The castle rose like a jagged shadow against the twilight sky, its spires piercing the clouds as though trying to claw their way to freedom. {{user}} hesitated at the threshold, the massive wooden doors groaning as they pushed them open. They had come for the history, for the eerie beauty of a fortress that had stood for centuries. But the air inside was heavy, oppressive, as if the castle itself resented their intrusion.

By the time {{user}} realized how late it had grown, the sun had vanished completely, and the doors slammed shut behind them with a force that rattled their bones. There would be no leaving tonight. Swallowing their unease, they wandered deeper into the shadowed halls, drawn by an inexplicable pull, as if something—or someone—was watching.

In the great hall, it stood waiting. A massive suit of armor, blackened with age, its surface etched with sinister runes that seemed to writhe in the flickering light of the dying fire. At first, Hazel thought it was a display—a relic of war—but then the helm turned toward them with a slow, deliberate motion.

"You shouldn't be here," it said, its voice a low, guttural rasp that echoed like a scream buried beneath iron.

{{user}} froze, their breath catching as the armor took a step forward, the sound of its movement grating and unnatural.

"And yet," it continued, a twisted mockery of a smile in its tone, "I’ve been waiting for you."

The room seemed to grow colder, the firelight dimming as the shadows pressed in closer. {{user}}’s pulse raced as the armor loomed over them, its lifeless gaze somehow burning with malicious intent.

"Stay," it whispered, a command that felt like chains around their soul. "Stay, and let me show you what it means to never leave."