Whispers of Hollow Manor....
The house grew restless after that night. Clara could feel it in the way the corridors seemed narrower, the air heavier, the shadows longer than they should be. Every step echoed like a warning, every creak of the floorboards felt like a breath on her neck.
She tried to distract herself with her restoration notes, cataloging the age of the woodwork, the strange symbols etched into the fireplace, the patterns on the faded tapestries. But even in the daylight, she couldn't shake the feeling that unseen eyes were watching her every move.
Adrian appeared less often now, as if drained by the struggle with Eliza. When he did come, he lingered only for a short while, his face pale with exhaustion, his voice distant, like it came from beneath water. Clara hated the silence when he was gone. It was worse than the whispers that filled the halls.
One evening, as the storm outside lashed against the windows, Clara found herself back in the library. The candles trembled in their holders, shadows jerking across the walls. She pressed her hands against the desk where she had first seen him, whispering into the empty air.
Adrian…
The whisper that came back wasn't his.
Leave him… leave him… he belongs to me…
Clara spun, her lantern swinging wildly. The voice slithered through the shelves, impossible to place, until it seemed to come from everywhere at once. She clutched the lantern tighter, forcing her voice to stay steady.
No. He isn't yours anymore. He isn't yours at all.
A low laugh followed, brittle as shattering glass. The lantern dimmed, its flame shrinking to a feeble glow. For a heartbeat, Clara thought the shadows would swallow her whole.
Then, behind her, came the faintest brush of a hand cold, trembling, but achingly familiar.
You shouldn't defy her, Adrian murmured. His face appeared beside her in the flickering light, more faded than ever, but still so heartbreakingly beautiful. She won't stop. Not until she has you.
Clara turned, her throat tight. Then let her come. I'm not leaving you.
Adrian's expression wavered between anguish and wonder. You don't understand what you're saying. This house doesn't simply haunt those who enter it. It consumes them. Piece by piece. Thought by thought. Until nothing is left but shadow. Eliza was the first. I fear you'll be the next.
Clara shook her head, though fear crawled beneath her skin. I'd rather lose myself than lose you.
His hand, faint as mist, brushed the air near her cheek. He tried to speak, but his voice faltered, and only silence stretched between them. For a long moment, they simply stood together, the storm raging beyond the walls, the house humming with its terrible hunger.
It was then that Clara heard it. A whisper so low it was almost a sigh. Not from Eliza this time, but from the house itself.
Stay… stay…
The walls seemed to lean inward, the air thick with a presence that wanted her, that needed her. Clara shivered, her pulse quickening. She knew she should be afraid and she was but beneath the terror was something else. A strange pull, a sense of belonging she couldn't explain.
Adrian's eyes darkened as if he heard it too. This is what I feared. The house is choosing you.
The words clung to her mind long after he faded from sight, leaving her alone with the whispers and the storm.