The morning sun spilled its gentle rays through the tall, arched windows of the manor, illuminating the opulent interior with a warm golden glow. The inner structure of the manor was a sight that stood as a testament to the elegance of the nineteenth century that exuded an air of grandeur and sophistication.

Every corner was adorned with intricate details and exquisite craftsmanship. The walls were festooned with ornate wallpaper, depicting delicate floral patterns in muted hues of gold and pink. The ceiling soared high above, embellished with intricate plasterwork. Crystal chandeliers that sparkled like stars hung proudly from it.

The grand entrance hall, with its marble floors and sweeping staircase, served as the heart of the manor. The morning light danced upon the polished surfaces, casting playful shadows across the room. The air was filled with a sense of tranquility and grace.

But suddenly, as if summoned from the depths of hell itself, an eerie silence fell upon the manor. A chilling breeze swept through the corridors, extinguishing light. The once bright and inviting space was now shrouded in an ominous darkness that seemed to materialize at the center of the manor.

The darkness, like a sinister entity, began to spread its tendrils, creeping along the walls and seeping into every crevice. It devoured the light, extinguishing the morning sun's rays as if they were mere flickering candles. The grandeur and elegance that once filled the manor were now overshadowed by an unsettling aura.

As the darkness advanced, the furniture that it enveloped began to decay. The polished wood warped and cracked, losing its luster. The once vibrant upholstery faded into a sickly gray, as if drained of life. The air grew heavy with the scent of decay.

Shadows danced with malicious intent, casting grotesque shapes upon the walls.

The interior of the grand manor, once a symbol of beauty and refinement, morphed into a chilling spectacle of decay and despair, as if the very soul of it was being consumed by an ancient malevolence.

It was a transformation that defied the laws of nature. The interior of the manor had become a haunting nightmare.

A mournful cry echoed. Then a man materialized at the bottom of the decaying staircase. He appeared to be in his late teens or early twenties. His dark coal eyes, devoid of warmth or humanity, pierced through the darkness. They held a coldness brought about by years of solitude.

His skin was smooth and pale as porcelain. He wore a white, long-sleeved shirt that clung to his slender frame, a stark contrast to his black trousers that exuded a mid-eighties style. His black hair cascaded below his shoulders, framing his face with an untamed elegance.

The man's facial expression was a twisted amalgamation of pain and anger. His brows furrowed, creating deep lines of frustration on his forehead. His lips were pressed into a thin line, conveying a sense of disappointment, yet there was a glimmer of excitement that coursed through him, visible in the intensity of his gaze as he fixated on the staircase before him.

With deliberate and measured steps, he began to ascend the worn-out stairs. His movements were fluid, yet there was a certain heaviness to his stride as if he carried the weight of his emotions with every step. His hand grazed the railing, fingers tracing the faded patterns etched into the wood, leaving his ghostly trail behind.

As he climbed higher, the air grew colder, its warmth swallowed by his icy presence.

With each step, his expression intensified, a mixture of pain and anger etched deeper into his features. The staircase was his ascent into the depths of his torment, a journey that promised both liberation and damnation.

As he ascended the final steps to the landing, a sudden chill ran down his spine, sending shivers cascading through his body. It was an unfamiliar sensation, one that had been absent from his senses for centuries. Odd, he thought to himself.

Perplexed, he made fast strides toward the next staircase, then the next, then the next, until finally, he stood before the door to the attic, a weathered portal that had witnessed countless repetitions of the same monotonous scenes.

The weight of the past suddenly bore down upon him, a burden that had grown wearisome since the death of the previous Van Welch.

He sighed. He couldn't help but wonder.
How many times had he embarked on this journey, traversing this same path, only to be confronted with the familiar, the predictable? One too many.

The door creaked open of its own volition, beckoning him forward into the room. With measured steps, he entered, his gaze immediately fixating on the window that lay ahead. Every fiber of his being yearned to peer through the glass, yet a sense of caution held him back. He was acutely aware of the presence that stood in the corner, a statue he despised with passion.

He kept his eyes fixed on the window. He knew he must tread carefully, for any accidental glance towards the loathed statue would ignite a storm of emotions within him. Emotions he must keep at bay. The very sight of the statue was a reminder of past grievances and lingering pain that could consume him.

