By morning, the house no longer felt haunted.
It felt awake.
Sunlight barely touched the corridors. The Morvain Estate seemed to reject daylight, like it only lived by candle and shadow. Aria descended the grand staircase in silence, her fingertips grazing the carved railing, her skin prickling with invisible static.
Lucien was nowhere to be seen.
She preferred it that way.
In the library, the air was cooler than it had any right to be. She set her tools on the desk and lit a lamp. Dust swirled in the golden light, and the diary waited for her — still open to the first entry.
Her name stared up from the page like a mirror that remembered too much.
She began the restoration slowly: dry brushing the edges, humidifying the stiff pages, softening the warped spine. Her gloves trembled slightly, so she removed them. Her bare skin met the book's leather — and the world tilted.
The words on the page flickered, faded… and then changed.
Ink spread across the paper like veins, writing itself:
March 1st, 1893
He touched me again today. Not my body — my memory. He speaks in riddles, but I think I knew him long before I met him. I see him in dreams. I die in everyone.
Aria stumbled back from the desk, knocking over a vial of solution. It shattered across the floor, but she barely heard it.
I didn't write that. But, I remember it.
FLASH – A Memory Bleed
A red room.
Lucien on his knees.
Chains around his wrists. A cut on her palm.
Her voice — calm, ancient, cruel:
"You swore to love me until death. So I took death away."
He begged her: "Please… Aria…"
She smiled. "Now suffer as I have."
Lightning flashed across the memory — and then she was back in the library, gasping for air.
Her hands shook as she turned another page. More ink appeared — right before her eyes.
This time, it wasn't a full entry. Just a line:
You're starting to remember. That means it's almost time.
She slammed the book shut.
The shadows along the ceiling rippled.
From somewhere in the house — far, far below — she heard the sound of a door unlocking.
Not creaking.
Unlocking.
That night, she couldn't sleep.
The house breathed. The walls whispered. The mirrors felt too full of faces that weren't hers.
She wrapped herself in a shawl and wandered to the east wing.
The hallway was darker here. Older. The doors on either side looked untouched for decades.
One was slightly ajar.
She pushed it open.
It was a bedroom, covered in dust — except for the bed. The sheets were clean. The candle on the bedside table was half-burned.
And on the vanity sat a hairbrush. Still tangled with strands of deep brown hair.
Her color.
Aria stepped inside.
The moment her foot touched the rug — she remembered.
FLASH – Past Life Echo
A different bedroom. Firelight. She sits at the vanity brushing her hair.
Lucien appears behind her. No shoes. No words. He reaches out —
She flinches.
"You're afraid of me now," he says.
"I should be."
"But you loved me."
"And now I know what that cost."
Back in the present, Aria turned toward the door to leave.
Lucien stood there, silent as a statue.
"I wasn't following you," he said softly. "The house… it calls you."
She stared at him, unable to look away.
"Did I really curse you?" she whispered.
Lucien's throat worked, but no words came.
Aria stepped closer, the candlelight casting both of them in flickering gold.
"Did I mean to?" she asked.
He finally spoke, his voice raw.
"You meant every word."
And then, just before she passed him — he added:
"But I deserved it."