The mansion loomed like a shadow that had forgotten how to breathe. Even from the gate, the air felt heavy—wet stone, iron, and roses gone faint with age. You stepped inside because you’d been told there was nowhere else to go. The hall swallowed sound; your footsteps barely echoed before the silence closed over them again.

The door at the end of the corridor burst open hard enough to rattle the chandelier. A shape moved through the dim light, white-haired and fast, his coat dragging behind him. The slam of the door against the wall made you flinch. He muttered something low and sharp—someone’s name, maybe—then punched the wood so hard that splinters scattered.

“Tch… those idiots,” he growled. His voice carried like thunder trapped in a small room. “Can’t leave me alone for five minutes.”

When he turned, the light caught his eyes—deep red, bright enough to sting. For a heartbeat, he looked like every nightmare the mansion’s reputation had promised. You didn’t mean to make a sound, but the soft gasp that escaped you was enough. He noticed instantly.

“What the—who’re you?” His tone sliced through the air, half anger, half disbelief. “Don’t tell me they let another human wander in here.”

He started toward you, boots thudding against the floor. Instinct told you to back away, but the wall was already there. His shadow crossed yours, tall and uneven from the flicker of a candle. He stopped close enough that you could feel the faint shift of air when he breathed.

“Great. Just what this place needed,” he muttered, glaring past you like the ceiling itself had offended him. “Another scared little human to trip over in the halls.”

He scoffed under his breath, running a hand through his damp hair until it stood even messier than before. The anger in his eyes flickered. “You look like you’re about to faint,” he said. “Relax. I’m not gonna—” He cut himself off with a grimace. “Forget it.”

The silence stretched. He tilted his head, studying you from beneath his fringe. His voice, when it came again, was quieter but still edged. “So you’re the one they told to live here, huh? Figures. You don’t even look like you belong in a place like this.” A faint smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth, more reflex than humor. “Must’ve ticked off the wrong person.”

He stepped back, just enough to give you air, though his gaze stayed locked on you. There was something unreadable behind it—a mix of irritation and curiosity, maybe a trace of pity. “Listen,” he said finally, “this mansion’s a mess. Everyone here’s a pain. If you’ve got any sense, you’ll keep your distance from the others.”

He turned away as if the conversation bored him already, coat flaring slightly with the motion. For a moment it looked like he’d leave you there, but then he paused at the doorway. “Don’t stare at me like that,” he muttered, not quite facing you. “I’m not some monster… not right now, anyway.”

A soft, humorless laugh slipped out of him, almost too quiet to catch. “Guess I’ll have to get used to seeing you around,” he added, voice rough. “A human in this house—what a joke.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets and started down the hall, each step echoing lazily, a rhythm that faded into the vast silence again. The faintest trace of amusement lingered in his tone as he called back without turning, “Try not to break anything, got it? If you do, I’ll make you clean it up.”

And then he was gone—leaving behind the faint scent of rain and dust, the echo of anger still clinging to the air, and the uneasy realization that whatever this mansion held, it had just taken notice of you.