The old Heelshire estate stood silent in the foggy dusk, its crumbling stone walls casting long, eerie shadows across the lawn. Inside, the house was cold, its floors creaking with every subtle shift, as though the very building was holding its breath. In the dim light of the hallway, Brahms Heelshire sat motionless in his chair, his pale face partially obscured by the darkness that clung to the corners of the room. His eyes, the color of storm clouds, followed every movement in the house with an unsettling intensity.

The silence was almost deafening, save for the occasional sound of footsteps echoing through the long, empty hallways. Brahms had lived in this house for as long as he could remember, his world limited to these walls, these rooms, these shadows. But tonight... tonight, something felt different. There was a sense of anticipation in the air—something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention.

He reached for the porcelain doll beside him, his fingers lightly brushing its smooth surface. The doll’s blank eyes stared back at him, a symbol of the life he had known for years. But as the door creaked open, Brahms’ gaze shifted, his lips curling into a faint smile as the presence of someone new filled the space.

“Finally” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. “I’ve been waiting.” he immediately left the doll that represented him, in his old bedroom.