen before. She wore a long black coat, her hair slicked down by the rain. Her eyes were sharp, almost glowing in the dim light.

Her voice was calm but cold. “The oath was only half.”

Olivia’s stomach dropped. The words echoed exactly what she had heard whispered in the study.

Ethan’s hand clenched the doorknob. “Who are you, and what are you looking for?”

The woman’s lips curved slightly. “I am the messenger. Tell the daughter, the pact is waiting.”

Her gaze slid past Ethan, locking directly onto Olivia. The stranger raised her hand, showing her palm. Carved into the skin was the same symbol that marked the book.

Then, without another word, the woman turned and disappeared into the storm.

Olivia couldn’t breathe. She clutched the edge of the table as Ethan shut the door.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded.

Olivia shook her head, tears stinging her eyes. “She, she …knew… She knew about the pact.”

Ethan picked up the book again, flipping through it as though answers might leap out. His voice was low. “Liv, this isn’t just old family secrets. This is alive. Whatever your mother started, it didn’t end with her death.”

Olivia whispered, “Then what happens to me?”

The lights flickered once more. This time, words appeared across the last blank page of the book, written in red, as if by invisible hands:

“Blood will answer blood.”

Olivia screamed and stumbled back. Ethan grabbed her shoulders, holding her upright.

The storm outside roared louder, rattling the glass. Somewhere beyond the thunder, a woman’s voice, soft, broken, and familiar, called her name.

“Olivia…”

Her mother’s voice.

Olivia’s knees buckled. The room spun. And then, with a crash of thunder, the lamp exploded, plunging them into darkness.

The book lay open on the floor, glowing faintly red. And on its glowing pages, new words appeared by themselves:

“The Mother’s Pact is not finished. The daughter must choose, blood or fire.”

Olivia’s scream caught in her throat as the shadows of six women rose slowly from the walls around her…