As he approached the window, his steps were deliberate, ensuring his peripheral vision remained shielded from the statue. His hands trembled slightly, a manifestation of the conflicting emotions churning within his core. Anger and resentment mingled with curiosity and a yearning for redemption.

With bated breath, he finally reached the window, his gaze locked upon the glasspane. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting back and forth, ensuring the statue remained safely out of his line of sight. And then, with a surge of resolve, he peered through the window.

A myriad of emotions played across his face as he watched a car enter the property gate, each one leaving its mark on his features. Initially, anger and disdain etched deep furrows upon his brow, his lips curling with contempt. Hands fisted.

As the car screeched to a sudden stop, his muscles tensed and his jaw clenched tightly. A surge of anger coursed through his veins, his heart pounding with fury. "Van Welch," he murmured. With a sharp exhale, he turned his gaze towards the passenger door, watching as it slowly creaked open. His eyes narrowed as a leg, adorned in a yellow fabric with delicate lace, emerged from the vehicle. The anticipation was palpable as he waited for the person to reveal themselves. With each passing moment, his anger rose, until finally, the figure descended from the car in its entirety.

As his gaze swept across the woman stepping out, something he hadn't predicted occurred. Curiosity sparked within his eyes, softening the harsh lines of his face.

His breath - though non-existent - caught in his throat, an impossible gasp escaping his lips. The scene before him was a breathtaking tapestry of beauty, she was a symphony of colors and textures that stirred something deep within him.

He felt his first loosen as he took in the woman's porcelain doll-like appearance, blond wavy hair hung loose below her shoulder, a book cradled in her arms. A flowy yellow dress hugged her form perfectly.

Her eyes were viridian, like sea foam.

She was beautiful. Delicate like a rose. He felt a foreign feeling in his chest.

For a fleeting moment, the weight of his burdens was forgotten, eclipsed by the sheer magnitude of the vista that unfolded beyond the window.

In a hushed, almost reverential tone, he whispered to himself, "How long before you lift the darkness?" His voice carried a profound longing, a plea for the light to infiltrate the recesses of his being. And as he uttered those words, the world around him responded.

As if in symphony with his plea, the room brightened. Light pierced through him.

Too bright. No Van Welch has ever exuded such brilliance.

He watched with mute amusement as the woman's eyes lingered. He knew the sight before her was a disappointment. He expected her to scream at Mr. Shaw or scowl at least. But none of those transpired. She smiled. Serenity washed over her features, one he hadn't seen on any of those who first stood on the front lawn. There was a profound acceptance in her features. Her face softened and softened even more as if something inside her rejoiced at what she saw.

"Fascinating," he whispered.

His chest started to burn. The coldness within him that he had gotten used to began to melt. "What are you?"

Then the woman moved to face the caretaker. She appeared to be giving him instructions or conveying something that turned her features softer than they already were.

"No," he murmured.

He wanted her to return her attention to the manor. To him.

Look at me... He wanted her to meet his gaze just once. But he knew it was impossible.

Wanting to touch her. It felt weird.

Needing to be with her... But it was impossible.

Hesitantly, he glanced behind him and his gaze instantly fell upon the statue positioned on a raised platform within the eerie confines of the attic. Bathed in a dim light, it stood frozen, its expression etched in a haunting display of agony.

The chiseled features seemed distorted by anguish. Deep-set eyes, wide and filled with sorrow called for pity. The furrowed brow carried the burden of struggle. Lips, cracked and slightly parted, held an eternal plea, as if on the precipice of a desperate cry.

The statue's muscles coiled beneath the marble surface, ready to burst into a frenzied sprint. Veins snaked along the statue's neck and arms, pulsating with a restless energy. One foot, suspended mid-stride, seemed to defy gravity, its toes curled as if abruptly halted in motion. The other foot, firmly planted on the platform, bore the weight of its existence as if perpetually caught in the fleeting moments before escape.

Escape. If only. But the Van Welch would never...

Laughter caught his attention. Once more he peered through the window.

Laughter.

Brighter.

The woman took a step forward, and instantly she tucked away what was left of the shadows that lingered around him.

Truly baffling. She wasn't meant to do so. Not at this stage. Not this early.

He hadn't pictured, nor dreamt of a future but...

His eyes strained at the woman outside. "Perhaps," he murmured.

However, his odds were low.

Unless.....