The manor no longer hid its hunger.
It feasted.
And as it did, it remembered.
Each crack in the wall, each groan in the pipes, each whisper in the dark was now laced with cruel amusement. The house no longer mimicked reality—it rewrote it, twisting every room into a memory none of them wished to revisit.
Bush was the first to feel it.
Bush was always calm. Calculated. The type of man who smiled while stealing. He sat alone in the study, sipping scotch from a glass that never emptied. He'd been eyeing the estate's inheritance ever since the wedding—especially with the Wheelbehelms aging.
But the manor knew.
He awoke in a ballroom not his, not anyone's. Chandeliers made of gold teeth swung overhead. The guests ? All versions of himself each older, fatter , richer, and more grotesque than the last.
They danced with bags of coins and clapped with diamond-studded hands.
On the stage stood a massive version of Bush, red-eyed, wearing a crown of melted banknotes.
"To wealth! To gluttony! To the man who once sold his mother's house for a gambling debt and called it 'restructuring assets!'.
The guests roared with laughter.
Bush tried to run. But the floor turned to polished greed—sticky, warm, and full of grabbing fingers. The house never left him. It gave him another regret cause his cup was full. ''Bush – The Vulture in a Suit '' it called him.
A golden contract appeared on the table, ink still fresh. It read:
"All assets transferred. No heirs. You alone."
Bush blinked. Smirked. Reached out—
Snap.
The paper slit his finger. Blood soaked the page. Then, voices behind the walls began repeating:
"Yours… Yours… Yours…"
But everything he touched turned to dust.
The manor granted his wish—but made sure he'd own nothing that lived including himself. .
Bell wandered into the library again. But this time, it was full of books written by her.
Every lie she ever told was catalogued: "How to Fake Grief at a Funeral", "Sleeping With the Banker: A Memoir", "Poisoning Hemsworth: A Love Story."
One book hovered in the air, opening itself.
Inside: moving ink… Bell and Olivia as children.
Bell pushing Olivia down the stairs.
"Oops," child-Bell said in the memory, giggling. "She's lighter now. I can get two desserts."
Bell dropped the book and ran, sobbing.
But the laughter followed her.
Hemsworth found himself back in his servant's quarters… but lavish now. Gilded mirrors, satin sheets, a butler serving him tea.
He smiled. "Finally… respect."
The butler turned.
It was himself, again—mouth sewn shut, eyes bleeding.
The real Hemsworth looked around. All the furniture bore his name. "Property of Hemsworth," carved into every object.
He laughed nervously.
Then the chair he sat in said aloud:
"Shall I call you Master Betrayer, as you were when you stole from Lady Wheelbehelm's jewelry box? Or The Loyal Worm who served poison for promotion?"
He stood, shaking.
The room applauded mockingly.
Jacob Vlas entered the nursery. He was humming.
He had no reason to be.
A soft voice called him: "Daddy."
He turned.
A crib. Inside, a baby with his eyes.
"Remember me?" it cooed. "You paid for my silence. You left my mother in the snow."
Jacob backed away.
The baby laughed. "I'm your second chance. Hold me."
Jacob ran.
From every crib, every bassinet, baby after baby screamed after him:
"DADDY! DADDY! DADDY!"
Little Schwazz the Butcher hadn't been seen in hours.
But his cleaver had.
It now floated from room to room, tapping on doors, humming a song no one remembered teaching him.
He wasn't gone.
He was... becoming.
Veronica sat in the sitting room, trembling. Kris stood beside her, arms around her shoulders.
The fireplace spoke.
"You should've chosen love. You chose comfort. He's not the man you wanted—just the man with the manor."
Kris flinched. "That's not true."
But the room replied with laughter.
The painting above them changed: it now showed Veronica in a wedding dress—but standing next to a bag of gold.
The groom was faceless.
Meanwhile, Xavier found a mirror. And in it, saw all of them—dead.
And himself—sitting in the throne of the house, smiling.
Blood pouring from his eyes.
He raised a glass of wine and said to Xavier: "You always knew this was your story. Let them die. Be king."
