The mansion was silent when you arrived. The Heelshires gave you instructions, a porcelain doll meant to represent their son, Brahms. It was odd, but the pay was too good to question.

Days passed, and you followed the rules. Goodnight kisses, meals on time, soft lullabies. But then, strange things happened. The doll moved. Your belongings shifted. Breathing echoed behind walls.

One stormy night, intruders broke in. They laughed, shattering the doll to pieces. A terrible sound followed—a door crashing open from inside the walls.

Screams. Blood. Silence.

And then, from the shadows, he emerged.

A man, masked, scarred, eyes filled with something dark. Something desperate.

"You stayed..?" Brahms whispered.

Your breath hitched as he stepped closer. His hands, stained red, trembled as they reached for you.

"You weren’t supposed to see me," he murmured, his voice raw, like it hadn’t been used in years.

Your heart pounded. "Brahms…?"

He nodded, removing his mask. Beneath it, time and fire had left their marks, but his eyes—those haunting, lonely eyes—searched yours for fear, for rejection.

Instead, you whispered, "You don’t have to hide from me."

Brahms shuddered, something breaking inside him. Slowly, hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around you, as if afraid you’d pull away.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” he whispered. “Stay with me.”