Villain Ch 1878. Grandma…
Inside, the room breathed.
Not literally. Not yet. But the air was thick. Not fog this time—dust. Motes floating like ghosts. The air smelled of old flowers and forgotten rot. A rocking chair creaked in the corner, though no one sat in it.
The wallpaper peeled like old scabs. The floor groaned. This place was quieter. Intimate. Like a memory trying not to wake up.
Allen stepped inside, boots thudding softly against the warped floorboards.
He could hear it.
The girl's voice came.
"I didn't want to go… I didn't want to…"
Then silence.
He turned to the others. "Spread out. Check every room."
As they moved, the air grew colder. And Allen…
He smiled again.
Because the pieces were fitting.
Not a town cursed by war. Not a massacre.
But a family curse.
Something domestic. Intimate.
The worst kind.
He walked toward the back room—the one with the door slightly ajar and the soft light flickering under the frame.
