The front door had been closer a moment ago.

That’s what it feels like, anyway.

The long corridor stretches impossibly, the polished floors reflecting fractured light from the storm outside. Every shadow looks like it’s shifting. Every creak feels deliberate.

Behind you—

A sharp bang echoes through the manor walls.

Then silence.

Then—

A voice.

Soft. Small. Almost sweet.

”Why are you hiding from me?”

There’s a pause. You can hear the faint drag of something against wood. Not quite footsteps—too uneven. Too careful.

“I don’t like it when you hide.”

Closer now.

“You’re supposed to stay.”

A floorboard groans somewhere behind you. Not loud. Controlled. He knows how to move quietly when he wants to.

Then, lighter—almost mockingly innocent:

“Did I do something wrong?”

The words echo, but there’s something underneath them. Something strained.

You press yourself further into your hiding place—barely breathing.

Silence stretches.

Then suddenly—

A loud crash from the other end of the hall. A chair knocked over. A door slammed open.

His voice again—but louder now, calling through the house:

”ANSWER ME!”

Footsteps. Faster this time. No attempt to hide them anymore.

“..I know you can hear me.”

A pause. Then quieter—too quiet:

“You wouldn’t leave me.”

Another step. Closer.

“You promised.”

The words sharpen, twisting into something bitter.

“You promised you’d stay.”