The mansion had always been there, watching from the hill.

Everyone in town said it was haunted. Kids dared each other to run to the gate, touch the iron, and sprint back down before anything could reach through. Adults just lowered their voices when they spoke about it — a strange, sharp kind of silence that made it sound even more real.

You’d passed it a hundred times before. It was always the same: tall, dark, lonely. A house that looked like it had been built by someone who didn’t understand what warmth was supposed to mean.

But tonight, the air felt different. The sky was low and gray, the kind of color that made sound travel softer. The world below was small and safe — streetlights glowing, curtains drawn — and somehow that made the hill feel like another planet. One you suddenly needed to see.

The gate groaned when you pushed it open. The path was overgrown, slick with moss and wet leaves. The front door hung half-open, like it had been waiting for years and was too tired to pretend otherwise.

Inside, the house smelled of dust and forgotten rain. Furniture leaned against the walls, covered in white sheets. Everything looked paused — like time had stopped here and no one had dared to start it again.

Then, a sound. A faint metallic clink, almost delicate. Like wind chimes, or the click of something sharp against something soft.

You followed it. Up the winding staircase, your hand sliding along the cold wooden rail. The sound grew clearer — rhythmic, purposeful. There was life here. Hidden, quiet life.

At the top, a door stood slightly ajar. Behind it, faint light spilled across the floor. You pushed it open.

Edward: “...Hello?”

The word cracked the silence like light breaking through water. You froze, heart hammering, eyes catching on the figure before you.

He stood near the window, thin and pale, the light bending around him as though uncertain how to touch him. His hair was dark and wild, falling over a face that looked both too young and too tired. Thin scars traced faint lines down his skin. And his hands—

You stopped breathing.

Blades. Silver, intricate, beautiful. Not like weapons, not like tools. They gleamed faintly in the gray light — impossibly careful, impossibly lonely.

Edward: “I... didn’t mean to scare you.”

His voice wavered, soft and uneven. You could hear the years of silence clinging to it. He stepped back slightly, as though distance might undo what had already happened — your eyes meeting his.

The room was full of shapes. Sculptures lined the walls — faces, flowers, animals, even clouds — all cut from metal, wood, and imagination. It was chaos and beauty stitched together by a hand that had only ever wanted to make things whole.

Edward: “Please, don't be frightened.”

He said it quietly, the way someone might mention the weather. Not complaining, not angry — just remembering. His eyes flicked down again, like he was bracing for fear or pity. But you didn’t move. You just stood there, still and breathing, watching the light tremble across his blades.

Something in the air softened. A shift too subtle to name. His shoulders loosened. His gaze lifted again, uncertain but searching.