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Trapped within an invisible pyramid-shaped house, Seraphine is a ghost bound by a curse to protect a treasure no one can see. For centuries, she’s watched the world from the shadows, longing for someone to stay with her—someone who won't leave once they discover the gold buried within the house's cursed walls.

When Lucien Vale, a desperate man with nothing left to lose, stumbles upon the legend of the house, he risks everything to find it. A man broken by poverty, haunted by his past, Lucien seeks only wealth—but when he crosses the threshold, something shifts.

Seraphine sees him for the first time, not as a greedy trespasser, but as a chance for love, for companionship. But as their fates entwine, she must confront a haunting truth: all who seek the house come for gold, and in the end, greed is always the thing that tears them apart.

In her loneliness, Seraphine has killed every man who tried to escape, burying them in the graveyard behind the house. Will Lucien be the first to stay? Or will his own darkness unravel them both?

Unfolded

Not after the way he said her name.

Not Seraphine, the name that felt like a cage of syllables. Not the one that echoed through empty halls, through years of silence, like a title she never earned.

Her name, yes, but not the same. Not when he said it. It left his mouth like a vow. Like he believed in something she had forgotten.

She twirled once in front of the mirror, bare feet silent on the cold wooden floor. The hem of her soft white dress spun around her knees like mist. Her hair fell in ribbons down her back, half-brushed and wild with sleep, but she didn't mind. She liked it that way. She looked… soft. A little alive.

She hummed, just under her breath. A song she didn't know the name of. It danced between her lips as she moved through the room, picking out a ribbon for her hair—blue, like the dusk sky.

She whispered it to herself. Again. Again. The sound of it made her feel warm inside, like light filtering through old glass.

She turned toward the door, heart beating just a little too fast.

Today, she thought. Today will be different.

She didn't care if he asked more questions. Didn't care if the house stirred and punished her for caring.

She was going to make breakfast. She was going to sit close. She was going to ask him things, maybe even tease him, watch how he looked at her when he thought she wasn't watching.

Because he stayed. He called her Seraph.And she wasn't alone anymore.

The pen scratched softly across the page. His handwriting, all sharp angles and crowded lines, filled another sheet in his notebook.

Room count: 4Hallway: no visible endMirrors: 2 (watching?)Door: now sealed. Cannot exit.

He underlined that last part twice, jaw tightening.

He didn't regret entering—not really—but the thrill of discovery was already giving way to something colder. This house wasn't just cursed. It was alive. Breathing. Watching. It let him in, but not out.

And Seraphine—No.Seraph.

He paused at her name. He hadn't meant to call her that. It had just… come out. Fit her better than the polished, distant "Seraphine." When he said Seraph, she looked at him like she'd forgotten how to cry. Or maybe like she remembered how to hope.

He shoved the thought away, flipped to the next page, and began to sketch the layout of the rooms. The angles never quite matched. The corners bent wrong. But he was close to something. There had to be more. There had to be—

Quick as instinct, he snapped the notebook shut and slid it under his pillow. By the time he sat up, voice steady, the ghost of ink still clinging to his fingers, he was composed again.

The door creaked open just a little, and there she stood—dressed like she was made of morning light, ribbon tied in her hair, cheeks faintly pink.

"I thought… maybe you'd want breakfast," she said, almost shy. "I made tea."

"Oh," he said. "Yeah. Sure. Let me just—" He stood, rubbing the back of his neck. "Let me grab a shirt."

She nodded, lingering just long enough to glance toward the pillow. But she said nothing.

"Alright," she said, voice airy. "Don't take too long, Seraph's kitchen is not a patient place."

As she disappeared down the hall, he pulled the notebook back out and looked down at what he'd written.

She knocked. She smiled.Something here is still warm.

The Name He Gave Me