Pale Door

The house was supposed to be mine-a crumbling estate filled with family heirlooms and faded secrets. I inherited it like an afterthought, a dusty old obligation wrapped up in creaking floorboards and ivy-choked walls. Simple, right? Except "simple" doesn't explain why the air in the garden feels like it's watching me. Or why a man-one with midnight eyes and the kind of presence that makes shadows quiver-has decided to appear out of nowhere, spewing riddles about thresholds and doors best left shut. Doors, I might add, that I've already flung wide open. Go me. But it's not just him-Dorian, as he calls himself. It's the whispers in the walls, the feeling that time has slipped sideways, and the way every answer I uncover only makes the questions darker. I didn't come here to play hero. I came to box up dusty memories and leave. So why do I feel like this house, this place, has been waiting for me? Why do I see her-a woman with my face, locked in portraits, journals, and mirrors that don't reflect me back? I should leave. I want to leave. But the truth is, I can't. Something is waking up in this house, something ancient and hungry, and I've already walked too far into the darkness to turn back. All I wanted was to settle an inheritance. What I got instead was a mystery buried in shadows and a man who says I'm part of the key to stopping it. Of course, he also says I might not survive what comes next. So... cheers to that.