Dorian stood frozen in the cavernous foyer of Rosewood Manor, his breath hanging in the silence.
That voice, it had been soft, barely more than a whisper, yet it carried an impossible familiarity, as if someone had spoken directly into the marrow of his bones.
He turned sharply, scanning the grand staircase that stretched into the darkened halls above. Shadows clung to the corners like reluctant secrets, refusing to reveal themselves fully. He told himself it had been the wind, an odd trick of acoustics, but the rational part of his mind faltered.
Because deep down, he knew, he had heard that familiar voice.
His heartbeat was loud in his ears, the echo of his pulse filling the void of the house. Swallowing hard, he steeled himself and took the first step upward, the wood groaning beneath his weight. The second step came easier, then the third. Each footfall felt like a drumbeat in an unfinished song.
The hallway above stretched before him, impossibly long and lined with doors. Some were cracked open just enough to suggest they had been forgotten rather than abandoned, while others remained shut, as if holding back something unseen.
He reached the landing, pausing beneath the dim glow of a tarnished wall. Dust clung to the air, swirling in lazy patterns as if disturbed by unseen movement, feeling the eagerness to let out a loud sneeze, that laid at the brick of his nostril, waiting to bust out; but for fear of awakening something hidden, held it back in self discipline. His fingers brushed over the closest doorframe, the wood cold beneath his touch.
And then...movement.
A flicker of white at the end of the hall.
His breath caught. The figure was slight, spectral, standing just beyond the reach of the flickering light. He squinted his eyes against the gloom, willing his vision to sharpen.
A woman.
She wasn't just part of the darkness; she was carved from it. The flickering candlelight illuminated the edges of her ivory dress, the fabric catching against the currents of unseen air. Her hair cascaded in loose waves, falling like whispers down her shoulders. She watched him, her posture impossibly still, as though she had been waiting.
And then, she moved.
Slow, measured steps. Her bare feet made no sound against the wooden floor, yet Dorian felt each step like a shift in the very foundation of the house.
"You came."
The voice curled around him again, more solid this time, as though it had been waiting for recognition.
Dorian swallowed hard, forcing the words past his throat. "Who are you?"
She tilted her head slightly, the motion slow, deliberate. The corners of her lips lifted in something that wasn't really a smile yet wasn't devoid of warmth either.
"I was waiting."
Dorian didn't move, but something in his chest did...an ache, very painful, deep and unrecognizable.
He wasn't a stranger to solitude; he had lived most of his life within its grip. And yet, standing here, beneath the weight of her gaze, he felt something shift within himself, something raw and unfamiliar.
"You were waiting… for me?"
She nodded; the gesture smooth, effortless without harm.
He should have been terrified. He should have turned and left the way he came. But he didn't.
Instead, he stepped closer, seeking answers to unknown questions.
The air around them crackled, charged with something just beneath the veil of understanding. The house seemed to breathe with them, stretching, sighing, settling into the moment.
"What is your name?" he asked, the words barely audible.
She hesitated, as if searching for an answer that had been lost to time. Then, slowly, the name unfurled from her lips:
"Evelyn."
It hit him like a whisper in the dark, delicate yet heavy with meaning.
He was close now, only a few feet separating them. And then...before reason could catch up...he reached out.
His fingers brushed against the silk of her sleeve, expecting the cold emptiness of air. But instead...he felt warmth.
She was real.
Her eyes widened slightly, as though surprised he had dared.
But she didn't pull away.
Neither did he, both staring wildly into each others gaze.
Dorian's fingers lingered against Evelyn's sleeve, the fabric impossibly soft beneath his touch. He had expected coldness, the distant chill of something not fully alive. But she was warm.
She felt real.
His breath came uneven as he searched her face, looking for answers he wasn't sure he'd understand. Her dark eyes held him there, firm yet fragile, like glass on the verge of breaking.
"You were waiting for me?" he repeated, his voice quieter this time.
Evelyn nodded, but there was hesitation in her movement, as if she wasn't quite certain of her own answer. Her gaze flickered to the walls, the ceiling, the heavy air pressing down around them.
"The house… it brought you here," she whispered.
Dorian frowned. "I don't believe in fate."
Evelyn's lips parted slightly, like she was about to say something, but she stopped. Instead, her fingers curled inward, the knuckles tightening beneath the lace of her sleeve.
"It doesn't matter what you believe," she murmured. "You're here now. And that means..."
She inhaled sharply, her body going rigid. Dorian felt it before she said it, the change in the air.
The silence in the hallway grew deeper.
Thicker.
Alive.
A sharp chill crept through the floorboards, coiling upward like unseen fingers.
Evelyn stepped back. "It knows."
Dorian's pulse slammed against his ribs. He turned sharply, scanning the corridor, but there was nothing. Only shadows, stretching, shifting, watching.
Then—the whisper.
Not Evelyn's.
Not his own.
A different voice.
Lower. Ancient. Something that did not belong, yet telling me 'I do not belong'.
"Οὐ δεῖ σε ἐνθάδε εἶναι"
Dorian's breath hitched. The shadows in the hallway moved, curling toward him, stretching like clawed hands desperate to grasp.
Evelyn grabbed his wrist. "Dorian, you need to leave. Now."
But he didn't move.
Something deep inside him refused to run.
Instead, he stepped forward.
The air rippled, a force unseen yet suffocating. The voice, the house itself, whispered again, curling around him like smoke.
"Αὕτη ἐστὶν ἐμή"
Evelyn's grip tightened. "It's too late," she whispered.
And in that moment Dorian knew.
Leaving wouldn't save him.