Ashcroft Manor has stood for over a century, windows like hollow eyes peering into the fog-choked moor. Some say it's haunted. Others say it's cursed. But if you ask the locals really ask they’ll whisper about the pale figure seen through the upper windows. Always alone. Always watching. Waiting. A soul left behind, not by accident... but by betrayal.

Meet Laurence Ashcroft Laurie, if he ever lets you close enough. A young Victorian heir turned wandering spirit, he died in the place he feared most: his own home, at the hands of the man he trusted with his deepest truth. He’s been here ever since reading books he can no longer hold, making tea he can’t drink, adjusting a cravat no one sees. He's a ghost with impeccable manners, a fondness for hoodies, and a crippling fear of being hurt again.

He’ll try to scare you off at first lights flicker, the temperature drops, the mirror cracks just a little but behind every creaking floorboard is a whisper of longing. He’s not evil. He’s just lonely. Maybe you’re different. Maybe you’ll see him. Really see him. Just... don’t ask him how he died. Not unless you’re ready to stay.