THE BINDING

The sun was a lie.

It shone through the windows like salvation, but Adira knew better. She had lived through the hollow brightness of false dawns before. The Pendleton Estate did not operate under laws of nature. Its cycles followed memory, desire, and punishment.

She stood at the window, watching the garden. It was alive again. Vibrant. The flowers bloomed too quickly. The wind never rustled the trees. Time inside the estate didn’t pass; it twisted.

Adeline played in the grass below, barefoot, laughing—free.

But not safe.

Not really.

Because *he* was still in the house.

And Elias was gone.

Adira hadn’t seen him since returning from the Red Room. There had been no blood on the walls. No body. No note. Only silence where his presence used to hum like static behind her.

The man in gray had disappeared, too.

But the letter remained.

> *You can leave the house. But the house never leaves you.*

She read it every morning. She didn’t know why. Maybe to remember. Maybe to remind herself that the world beyond the manor was no longer hers. The moment she stepped through the Black Door, she hadn’t just crossed into the past.

She had *bound* herself to it.

And something had awakened.

That night, she dreamt of Elias.

But it was not a memory.

He stood in the mirror, watching her sleep, his eyes darker than before, his mouth bleeding words she couldn’t hear. When she woke, the mirror was cracked.

And someone had left footprints at the foot of her bed.

---

She began to feel it on the third day.

A sensation, subtle at first—like fingers brushing the inside of her spine. Cold. Electric. It followed her through the halls, stayed close in the dark, pressed against her when she turned her back.

He was near.

Not Elias.

*Him.*

The man in gray.

She hadn’t seen him since she chose the black door. But he hadn’t left. He never left. He had changed tactics.

He was no longer trying to frighten her.

He was trying to *seduce* her.

It began with the music.

Late at night, soft piano would echo through the manor’s lower halls—elegant, tragic pieces played with aching precision. She’d descend the stairs, find the grand piano lid open, the keys still moving slightly. But no one there.

Then the gifts.

On her nightstand: a rose carved from bone. A bracelet she had once owned as a teenager and lost on a train ride. A photograph of her holding Adeline—one that had never been taken.

And then… the letters.

Dozens.

All in his hand.

Some written as poems. Others as confessions. Some read like threats wrapped in silk.

> *“You blame me for the monster you begged to hold you.”*

> *“You break every time you love. But I collect the pieces.”*

> *“You are more beautiful when you hate me.”*

Adira burned the first batch. The next morning, they returned. Unburnt. Clean. Rewritten.

The house wanted them preserved.

One night, she found her door unlocked.

That was when it escalated.

---

She bathed by candlelight now. Electricity no longer trusted the house. Shadows lengthened unnaturally, refusing to cling to walls, instead dragging behind her like veils of ink.

She had begun locking the door.

Until she heard it open while she was still inside the water.

Adira froze.

Steam clouded the mirror.

Bare skin glistened in the low light.

She turned slowly.

He stood in the doorway.

He did not speak.

He did not avert his eyes.

He simply watched her.

She didn’t scream.

She didn’t reach for a towel.

She met his gaze.

He stepped into the bathroom. Silent. The door shut behind him without touch.

The candles flickered.

His presence didn’t feel violent. It felt like pressure—like gravity increasing with every breath she took.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

His voice, when it came, was lower than she remembered. Quieter. It slid through her like warm oil.

“To collect what’s mine.”

“I didn’t make that deal in this life.”

“You made it in *all* of them.”

She stood in the tub, naked, defiant. Water dripped from her collarbone. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but it wasn’t fear.

It was something worse.

Something closer to longing.

“You think I belong to you?” she asked.

He smiled.

“No, Adira. I *know* you do.”

She stepped from the water, steam coiling around her like a lover’s hands. She did not hide. She moved past him, brushing his chest.

“You haunt me,” she whispered, brushing his ear with her breath. “You write letters. You whisper lies. But you never *touch*.”

