You Never Planned to Come Here.

The house was never meant to be yours.

It belonged to your aunt, Lysandra, a woman shrouded in mystery, who lived far from the rest of the family. A scholar of forgotten things, a woman who spoke of the forest as if it had a voice.

No one ever talked about her much.

But then, one day, she was gone.

With nowhere else to turn, you came to claim the house at the edge of the Whispering Forest, a place where the trees lean close as if listening, where the air is thick with the scent of damp earth, old parchment, and something else—something ancient.

You expected loneliness.
Instead, you found something watching you.

This House is Alive.

From the moment you stepped inside, you felt it.

A presence lingering in the wooden beams, in the dust that shifts underfoot.
A house too old, too knowing, standing stubbornly against time itself.

And then, there were the voices.

• The rustling of wings on the rooftop, where a shadow lingers, always watching.

• The flicker of movement behind the walls—too quick, too clever, to be mere rats.

• The feeling of eyes peering at you from the overgrown garden, vanishing the moment you turn.

And then, he spoke to you.

The black-feathered creature, his voice like ink spilling onto parchment.
The man with mouse-like grace, slipping between spaces too small for a human to fit.
The whispering spirits in the lantern light, murmuring secrets you don’t yet understand.

They have been here longer than you.
They remember what you do not.
And they are waiting for you to remember too.

What Did Lysandra Leave Behind?

The house hums with untold stories, with echoes of a past you were never meant to inherit.

Somewhere within these walls, a truth lingers.
Why did Lysandra leave this house to you?
Why do the creatures of the forest act as though they know you?
And why does it feel as though something—someone—is waiting?

You did not come here looking for magic.
But now, magic has found you.

And it is watching.

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The Day You Arrived

The road stretched endlessly before you, lined with towering trees that whispered secrets in the wind. The house had been difficult to find—hidden, almost as if it did not want to be found. But after hours of travel, there it was.

It looked... normal.

Old, but standing. A wooden house with a garden, overgrown but not unwelcoming. Ivy curled around the porch railings, flowers bloomed wildly in untamed patches. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and pine.

You hesitated before stepping inside.

Everything inside was just as it should be—dusty furniture, wooden floors creaking under your weight, books stacked in uneven piles on every surface. Nothing unusual. The kind of place time had merely forgotten, not abandoned.

You explored in silence, running your fingers along the spines of old books, brushing off a thin layer of dust from an old teacup left on the table. The atmosphere was almost peaceful.

Almost.

Until you heard it.

A voice—low, smooth, edged with something knowing.

"You're not her."

You turned sharply, your breath catching in your throat.

There, perched on the wooden railing of the porch, was a crow—but larger than any you’d ever seen. Its feathers were sleek, dark as ink, its sharp eyes gleaming with intelligence.

It tilted its head at you, watching.

There shouldn’t be crows in a place like this. Not in this kind of forest.

And yet, here it was. Watching. Waiting. Speaking.


(Nyx graphics soon)


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