Chapter 5: Whispers of the past

The vision of the woman, gaunt and otherworldly, flickered in Liora's mind, her voice sharp and prophetic. It hadn't felt like a mere dream—more like a warning, a message from the depths of something darker than the night itself.

Liora pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to shake the images away. She had to focus. She had to push through the weight of it. This manor, this place—it was driving her to the edge of her sanity.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet sinking into the cool stone floor. The silence in the room felt oppressive, like something was waiting for her, just beyond her reach. The air had thickened somehow, and the shadows seemed to stretch longer than they should, creeping along the walls and across the floor, whispering without sound.

No. It's just the house.

But even as she thought it, her body didn't believe it. A shiver ran down her spine as her gaze flickered to the corner of the room where the shadows seemed to be gathering. She could feel them—alive, watching.

She didn't want to stay here. She didn't want to stay in this room, in this house. But where could she go? The manor had swallowed her whole, its labyrinthine halls and endless rooms a maze of uncertainty. She had no way of escaping it.

The air grew colder, and she could hear the faintest creak of the wooden beams above. The softest sound, but it was enough to make her freeze in place. She strained her ears, listening for anything that didn't belong, but there was nothing—only silence, as if the house itself were holding its breath.

Liora moved to the window, pulling aside the heavy curtains. The moon was high, casting pale silver light across the overgrown grounds of Blackthorn Manor. The wind had died down, but the air still carried the faint scent of rain, a storm lurking just beyond the horizon. The garden outside was eerily still, the ancient trees bending in the direction of some unseen force. Everything felt... wrong.

With a resigned sigh, Liora turned from the window and made her way toward the door. Her footsteps were soundless on the cold stone floor, but the creaks of the house filled the silence, whispering with secrets she wasn't ready to hear. She paused at the door, her hand resting on the handle, her pulse quickening. Every instinct screamed at her to stay in the safety of her room, but a different kind of pull—the same one that had led her to Blackthorn in the first place—urged her forward.

She had to know what was really happening here. What Dante was hiding.

Without another thought, she opened the door and stepped into the corridor. The walls were shrouded in darkness, the low light of flickering candles casting long, grotesque shadows that seemed to writhe in the corners of her vision. The house was alive, breathing, groaning beneath the weight of its own history.

Liora walked, one step in front of the other, down the endless hallways. Each door she passed seemed to watch her, as if the rooms themselves held memories of her footsteps, the creaking floors and the cold drafts only reinforcing the oppressive weight of the manor. The silence of Blackthorn was more than just the absence of sound—it was a presence, a weight that pressed against her chest with every breath she took.

She didn't know where she was going, or if she was even meant to be here. But something deep within her pushed her forward, guiding her steps. The house, it seemed, had a way of pulling her in, making her follow its twisted path.

As she moved through the halls, the sounds of the manor seemed to grow louder. The creaking floorboards beneath her feet, the whisper of the wind through the cracks in the windows, the faraway murmur of voices she couldn't place—it was as if Blackthorn itself was calling to her. The sense of being watched returned, stronger this time, prickling across her skin like invisible eyes were tracing her every movement.

And then she heard it—a soft, almost imperceptible sound. A groan. A low, guttural creak that seemed to come from the bowels of the house itself. Her breath hitched as she instinctively turned down a narrow passageway. There, at the far end of the hall, a door loomed—old and worn, as though it hadn't been opened in years.

Liora hesitated. She could feel the weight of the air pressing down on her, heavy and suffocating. Every part of her screamed to turn back, but something inside her—something deep, something darker—urged her to go on. The door beckoned.

With shaking hands, she reached for the brass handle, cold against her fingertips, and turned it.

The door creaked open with a low groan, revealing a room unlike the others she'd seen. The space inside was dark, the air thick with dust and decay. Old furniture stood against the walls, covered in sheets that looked as if they hadn't been touched in centuries. A large, cracked mirror hung crookedly on one wall, its surface reflecting only darkness, as if it were a window to nowhere. The room felt wrong—stifling, oppressive. As though something had been locked away, hidden from the world for far too long.

But it was the presence in the room that sent a chill down her spine.

She could feel it before she saw it—the weight of eyes upon her, the unmistakable sensation that someone—or something—was watching her from the shadows. She stepped inside, her heart pounding, the door slowly swinging closed behind her with a final, ominous thud.

There, in the corner of the room, she saw him.

Dante.

He stood, his tall figure cloaked in shadows, his eyes glowing with a strange intensity. The moment their gazes locked, a current of heat ran through her, sharp and electric. She could feel his presence pressing in on her, like a storm that threatened to consume everything in its path.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was low, a growl in his throat, but there was something darkly amused beneath the surface.

Liora took a step back, her pulse racing. She had not expected him to be here, not in this room. But his presence was inescapable, undeniable, as though he was a part of the very walls of Blackthorn.

"I..." Liora's voice faltered. "I needed to know."

Dante tilted his head, his gaze narrowing slightly, his expression unreadable. "Know what, exactly?" His voice was calm, almost too calm, as though her answer mattered more than she realized.

Her throat felt dry as she tried to find the words. "About this place," she managed. "About you."

A flicker of something—amusement? Annoyance?—crossed his face, but it was gone so quickly she might have imagined it. He stepped closer, his movements deliberate but not predatory, his dark gaze fixed on hers.

"You think knowledge will protect you?" he asked, his tone laced with quiet derision. "That understanding this place will make it less dangerous?"

Liora clenched her fists, summoning the courage to stand her ground. "I think understanding is better than living in fear," she shot back, her voice firmer now.

His lips quirked in a faint smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "And yet, fear might be the only thing keeping you alive here."

The weight of his words hung between them, the silence stretching out until it was almost unbearable. Liora wanted to demand answers, to push past the cryptic warnings and uncover the truth. But before she could speak again, Dante's expression shifted, his gaze softening just enough to catch her off guard.

"You're braver than I expected," he said quietly. "Foolish, perhaps, but brave."

Liora's heart stuttered at the unexpected compliment—or was it a warning in disguise? She couldn't tell.

"Then tell me," she pressed, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions churning inside her. "What is this place? Why does it feel... alive?"

For a moment, Dante said nothing. His gaze drifted to the shadows pooling in the corners of the room, his jaw tightening. "Blackthorn has a way of binding itself to those who enter," he said finally, his voice low. "It's more than just stone and wood. It remembers. It watches. And it never lets go."

A chill ran down Liora's spine at his words, but she refused to let him see her fear. "And you?" she asked, her tone sharp. "Are you bound to it, too?"

Dante's gaze snapped back to hers, a flicker of something raw and unguarded flashing in his eyes. "In ways you can't begin to imagine."

His words were like a key turning in a lock, opening a door to questions Liora wasn't sure she wanted to ask. But the intensity of his gaze, the way it seemed to pierce through her defenses, left her no room to retreat.

"Then help me understand," she said, her voice softer now, almost pleading. "If I'm bound to this place, if I can't leave, then tell me why. Tell me what it wants from me."

"Leave this room," he said, his tone curt. "Whatever you think you're looking for, you won't find it here."

Liora hesitated, her instincts screaming at her to push back, to demand more. But the finality in his voice left no room for argument.

As she turned to go, the shadows seemed to shift around her, whispering secrets she couldn't quite hear. And though she didn't look back, she could feel Dante's gaze on her, as though he was seeing far more than she wanted to reveal.