She turned.

He was behind her already.

Fingers on her throat.

Not choking. Holding.

She looked into his eyes—eyes that mirrored hers, but older, colder.

“I could ruin you,” he said.

“I’m already ruined,” she replied.

That broke something.

He kissed her.

It was violent.

Not in force, but in depth.

Like drowning in the blood of every version of herself that had ever screamed his name.

She should’ve pulled away.

But she kissed him back.

She tasted dust and violets. Fire and winter. Grief and hunger.

His hands burned her skin where they touched. Not with heat—but with memory.

Every part of her body he touched *remembered* him.

Their mouths parted.

He pressed his forehead to hers.

“You still love Elias,” he murmured.

Adira’s voice was hoarse. “You killed him.”

“I made him.”

He pulled back.

“He was the man you needed when I left you broken the first time. A soft place to hide. A second chance. But he is me. We are one. I am what remains when the softness dies.”

She staggered back.

“No.”

“Yes,” he said.

He didn’t lie.

He didn’t need to.

“You loved my shadow. Now love me.”

She shook her head.

“I want my daughter. I want my life.”

“You have them,” he said. “For now.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you belong to this house. And every piece of light you gather here, I can take.”

She slapped him.

Hard.

His head turned.

Then slowly… he smiled.

“You’re almost ready,” he said.

“For what?”

“To be mine again.”

---

That night, she found Elias.

Not alive.

Not fully.

In the west wing, behind a forgotten mirror.

He lay on the floor, eyes open, mouth stitched shut. Bound in a ritual circle carved into the wood with bone.

Adira screamed.

He didn’t move.

But his eyes… they wept.

She tore through the salt lines, ignoring the stinging of her palms as ancient glyphs burned her skin. She ripped the stitches from his lips.

Elias gasped.

Choked.

Then breathed.

She held him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered.

He shook in her arms.

“Because I wanted you to choose me.”

“I did.”

“Not fully.”

Adira touched his face.

“I will.”

He looked at her. “You kissed him.”

She didn’t lie.

“I wanted to remember what I gave up.”

“Did you?”

She nodded. “And I don’t regret it.”

“Then I’ll help you bind him.”

She froze.

“What?”

Elias sat up.

“Do you think he touched you out of lust? Out of love? No. He touched you to leave a mark. To claim you for the next cycle.”

Her breath hitched.

“I felt it,” he said. “In the floor. In the mirrors. In *me*.”

“What do we do?”

Elias stood, still trembling.

“We end the cycle. We bind the house to you, not to him.”

“How?”

“With your blood. With your choice. With his name.”

“But you told me never to say it.”

“I was protecting you.”

She stepped forward.

“Not anymore.”

---

They began the ritual that night.

A mirror in the atrium.

A circle of ash.

Her blood, dripping from the wound on her palm.

His name carved into the glass.

Not spoken.

Not yet.

Elias lit the candles.

The room shifted.

The house *screamed.*

He was coming.

The man in gray.

Adira stood in the center.

The glass pulsed.

Elias whispered the chant.

She opened her mouth.

Spoke the name.

Not in English.

Not in any language remembered by the world.

It was the name of hunger.

Of possession.

Of *him*.

The mirror shattered.

He emerged.

Wreathed in smoke.

Eyes burning silver.

“You dare—”

Adira raised her hand.

“I don’t belong to you.”

“You always have.”

“Not anymore.”

She stepped forward, pressed her bleeding palm to his chest.

“You will forget me. You will forget *us*. This house belongs to me now.”

He grabbed her wrist, hissed against her mouth.

“I will find you again.”

“I know.”

And she kissed him.

Soft.

Not in surrender.

But in ending.

He screamed.

And vanished.

The house trembled.

Then quieted.

Elias caught her as she fell.

---

She woke in her room.

Adeline asleep beside her.

Elias by the window, watching the garden.

The house was hers.

For now.

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