Inside, the air was thick with the scent of decay and the weight of countless secrets. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the grand halls, their shapes twisting as though they carried lives of their own. In the study, a single candle flickered on an old desk, its faint glow illuminating the strange symbol etched deeply into the wood—a circle of jagged lines that seemed to pulse faintly, as if it had been carved from the essence of darkness itself.
At the center of the room, a woman knelt on the cold floor, her head bowed, her trembling hands clutching a strand of black beads. Her whispers were frantic, her voice breaking with desperation as she chanted words in a language long forgotten. Around her, the circle of candles sputtered and flared, their flames burning unnaturally blue. The air grew heavier, pressing down like an invisible hand, suffocating and unyielding.
"Please," the woman begged, her voice cracking. "I'll give anything. Just save him."
The shadows in the room thickened, coiling and twisting like living things. A low, guttural sound filled the space—something between a growl and a sigh. The candles flared brighter, their eerie light reflecting in the woman's wide, tear-streaked eyes. She didn't flinch as the shadows crept closer, their tendrils brushing against her skin like icy fingers.
A voice rose from the darkness, deep and resonant, with an edge of cruel amusement. "You would give anything?" it asked, each word dripping with menace.
"Yes," the woman said without hesitation, her voice resolute despite the terror coursing through her. "Anything."
The shadows recoiled for a moment, as if considering her words. Then, with a sudden surge, they lunged forward, engulfing her in an instant. The woman screamed, the sound echoing through the house as the flames of the candles rose higher and higher, painting the walls in shifting patterns of light and darkness. The shadows wrapped around her like chains, their grip tightening as her cries grew faint.
When the light finally dimmed, the room fell silent once more. The woman lay crumpled on the floor, her breathing shallow, her face pale. The symbol on the desk glowed faintly for a moment before fading into darkness. The air was still, but the weight of what had transpired lingered, pressing into the walls and the very bones of the house.
Somewhere in the depths of the manor, a whisper stirred. It was faint at first, barely audible, but it grew louder, more insistent. A single word repeated over and over, carried on the unseen currents of the house:
"Evelyn... Evelyn... Evelyn..."
The house had claimed its price, and its curse had been set. But the story was far from over.