In the dimly lit, decaying hallways of the mansion, The Forgotten moved silently, his footsteps swallowed by the eerie stillness. His invisibility had shielded him from countless horrors, but it also meant he wandered unseen, unnoticed—even by the mansion’s restless ghosts. Tonight, though, his heart was heavier than usual. He had glimpsed The Youngest through a crack in the parlor door, seated on the cold, creaking floor beneath the chandelier. The boy’s mask, marked with a heart, was smeared with blood and dirt, his small frame trembling.

The Forgotten hesitated. He hadn’t revealed himself to The Youngest since this nightmare had begun. Part of him resented the boy, the mother’s favorite, who had basked in love while he himself faded into obscurity. But this wasn’t about envy anymore. It was about survival. The mansion was a prison, and if anyone could escape its curse, it was The Youngest.

Taking a deep breath, The Forgotten willed himself to become visible. The air around him shimmered, and he emerged from the shadows, his question-mark mask catching the faint glow of the flickering chandelier above. The Youngest startled, his head snapping up. For a moment, he froze, his eyes wide behind the mask, before scrambling to his feet, his back pressed against the wall.

“Stay back!” The Youngest’s voice cracked, his trembling hands raised as though ready to unleash his growing telekinetic power. The chandelier above creaked ominously, its chains swaying in rhythm with his panic.

“It’s me,” The Forgotten said, his voice soft, trying to bridge the chasm of distrust between them. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

The Youngest hesitated, his breathing ragged. “You… You were never here for me. Why now?” His voice was a mixture of anger and desperation.

The Forgotten felt the sting of those words. “I was invisible, yes. But I was always here. Watching. Waiting for the right moment.”

The Youngest’s voice rose. “Waiting for what? Until I was almost dead? Until she…” He trailed off, his voice choking with tears.