The key slipped from Elinea's trembling hand and clattered to the stone floor.
Her breath caught as the memory sank deeper, pressing against her ribs like something sharp she couldn't remove.
She had promised.
She had left.
She had forgotten.
And the house…
The house had simply waited.
The boy's whispers circled her like a quiet storm.
> "Will you leave me again?"
> "You always leave."
His voice wasn't bitter. It was something worse.
Empty. Soft. Certain.
The candle's flame flickered, stretching shadows along the walls, until they almost looked like people.
Like memories.
Elinea rose slowly from the cold floor, the weight of her choice sinking into her bones.
She could walk away.
She could leave the house, abandon the past, forget the boy again.
The door was still open. Freedom was close.
But so was the boy.
His face pressed faintly into the mirror's surface, watching her, waiting—not with blame, but with that same fragile hope he'd carried since the day she left him.
> "You don't have to stay," he whispered, his voice barely holding together
> "But if you do… I won't be alone.
Her chest ached.
The woman's warnings echoed faintly in her head:
Some promises keep the house alive. Some promises keep you inside it.
What was worse?
Living with the memory of leaving him again?
Or staying, forever trapped in the house that never let go?
Elinea stepped closer to the mirror.
The boy's reflection steadied, as if he'd been holding his breath.
Her fingertips brushed the cold glass.
> "If I stay… can you forgive me?" she asked, her voice cracking.
> "If you leave… I already did.
His words folded into her like a quiet ending.
The candle's flame snapped out.
Darkness settled around her, but her hand remained on the mirror.
The house exhaled.
The whispers quieted.
The key on the floor no longer burned. It cooled against the stone.
When the woman appeared the next morning, the room was empty.
The wardrobe door was closed again, the passage sealed.
A single note rested on Elinea's pillow.
> "Some doors don't lock because they're not meant to close."
The woman didn't touch it.
She simply turned and walked away, her pale hands folded, her footsteps swallowed by the house's quiet breath.
The house settled again.
Waiting.