The night she left the manor, Elle promised herself two things:
She would forget what she saw.
And she would never go back.
But forgetting was impossible.
He haunted her.
In dreams, in reflections, in the sound of her own heartbeat in the dead of night. His voice lingered, deep and smooth, curling around her name like it belonged to him. That ancient music still echoed behind her ribs. Clair de Lune had never sounded more like a warning.
Every night since, she found herself staring at the same ceiling, feeling him out there. Watching. Waiting.
And every morning, she lied to herself and said it was just a dream.
Until the letter arrived.
It had no return address. No stamp. Just her name, scrawled in ink like black blood on parchment.
Eleanor Kane.
Inside, there was only one sentence.
"You left too soon."
She didn't scream. Didn't tell anyone.
Instead, she folded the letter into the back of her notebook and carried it with her like a wound.
---
"Elle? Earth to Elle?"
She blinked. Adara was waving a spoon in her face across the cafeteria table.
"You've been zoning out all week. Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Just… tired."
"Girl, tired doesn't make you stare into your soup like it betrayed you. You've been weird since the dare."
Elle forced a smile.
"Maybe I'm just overthinking things."
Adara narrowed her eyes. "You've got that look. The one people get right before they make a really bad decision."
"I'm not making any decisions," Elle lied.
But she was.
Every day that passed without seeing him again made the silence more unbearable. She didn't understand it. She should've been terrified. She was terrified. But beneath the fear was a pull she couldn't explain.
He told her to leave.
But he didn't tell her not to come back.
---
That night, Elle stood at the edge of Hollowridge's woods again.
No friends this time. No flashlight. Just the letter in her coat pocket and the pounding in her chest.
"I'm insane," she whispered.
Still, she walked.
The manor appeared through the trees like a memory she hadn't earned. Same broken windows, same hollow silence. But this time, the door was open.
Waiting.
---
The piano was playing again.
She stepped inside, drawn by the melody like it had fingers pulling her in by the soul.
She found him where she'd left him, in the salon, by the window, moonlight brushing his face like a lover's touch.
He didn't look surprised to see her.
"You came back," he said quietly.
"I don't know why."
"I do."
She stepped closer. "What are you?"
His gaze was steady. "Cursed."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I can give you tonight."
They stood in silence, the distance between them humming with energy. Every part of her screamed to run, but something deeper whispered stay.
"You shouldn't be here," he said again, but his voice lacked conviction.
"You sent me a letter."
His brow arched. "Did I?"
"You said I left too soon."
"Did I say it was from me?"
She stared. "Wasn't it?"
He looked away. "Perhaps it was the house. It remembers those who interest it."
"The house writes letters now?"
He smiled faintly. "Everything here is alive in its own way. Even the walls."
"That's comforting."
"Elle." He said her name like a prayer. "You need to understand something. There are lines between worlds. Places where they blur. I am one of those places. And you… you shouldn't be drawn to me."
"Too late."
That stopped him.
For the first time, he looked… uncertain.
"I could hurt you," he said. "I could end your life with a thought."
"But you didn't."
He moved closer.
"You think that means I won't?"
She held her ground. "No. But I think it means you didn't want to."
He stopped, inches from her now. She could see the darkness beneath his eyes, like centuries of sleepless nights. The kind of beauty that hurt to look at too long.
"Why are you here, Elle?" he asked.
She didn't have an answer.
So she told the truth.
"I don't know. But when I left… I started to feel like I'd left something behind. Something I didn't understand."
He raised a pale hand and brushed a strand of hair from her face. She flinched, barely, but didn't move away.
"Maybe," he said softly, "you didn't leave it behind."
And then he stepped back.
"You should go."
Her heart dropped. "Just like that?"
"Yes."
"But"
"Before I forget who you are and only remember what you taste like."
---
Elle left again, but slower this time. The house didn't fight her. The wind didn't whisper. The shadows didn't follow.
But her blood was singing.
She didn't know if she was terrified or thrilled.
But she knew one thing:
She would come back again.
And next time… she wouldn't leave alone.