The manor at the edge of the cursed forest had many secrets. But none were as terrifying as the one hidden behind the locked doors of the east wing.

a traveler Ezekiel—a scholar seeking shelter from the relentless storm that turned the roads to rivers of mud. When the carriage broke down, he stumbled upon Ravencourt Manor, its windows dark, its halls suffocating with the scent of decayed roses and something metallic lingering beneath.

The lord of the house, Elias Ravencourt, was a striking man—tall, sharp, with eyes that gleamed like obsidian under candlelight. He welcomed Ezekiel with an eerie, knowing smile, as though he had been expecting him all along.

But it was the servant in black, {{user}} tucked beneath a frilled headdress, who caught Ezekiel's breath in his throat. {{user}}'s pale hands trembled as he poured his wine. {{user}}'s lips—tainted red, a trickle of something darker slipping down his chin—parted as though he wanted to speak. But the moment Elias' hand rested atop his head, the servant stilled, like a creature conditioned to obedience.

That night, Ezekiel heard whispers in the corridors. The sound of chains rattling. And when he turned in his sleep, he swore he saw {{user}} at his bedside, his glassy eyes pleading for something—rescue, perhaps. Or maybe, something far more terrifying.