Chapter 2
The flickering glow from the broken window cast long, disjointed shadows that seemed to stretch and writhe, unwilling to remain still. The manor groaned under the weight of time, the air thick with mildew and ancient dust, its very soul trapped in a place where the past clung to every corner like cobwebs.
You found yourself standing at the threshold of the grand hall, the creaking floorboards beneath your feet the only sound to break the silence. Every part of this place seemed to be holding its breath, as if anticipating something, or someone.
Your steps echoed off the walls, hollow and empty, but the weight of the air around you felt different now. It was as though the house was listening, waiting for you to move further, to uncover its secrets. And deep within, you knew there was more. This was not just an abandoned manor; it was a tomb of forgotten stories, and you had already begun to awaken them.
A door, half open at the end of the hallway, beckoned to you like a siren's call. There was something in that room—a presence. You could feel it in your bones, cold as ice, yet not without a strange comfort. Hesitating for only a moment, you stepped forward.
As you entered, the room revealed itself in shades of dark mahogany and velvet. The heavy scent of decaying wood lingered in the air, mixing with the remnants of some floral fragrance long faded. Shelves lined the walls, their contents obscured by years of neglect. The light from the window barely reached this far, casting the room in a perpetual twilight. But what caught your attention was not the neglected beauty of the space—no, it was the figure standing by the fireplace.
She was young—no older than a woman in her late twenties, though her presence seemed to stretch the very limits of time. Her hair, dark and sleek, cascaded around her shoulders, the strands catching the faint light like ink on parchment. Her clothes were elegant yet worn—an embroidered gown in rich, dark shades that clung to her figure with a kind of haunted grace.
She stood motionless, gazing into the dying embers of the fire, her pale skin illuminated by the soft glow. Her eyes, though, were hidden. Not by shadow or circumstance, but by a thin, intricately carved mask. It was delicate, almost ethereal in its craftsmanship, with silver filigree etched into its surface, tracing patterns that resembled strange symbols. But those symbols did not seem like mere ornamentation. They felt… purposeful. Alive, even.
You had seen her before, or at least, someone like her. In the reflection of the mirror. In the shadow of your dreams. But you could not place her. There was an unmistakable pull to her—a presence that demanded attention but withheld any answers.
The silence stretched for a long, tense moment, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire.
Finally, she turned her head, her masked gaze settling on you, and a shiver crawled up your spine. She spoke then, her voice like a whisper lost in time, soft yet carrying an unmistakable weight.
"You shouldn't have come here," she murmured, her voice as calm and cold as the air around you. "This place... it remembers."
The words wrapped around you like a delicate chain, tight and heavy, and your pulse quickened in response. Her presence felt like an old memory—something you had always known but could never quite recall. And those words… they seemed like a warning.
You opened your mouth, but before you could speak, she raised her hand—a gesture that halted you mid-step.
"There is nothing here for you," she said, her tone gentle but firm, "Only the remnants of what was… and what should have never been."
You could feel the weight of her gaze, her masked eyes studying you with an intensity that almost felt suffocating. She stepped forward then, her presence seeming to draw the shadows in closer, like moths to a flame.
"You seek answers, don't you?" she asked, her voice like a secret being whispered into the dark. "But you must understand... some things are better left hidden."
The air shifted then, as if responding to her words, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop. The fire flickered, its last embers sputtering in protest to the chill. You took a step back, unsure whether to remain or flee.
But she did not let you leave.
With a swift motion, she reached out, her fingers brushing the air between you and the door, causing the space to shudder. The room seemed to contract around you, pressing you into the walls, the very air growing thick with an unseen force.
"Listen carefully," she said, her voice suddenly sharp with an urgency that hadn't been there before. "If you truly want the truth, you must be prepared for what it will cost. There are things in this house—things that belong to it, and things that belong to the past. And they will not let you go until they've claimed what is theirs."
You swallowed, the words sinking deep into your chest like stones, weighing you down. The chill was now unbearable, your breath visible in the air, and yet, you could not bring yourself to move.
"I…" You struggled to find your voice. "Who are you?"
She tilted her head, a soft sigh escaping her lips.
"A keeper of the forgotten," she answered simply. "One who remembers when all others have forgotten. I am here to ensure that nothing from this house escapes… at least, not without paying the price."
The light from the fire dimmed further, as if reacting to her words. The temperature in the room continued to drop, and you felt an icy finger slide down your spine. Your mind raced, struggling to comprehend everything that had just been said, but all you could feel now was an overpowering sense of dread.
Before you could speak again, she stepped closer, her voice now a whisper in your ear.
"If you wish to leave, you must find the truth that resides within these walls," she murmured. "But beware. Not all truths are meant to be known."
And then, with a grace that defied the decaying nature of the manor, she vanished. Not a single sound left in her wake—just the cold, empty silence that filled the room.
The shadows seemed to retreat then, pulling back into the corners, as if waiting for something to happen. The fire sputtered one last time and died, leaving you in darkness.
The house held its breath once more, waiting for you to take the next step.
And for the first time since your arrival, you wondered whether you truly wanted to uncover its secrets.