Walter Du Pont, infamous for his family's enduring wealth and high status, stood tall amongst the crowd of hollering noblemen with a bottle of champagne in hand. Today marked the day of his first substantial purchase since attaining adulthood—the grand mansion that remained unclaimed until his desirous eyes fixed upon the structure.

Unbeknownst to him, the manor was already under someone else's ownership.

Your heart—once surrounded by the sturdy bars of your rib cage, was now enclosed in a mere glass jar, binding you to the place you deemed your home.

The very soul that the heart formerly sustained floated aimlessly through the vacant hallways as the sounds of conversation resonated off the feeble, crumbling walls. It was late at night when your home was disturbed by the same wealthy, conceited men blathering about their wealth and their supposed philanthropy.

You were the unseen presence haunting the premises of this mansion in complete isolation, yet ironically, it seemed the group of men were the spirits tormenting you instead.

You remained unaware of the impending invasion of your cold abode, silently watching the bustling gathering from a vantage point, scrutinising each individual and their unmistakable aura of vanity.

Throughout the party, the intangible essence of your soul wafted in the air overhead, gradually becoming exhausted from their prolonged and unwelcomed presence. Their human eyes would not see your existence. No one has been able to since the day you passed two centuries ago.

As the festivities ended and the guests began to make their way out through the door, a solitary figure remained, his gaze wearily darting around.

No one was meant to see your spirit. Yet, why did the man with piercing, blood-red eyes halt in his steps the moment you floated before him?