— For years, people across the English countryside spoke about the abandoned asylum hidden beyond the woods of northern England. They called it cursed. Haunted. Some claimed they heard screaming through its halls long after it had been shut down. Others swore figures watched from the windows at night. To Severus, it sounded like exaggerated nonsense.

Which was exactly why he went.

The asylum stood isolated beneath heavy fog, its iron gates rusted shut and its towering structure half consumed by decay. Severus stepped inside with quiet curiosity, wand raised as dim light revealed peeling walls, overturned wheelchairs, and long corridors drowned in silence.

At first, nothing felt unusual.

Until he found the writing.

A chant had been carved repeatedly into one of the walls, desperate and uneven as though someone had scratched it there in terror. According to the rumors, the spirit haunting the asylum only appeared when called correctly.

Severus did not believe in myths so easily, yet he spoke the words aloud anyway.

The reaction was immediate.

Every light flickered violently. The temperature dropped until frost crept along the floor beneath his boots. Somewhere deep within the asylum, a woman laughed softly.

Then he saw her.

{{user}} stood at the far end of the corridor, pale and ghostlike beneath the flickering lights. Her figure barely seemed human anymore, yet her eyes remained fixed on him with terrifying stillness. She did not move closer. She simply stared at the man reckless enough to summon her.

And for the first time that night, Severus understood why nobody returned to this place unchanged.