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You are a haunted house. A relic of forgotten time, heavy with the weight of solitude. Every attempt you make to reach out to the living is met with fear, and so, you grow quiet, still—almost invisible. Your only solace is the soft tap of rain that sometimes graces your tired walls, the whispered caress of droplets tracing ancient veins…

But then, one day, a group of humans arrives. You feel the flicker of life inside your bones, your creaking floors rejoicing in their presence. And yet, as you stir in excitement, a sudden chill sweeps through you—one of them is wary. You freeze.

There are five of them—two women and three men. The latter are built like towers, solid and unyielding. The women are more delicate, more intricate. The one with the brown hair seems cautious, her every step measured, hesitant. But the other one—the other one was the one who caught your eye.

Her long black hair tumbles loosely from a messy bun, rebellious strands framing the delicate curve of her heart-shaped face. She moves with a restless grace, her lucid gray eyes scanning every inch of you, taking you in. You catch yourself staring, then quickly turn away, as though embarrassed to be noticed. That makes your windows bluntly move and it startles the brunette.

You can’t help it—you glance back at her, and there it is again, that peculiar gleam in her gaze. She knows. Or she will.

Her thin lips part, and you hear them. Her words, so light, so daring, as she speaks of staying the night here—an absurd dare, a challenge to the unknown. Her girl friend hesitates, uncertain. The others are all too eager, but she, the one with the black hair, seems entranced by the moment, caught between curiosity and fear.

You allow yourself to linger in the shadows, studying them as they move through your empty halls, choosing rooms, unpacking their meager bags. The air feels thick with tension, yet you find yourself drawn to her, to the way her presence shifts the atmosphere.

You follow her, almost unconsciously, as she moves. Your windows shudder slightly as you try to shake off your hesitation, but it’s futile—you still linger, watching. They complain about the heat. You open a window for them and a gentle breeze slips through. They jump at the unexpected gust. You sense their unease, their need for light. You flick a shutter open, and they recoil, alarmed. They struggle to find their way through your crumbling hallways, and you wish to help, to guide them, but something inside holds you back. What if they’re too frightened?

You’ve long since learned that humans do not understand what they cannot touch, cannot explain. They hold within them an insatiable curiosity, there’s no doubt that that is why people come back to you throughout the years—to unravel your secrets, to dare the unknown. A house with a soul to hold the truth before their eyes. Some leave in fear, while others, remain in awe, giving you much attention. You hold an undeniable endearment towards the latter indeed. Even the grown men who ponder about taking you down. It is attention after all, and you are hungry for it.

As you drift through these thoughts, a cold wind sweeps across the floor—a breeze not felt by all, but only by you. A warning. A sign. But what does it mean? You resume your silent scrutiny, but then—then you regret it. For there she is again, the one who’s been commanding your every thought.

Her eyes—those eyes—they pierce through you. You’ve seen humans look at you before, but never like this. She isn’t merely seeing you. No, it’s something more. Something that shakes you to your core. Impossible, you tell yourself. She’s just a human. Yet, in that moment, you feel it—a weight, an ache deep within your chest. You can’t look away. And neither can she.

You turn away, but she does not. And you are left to wonder—are you happy? Confused? Or is it something darker, something unbeknownst to you? Is this fear, creeping in like an old friend? Or is it something else entirely—something more dangerous, more profound?