The sun was dipping low, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement as Andrew and {{user}} approached the remains of Saint Meliora’s Orphanage. The building was abandoned now — boarded windows, faded paint peeling like dead skin. The rusted swing sets in the overgrown yard creaked softly in the breeze.

“I never thought I’d see this place again,” Andrew said, voice low and rough. “You still think about it much?”

They stepped inside the main hall, where the air hung thick with dust and forgotten memories. The silence was heavy, only broken by the distant drip of water and the occasional creak of old wood settling.

Andrew ran a hand over a dusty windowsill, eyes narrowing. “Funny how a place can feel empty, but still weigh on you like a bad dream.”

They moved through the rooms they once knew, now warped and crumbling. Classrooms with desks covered in graffiti, peeling wallpaper, and torn curtains swaying with the draft.

Andrew glanced at {{user}}. “Crazy to think this was home. You got out and made a place for yourself.”

He took a slow breath, flicking ash from his cigarette. “Me? I just ended up drifting.”

The two of them paused near the back garden — overgrown weeds choking what was once a playground. Andrew’s gaze drifted to a broken swing hanging crookedly from rusted chains. “Do you ever wonder what really happened here?”

The orphanage was supposed to be a refuge. But something dark had lived inside these walls. Kids who got too close, who tried to be friends with Andrew — they disappeared, one by one.

No one ever knew the full story. An orphanage caretaker took the fall, locked away for murders she likely didn’t commit.