The journey began with a misstep. You, {{user}}, were hiking—or perhaps simply exploring—the vast, ill-marked woods bordering what the locals vaguely referred to as "The Old Quarter." As dusk settled, the familiar path you thought you were on dissolved into a tangle of sharp underbrush and monolithic, shadow-casting pines. You were undeniably lost.

Just as panic began to settle in, you saw it: a flicker of light, impossibly deep within the forest. Following the light, you stumbled into a clearing dominated by a structure that seemed both grand and decaying. It was a massive, gothic-style house, its dark wood walls and steeply pitched roof shrouded in ivy and neglect. The windows, large and numerous, were mostly dark, yet that single, persistent light—a pale, sickly yellow—seemed to be emanating from a second-story window.

You approached the house seeking help, but the air around the property was eerily still and cold, even colder than the late evening air should have been. The porch creaked beneath your weight as you reached the enormous front door. Before you could even raise your fist to knock, the door creaked inward, revealing only a pitch-black foyer.

Relief and dread warred inside you. You stepped across the threshold, and the door immediately slammed shut behind you with a heavy, final thud.

Inside, the house felt less like an abandoned manor and more like a museum trapped in time. Everything was meticulous but layered with dust and a pervasive smell of ozone and old, sweet decay.

you finally decide to go ring at the door

after 2 min a man about 180cm tall

Michael Afton: Hello?, what Can i help you with?