Evelyn didn't sleep.
She lay awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling, counting the cracks and wondering which of them would split open and whisper her name again.
When morning came, she didn't feel rested. She felt haunted.
Her body ached like she'd been held—tightly—by something that hadn't been real.
She touched her lips. The cut from the night before was gone.
She spent most of the morning pacing.
The storm outside had returned with a vengeance. Waves slammed the cliffs below like fists. Rain whipped against the windows, trying to get in. She lit every candle she could find, trying to warm the house, to claim it.
It didn't work.
The manor felt colder than ever.
She ended up in the ballroom—wide, hollow, and echoing. The chandelier above was still intact, though cobwebs veiled it like mourning lace.
A piano stood in the corner. Dust-covered, but familiar.
She touched a key. It gave a single, soft note.
And then—
Another hand touched hers.
She gasped, spinning.
Elias.
He was close again. Too close. His presence unsettled everything—the air, her thoughts, her body.
"You shouldn't sneak up on people," she snapped, though her voice lacked heat.
"You keep coming to the places she loved," he murmured. "I thought maybe… you remembered something."
She stepped back. "Don't do that. Don't talk to me like I'm someone else."
He tilted his head, eyes searching hers.
"I don't want you to be her. I want you to be you."
"Good. Because I'm not."
Silence stretched between them. Taut. Electric.
Evelyn crossed her arms. "Why are you really here, Elias? Why do you keep appearing?"
He hesitated.
Then said softly, "Because I can't stay away from you."
Her breath caught. "Is that your curse? Or mine?"
He smiled. Sadly. "Maybe both."
That night, she lit a single candle and returned to the locked bedroom—though it no longer locked.
She stood in front of the mirror, staring at herself. Her pulse fluttered. Her reflection looked pale, her collarbone bare in her nightgown, the firelight casting golden shadows along her throat.
The mirror began to fog.
No—not fog. Breath.
The reflection blinked. But Evelyn hadn't.
She leaned in.
So did the woman in the mirror.
Closer.
Closer.
Until their lips almost met.
Her breath trembled.
Then—hands emerged from the mirror. Pale, delicate. They cupped Evelyn's face with aching tenderness.
She gasped—but didn't pull away.
She was being kissed.
Not by the woman.
But by the memory inside the mirror.
The kiss was slow, mournful, deep. It tasted like longing. Like grief. Like a love left to rot.
And then it was over.
She stumbled back, breathless. Alone again.
The mirror had gone dark.
Only her own frightened reflection stared back.
Elias was waiting in the hallway.
"You felt it, didn't you?" he asked.
Her voice was raw. "What was that?"
He stepped toward her. "This house... it remembers passion. Every touch. Every kiss. It stores them like perfume. Like wine."
"I didn't imagine that, did I?"
"No."
She looked up at him. "Was that you? The kiss?"
"I don't know."
His voice cracked.
"But I want it to be."
He leaned in, one hand brushing her jaw, thumb ghosting her cheek.
"Let me give you a real one," he whispered.
Evelyn hesitated—but not long.
Their mouths met—soft, then insistent, the kiss full of warning and desperation. Her fingers gripped his coat. His hand slid to her waist, pulling her close.
And for a moment—
There was no house.
No ghosts.
Just two people kissing like they were trying to remember how to feel alive.
Afterward, they stood in the hall, breath mingling.
She rested her forehead against his.
"Is this safe?"
"No," he murmured. "Not at all."
She closed her eyes.
"Good."
But that night, she dreamed again.
Only this time, she wasn't herself.
She was Lenore.
Naked under velvet sheets, neck arched back, mouth parting under Elias's hands—his real hands—his skin fever-warm against her.
She heard herself whisper his name. Beg for more. For him not to leave. For him not to forget her.
But his face changed.
His eyes darkened. His mouth turned cruel.
And when he entered her—
It wasn't Elias.
It was the house.
And it whispered:
"We keep what we love."
[End of Chapter 5].