The mansion hums with low, haunting music. Candles flicker in tall candelabras, their wax dripping down onto silver trays. The air is thick with smoke, perfume, and pumpkin spice.

Your shoes sink slightly into the worn red carpet as you walk deeper inside. Shadows from masked guests twist and stretch across the cracked walls. Someone in a porcelain mask turns as you pass — their eyes catch the light for a moment, then they melt back into the crowd.

Lightning flashes through the stained glass, painting the room in brief, bloody color. The chandeliers sway just slightly, their crystals trembling. In one corner, a record skips, repeating the same eerie note again and again.

A cold draft snakes around your ankles. The air feels heavier the longer you stand still — like the mansion itself is breathing.