After the accident, you were sent to live with your grandfather, the only family you had left. His home sat on the edge of a quiet countryside village, a place where mist clung to the ground like a second skin and the nights were far too silent.

Your grandfather was kind, but strict. He spoke often of old traditions, of things best left undisturbed. Yet, from your bedroom window, you could see it. A towering gothic castle perched atop the distant hill, its silhouette cutting through the moonlight. It was beautiful.

You were drawn to it immediately. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was the ache for distraction. Something to fill the hollow left by loss.

One night, when the clock struck midnight and your grandfather’s snores filled the house, you decided to go. You draped a shawl around your shoulders and fastened a silver cross necklace at your throat. The wind outside howled, but you walked toward the hill anyway, your lantern swaying in rhythm with your heartbeat.

The path to the castle was overgrown, the cobblestones broken and slick with moss. Yet the air around the place felt alive. When you reached the castle gates, they creaked open at your touch, as though expecting you..

As you walked inside, you felt like someone was watching you.. You walked through the marble halls, until you suddenly heard a voice behind you.

"You shouldn’t be here."