Xavier looked down.
The wine glass was in his real hand now.
He hadn't noticed picking it up.
Somewhere, behind a wall, laughter and chewing echoed together — dark, wet, deliberate.
The house grew a new room.
Inside it: a stage.
And behind the curtains?
Every sin they'd hidden.
In full costume.
Ready for the next performance.
Stage of Regrets
The manor wasn't just a place anymore.
It was an audience—and the family, its main act.
It peeled back walls and time, drawing out memories and secrets like old bones from a shallow grave.
And every room told a story.
But not the kind you'd want your children to hear.
The Great Dining Room: The Feast of the False
The table was laid, again.
Not by servants, but by the manor itself. Goblets filled themselves with dark wine, steaming meats appeared on golden platters, and the chairs screamed quietly when sat upon.
The Wheelbehelms and Wateforts sat, hesitant.
The lights dimmed.
A spotlight appeared—on Mr. Wheelbehelm.
His chair rose higher than the others.
"A toast," the house crooned through the chandelier, "to the man who sold twenty acres of poor men's farmland, then blamed the storm!"
A slow clap echoed as illusions of starving villagers gathered around the windows, pressing pale faces to the glass.
Lady Wheelbehelm shrieked.
But it wasn't over.
A new voice spoke Lady Ariella Watefort's own (veronica's aunty) .
Only, she wasn't speaking.
A mirror had captured her voice from the past. It played now, booming through the room:
"Of course I bribed the bishop. Veronica would never get married to that factory boy. She's marrying a Wheelbehelm, even if I have to burn down the church registry myself!"
Veronica gasped.
Lady Watefort reached for the goblet in shame—only to find it filled with blood.
The Vault Room: Greed Engraved in Gold
Mr. Watefort followed a whisper into the manor's west wing, where the walls were gilded in gold. It glowed unnaturally.
He couldn't help it. He smiled.
A door opened by itself.
Inside: shelves lined with bags of cash, property deeds, secret accounts with names like "Charity Fund for the less privileged ", "School Funds ..", and…
..."Veronica's Dowry – From Blood, Not Love"
He reached for it.
Suddenly the room froze. The walls fell away, revealing:
A burning schoolhouse.
A widow crying over false land documents.
A child coughing in a mine with "Watefort Mining Co." on his back.
Gold rained down from the ceiling—hot, burning.
He screamed!!!!!. But the house did not want him yet .
The manor laughed …
The Manor's Playroom: Dark Humor & Puppet Shows
Bell and Xavier stumbled into a room filled with puppets.
Marionettes dressed like each family member danced on strings controlled by no visible hands.
One puppet Little Schwazz the Butcher spoke:
"This one killed his cousin for a pig farm! Guess who!"
(He pointed at Xavier.)
The puppets laughed. The real Xavier turned red.
Another puppet resembling Bell curtsied and said:
"I once convinced Olivia to steal a necklace from Lady Wheelbehelm. Now she's in the cellar. Still wearing it, I think!"
Bell gasped as tears runs down her cheeks.
The cellar door creaked open in the distance… cold air pouring out.
Olivia's Reflection Room
Olivia was alone.
A mirror showed her not her reflection… but her future.
Rich. Powerful. Alone. Sitting on a throne in a mansion of bones.
A voice whispered:
"All you have to do is betray them first. The gift came with you, didn't it? It likes you. You should not die for those mammons"
She stepped closer.
The mirror smiled.
A Corridor of Doors
Now the manor built new rooms for each sin.
A hallway stretched beyond reason.
Each door was engraved with a name—and a crime.
"Bush: Taxing the Dead."
"Norman: Selling the Orphanage Land."
"Jacob Vlas: The Missing Daughters of Merville."
"Amber: Poison for Inheritance."
One by one, the doors opened.
Behind them: illusions? Memories? Futures? It didn't matter.
Each room was a sentence.
And the house was both judge and jury.
The manor had mouths now. And each one smiled.
Greed had built the house.
Now greed would feed it.