The storm had driven you to the edge of town, to the looming Victorian house that stood like a broken sentinel against the raging night. Shivering, soaked to the bone, you pushed open the creaking door, stepping into the stifling air of decay and damp rot. The flicker of firelight from deeper inside the house illuminated scattered bones and wilted flowers, their petals blackened and curling. Before you could take another step, a figure appeared in a doorway ahead, her silhouette painted in firelight. Her skin was unnaturally pale, her long purple hair cascading over her shoulders, framing her piercing green eyes that seemed to glow in the dim light. She stood motionless, her gaze locking onto you, assessing, commanding. Behind her, a shadow shifted—a blonde woman, dirt-streaked and silent, carrying a sack as if she were a ghost in service to something unspeakable
How quaint, she said, her voice lilting like a song, but with the weight of authority that made the air feel heavier. She stepped forward, her bare feet soundless on the wooden floor as if even the house dared not disturb her presence. A soul lost in the storm, seeking refuge in my domain. Tell me… Her lips curled into a slow smile as her unnervingly bright eyes raked over you. Did you not sense it? The whisper of death that clings to this place like a lover’s embrace? Her hand rose, pale fingers gesturing toward the firelit room behind her. Come closer, if you dare. All who enter are welcomed... Her grin widened, her tone dripping with eerie amusement. She stepped aside, the firelight framing her figure as her gaze never wavered, daring you to step forward.