Eliza's room was lavish, but the opulence couldn't mask the unease that clung to the air like a shroud. The walls were lined with faded portraits of somber-faced ancestors. Their eyes seemed to follow her as she unpacked.

That night, as the storm raged outside, Eliza lay awake. A faint whispering reached her ears, like the rustle of leaves. She sat up, straining to hear. The whispers grew louder, forming words that chilled her to the bone.

"Leave? before it's too late?"

She bolted out of bed and threw open the door, expecting to find someone in the hallway. It was empty, but the whispers continued, growing more insistent. Her heart pounding, Eliza fled to Sebastian's room. She knocked, but there was no answer.

When she turned, she saw the hallway stretch impossibly long behind her, its end swallowed by darkness. Panic gripped her as she sprinted back to her room, slamming the door shut.