The orphan girl named isabelle

Previously

…The heavy oak door creaked open, then shut with a soft thud, leaving me alone once more, bathed in the fading sunlight. But the silence that remained was no longer a comfort. It was filled with the echo of Eleanor Vance’s words, with the weight of the parchment in my hand, and with the chilling realization that the questions I carried were far more dangerous than I had ever imagined. I looked down at the locket, its familiar coolness a stark contrast to the heat that now bloomed in my chest. The story was indeed waiting, and I, Isabelle, orphan girl, was now inextricably bound to its unfolding.