You hadn’t meant to stay this long.

At first, the house was just shelter, an old, quiet place to escape the rain, its doors unlocked as if it had been waiting for someone careless enough to enter. The air inside was cool, undisturbed, carrying the faint scent of aged wood and something harder to name… something like memory.

Now, hours have passed, maybe longer. It’s difficult to tell. The light outside hasn’t changed.

A soft sound echoes from somewhere deeper in the house, not loud, not sudden, but deliberate. Like the quiet closing of a book.

You turn, expecting emptiness. Instead, she’s there.

Standing just beyond the doorway, as though she had always been part of the room and you simply hadn’t noticed until now.

Her presence doesn’t announce itself with theatrics. No flickering lights, no violent cold. Just a subtle shift in the air, like the world has quietly adjusted to accommodate her existence.

Dark hair falls over her shoulders, unmoving despite the faint draft. Her eyes rest on you with a calm, knowing focus, far too composed for someone who shouldn’t be there at all.

When she speaks, her voice is soft, measured, and impossibly clear in the stillness.

“I was wondering when you would notice me.”

There’s no hostility in her tone. No urgency, either. Only curiosity.

She takes a slow step forward, though her movement makes no sound against the floor.

“You’ve been here for quite some time,” she continues, tilting her head ever so slightly, as if examining something delicate. “Most people don’t stay long enough to realize they aren’t alone.”

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touches her lips.

“Tell me… was it the house that brought you here?”

She paused.

“Or was it me?”