The days that followed blurred into an unsettling rhythm. Belle tried to convince herself that her dream on the first night was just a trick of exhaustion, but every evening, the house whispered otherwise.
The mansion creaked and sighed like it remembered too much. Shadows lingered longer than they should. Mirrors reflected things that weren't there. And always—always—that scent of old roses drifted faintly, following her like a secret.
One afternoon, Belle wandered through the upper hallway. Her parents were busy unpacking downstairs, their voices muffled and distant. The house seemed quieter than ever, as though holding its breath.
That was when she found it.
A door at the farthest end of the corridor. Old, heavy, its wood darkened by age. Unlike the others, this one was locked tight, its rusted handle refusing to turn. Something about it tugged at her chest—as though the air itself wanted her to push harder, to go in.
She pressed her hand to the wood. Instantly, warmth seeped into her skin. She gasped. The door throbbed faintly, like it was alive.
And then she heard him again.
"Belle…"
The voice wasn't in her head this time. It slipped through the cracks of the door, low and intimate, like a forbidden confession.
She stumbled back, heart racing, eyes wide. "Who are you?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Silence. Then, like a sigh against her ear:
"You already know me… even if you don't remember."
Her chest tightened. She felt dizzy, her vision shimmering for a second. And then—she saw him. Not clearly, but a flicker, a phantom of a man standing on the other side of the door. Tall. Broad shoulders. Eyes that glowed faintly in the darkness.
Belle's breath hitched. She wanted to run. She wanted to stay. The air between them pulsed like a heartbeat, drawing her closer.
"You shouldn't be here," he whispered, though the longing in his tone betrayed the words. "And yet… I can't let you go."
Her lips parted, but no sound came. She was trembling, caught between terror and an inexplicable pull that burned through her veins.
Suddenly—the door shuddered violently. A loud bang echoed through the corridor, shaking the floor beneath her feet. She gasped, stumbling back, clutching her chest.
The sound stopped as quickly as it came. Silence fell. The door stood still again, locked, lifeless.
But Belle knew.
She wasn't imagining things.
Someone—or something—was trapped inside that room.
And it wanted her.