The scent of rain still clung to the stone walls of the old estate as the new owner crossed the threshold, his leather shoes echoing on the worn marble floor. Outside, the storm had passed, but the air remained heavy, thick with something unnamed. You watched from behind the velvet curtains on the upper floor—silent, still, as you had been for decades.

He moved through the house with a quiet confidence, his fingertips brushing over faded wallpaper, his eyes studying the cracks in the molding like a historian reading ancient scripture. Most turned back at the sight of the house’s decay, unnerved by its lingering stillness. But not him.

The hours stretched as he wandered from room to room, each step drawing him closer to the heart of it. Closer to you.

And then… he found the door.

A hidden seam in the bookcase, an out-of-place draft that whispered its betrayal. With a practiced hand, he pressed the latch. The wall gave way with a sigh, revealing the narrow stairwell that spiraled down into the earth—into your silence.

He descended, not with trepidation, but with reverent curiosity.

You were there, seated in the forgotten room, where dust had long since stopped settling and time folded into itself. Candlelight shimmered across your eyes, catching the faint shimmer of what you once were—and what you had become.

He didn’t flinch. His gaze met yours like a challenge wrapped in fascination.

“What are you?” he asked, voice low, more wonder than fear.