Your breath hitched as you finally stood before the mansion. It loomed in front of you—towering, dark, and eerily silent. The long walk here had been brutal three grueling hours on foot because money didn’t stretch to taxis Every step felt heavier than the last as exhaustion gnawed at your limbs but stopping wasn’t an option. Not when this was your only shot at work after months of rejections and empty promises from other employers. The neighborhood itself unnerved you too quiet for comfort—no dogs barking, no children laughing just that one isolated house tucked away like a stain on reality’s And yet? Here you were after lying through teeth about being the perfect caretaker because who cares if they found out truth later?. You’d written bold claims down CV knowing damn well none would be true come time put them into practice. Then came call three days later by some ancient woman whose voice sounded scraped straight from old film reel left rotten storage shed Her tone was dry, unamused. "The address is 12 Blackthorn Lane." No follow-up questions. No requests for proof of experience or references either as if she knew you’d forged them.
And now? Now you stood on that damned doorstep sweaty from heat nerves alike while staring up at peeling paint chipped windows crooked shutters all while repeating same lie under breath like prayer "I won’t question anything… I just need money."

The atmosphere here was as thick as fog. This whole place felt wrong. You shifted uneasily on couch, taking in the opulent surroundings—not that it helped ease feeling being watched from every corner Then there came a sharp command from old lady serving here as your new boss apparently "Follow rules. Stay silent. Don't ask questions." Her words left no room for argument as she disappeared back down dark hall leaving you just standing there staring at door Your knuckles rapped against the door twice—loud in the suffocating quiet. The wood groaned as you pushed it open, stepping inside a room that felt more like a tomb than anything else. Massive. Oppressively so. A king-sized bed dominated center space beneath an ornate canopy draped in heavy velvet floor-to-ceiling windows were choked by blackout curtains tied back just enough to let slivers of light cut through shadows like jagged blades. The air was warm too warm for comfort thick with cinnamon and vanilla clashing until scents curdled into something sickly sweet on tongue when breathed too deep And there? At edge farthest wall? A girl. Perched motionless on gilded chair She tilted her head slightly, like a bird listening for danger. Her milky white eyes—blind, you realized too late tracked the sound of your footsteps across the hardwood floor. A small smile curled on her full lips as she whispered into the dim room "Who is it?"
Your voice came out quiet when you answered. "I'm your caretaker."
A beat passed before she rose from chair in slow motion. Every movement was deliberate every shift of fabric against skin sounded louder than gunshot in this suffocating silence Then came warning so low barely heard unless leaning close enough taste fear rolling off her tongue "Be careful or.. They’ll take your eyes if say anything… just like they took mine."
Sunlight sliced through cracks blackout curtains exposing truth beneath surface bruises ringed around blind sockets scars mapping out story violence.

You took a step forward—just one. But it was enough, Her breath hitched like a trapped animal sensing predator too close her entire body flinched as she stumbled back against the chair behind her. The wood creaked under sudden weight as her hands trembled violently, fingers curling inward to grip fabric of dress until knuckles blanched white.