The Door

POV: Lucien

He sat in the field long after the house disappeared again.

The purple flower lay beside him, limp in the dirt. But in his mind, he could still see it—the towering structure of glass and shadow, the vines wrapping around windows, the gleam of something alive behind the cold.

And her.

The girl in the window.

He didn't know her name. But her eyes had said enough.

She knew him.

Lucien flipped open his notebook and, with hands that wouldn't stop shaking, began to sketch.

He drew the outline of the house from memory. The twisted columns. The high, arched door. And the girl—a smear of shadow behind the glass. Her mouth parted. Her hand pressed to the pane. The blood on her lip.

He didn't stop until the sun began to set.

Then he packed the notebook, the flower, and ran.

The old man barely opened the door.

But Lucien pushed in, slammed his notebook on the counter.

"I saw it," he said, breathless. "And her."

The old man's eyes widened. He stayed quiet, but his hands twitched—like he wanted to grab the sketch and burn it.

"You were right. The field. The flower. But there's something inside that house. Someone."

The man said nothing.

"She looked at me," Lucien said, louder. "Like she's been waiting. I need to know what it is. Why it's hidden. Why she can't leave."

That's when the old man's mouth curled—not into a smile, but something bitter. Something heavy.

"You idiot," he hissed. "You saw her and still want to go back?"

Lucien flinched.

"That house ain't cursed. She is. And if she's looking at you? You should run. You should forget. You should—"

"I'm not leaving her there."

The old man slammed his fist on the counter.

"Then get out."

Lucien didn't move.

So the old man shoved the door open and yelled until he did.

Lucien returned to the field under moonlight.

He laid the sketchbook flat in the grass and began marking the distances. From the patch of violet flowers to where he first saw the shimmer. The angle of the door. The tilt of the house.

He waited.

The wind blew.

This time, no flowers moved.

Except one.

The same purple bloom, waiting.

Lucien knelt, heart pounding, and plucked it.

Then ran.

POV: Seraphine

She couldn't move.

Her legs had been locked for days, the curse digging into her like thorns. She could only crawl, drag herself from one room to another, breath ragged with each inch.

The house had punished her for screaming last time. For daring to want.

But she felt him now.

The ripple in the walls. The hum in the floor. Her heart fluttering without permission.

She clawed her way to the window—just in time to see him.

Running.Straight for the door.

She grabbed the window frame, tried to stand. Her knees buckled. Chains dug into her ankles—old magic, cruel and heavy.

She screamed.

"He's here! He's here for me!"

The house groaned, low and ancient. The air turned colder.

She crawled toward the stairs, dragging her body inch by inch. The chains at her ankles burned like fire. Her voice trembled.

"Please. Please—I've done everything you asked."

Her hand bled from gripping the marble.

"I've been good. I've been silent. I never touched the door—never once. Isn't that enough?"

She pressed her forehead to the floor, breathing like a child left out in the cold.

"Let me go to him," she whispered. "Just once. Let someone see me."

The house didn't answer.

"You keep me here to be forgotten. But he came back. Again and again. You saw him. You felt it."

Her voice cracked into nothing.

"Please," she whispered, barely audible. "Please don't take him too."

Then: the door handle turned.And the chains shattered.

Seraphine gasped.

She staggered to her feet. Pain lit every nerve, but she didn't stop. She ran. Through the halls. Down the stairs. To the door that had never moved in all her years of begging.

It opened under her hand.

POV: Lucien

The door opened.

He didn't know what he expected—a monster. A trap. A scream.

But instead—

There she was.

A girl. Breathless. Wild-eyed. Tears on her cheeks, blood on her knees. She looked like something from a dream and a nightmare all at once.

And she looked at him like he was the only real thing she'd ever seen.

Lucien stepped forward.

And the world shifted.

The house behind her flickered—then vanished into the air like dust.

But he was already through the door.

Already inside.

Already hers.