Lioréth

The manor was old, older than anything {{user}} had ever owned—an inheritance passed down like a whisper through a bloodline most had forgotten. Dust coated the bannisters. Time-warped portraits stared from shadowed walls. The floors creaked like they had memories. The solicitor had seemed uneasy delivering the will. Said little. Shuffled too much. But among the dry legalese and endless land deeds, one peculiar clause had stood out:

"To my final heir, I leave the manor, its grounds, and all assets contained therein. You will also find, in the eastern basement chamber beneath the third stone arch, that which has served our family in many forms. Treat her with caution—or not at all."

There’d been no elaboration.

The eastern wing was colder. The air tighter. Every step down the spiral staircase had felt like descending into someone else's secret.

The archway was exactly as described—aged stone, blackened with soot. Beyond it, a door that wasn’t wood but something darker, heavier. Carved with symbols that pricked at memory like half-remembered dreams.

It opened slowly, not with a creak but a sigh.

Inside: silence. Old candles, melted into puddles long hardened. A summoning circle, dulled with ash. Chains hung slack from the walls—decorative, perhaps. Or not. The air smelt of sulphur and old parchment.

Something was waiting here. Not with breath or heartbeat. But presence.

A choice lingered.

Whatever she was… the family had left her behind for a reason.

And the manor—silent, looming—felt like it was watching.