Episode 2: Architect or Exorcist?

🌕 Episode 2: Architect or Exorcist?

[Scene: Kitchen – Morning Light]

Rowan sipped burnt coffee from a chipped mug that said “World’s Most Tired Granddaughter.” She’d found it in a drawer, hidden behind a stack of empty spice tins and an unopened bottle of gin—clearly Vera’s priorities were on point.

Bastian sat across the counter, sketching something on a pad, unbothered by the smell of scorched toast and creeping mildew. How he made wool turtlenecks and ruinous property conditions look aesthetically pleasing, she would never understand.

“So,” Rowan began, “what’s the verdict? Do I need to call an exorcist, or a contractor?”

He glanced up with a grin. “Why not both?”

She squinted. “That was not a comforting smile.”

“Let’s just say,” he said, tapping his pencil, “your walls are holding more than just bad wiring.”

[Flashback: Night Before – 2 A.M.]

The piano had played again. Briefly. One gentle note.

But this time… there was breathing.

Soft. Just behind her.

When she turned, no one was there—except the air, heavy and scented with lavender.

[Scene: Drawing Room – Midday Inspection]

Bastian knelt by the fireplace, brushing away a layer of ash and dust.

Rowan stood a few feet behind him, arms crossed. “I’m just saying—if a ghost is going to murder me, I’d appreciate the courtesy of a memo.”

Bastian didn’t look up. “You want them to send you a death notice?”

“Preferably written in lipstick on a mirror.”

“That can be arranged.” He pried a panel loose and held up a crumpled photograph. Vera again. This time seated, with her hand on another woman’s knee. Neither smiling, but both staring, like they knew a camera could never capture what they had.

Rowan reached for it. The paper was brittle, as if it had been hidden for decades.

On the back, again, a signature:

“To V. All my love, always — J.”

“Juliette,” she whispered.

Bastian froze. “You know the name?”

“Vera’s… lover.” Her voice dipped. “She was erased from every article. Not a single photo. No mention in the estate files. Like she was never real.”

The fireplace crackled suddenly—despite no fire. They both stared at the empty hearth.

Then Rowan muttered, “Okay, if this is your idea of romantic ambiance, Vera, I take it back.”

[Scene: Upstairs Hallway – Afternoon Light]

They moved up the main staircase, which protested with every step.

Bastian stopped in front of a wall, tapping his knuckles against the wood. “Hollow. There’s something behind it.”

Rowan squinted. “Let me guess. Hidden door? Mummified ex-boyfriend?”

“More likely a sealed-off corridor.”

“Right. Because that’s better.”

He pried open a thin crack, revealing a dark hallway no wider than a closet. Dust danced in the shaft of light, swirling in purposeful patterns.

“Do you… hear that?” Rowan asked.

There was a soft whisper. Faint, unintelligible. But real.

Bastian looked at her, face unreadable. “Rowan… You might want to see this.”

They stepped inside.

[Scene: The Hidden Room]

It was a bedroom. Intact. Preserved like a shrine.

Rose-colored wallpaper. A single iron bed. Makeup tins. A trunk with velvet gloves.

On the dresser, an untouched lipstick tube.

Bastian exhaled. “It’s… Juliette’s.”

Rowan stepped forward slowly, touching the vanity. The mirror was spotless.

A film reel lay beside it, labeled “Private – V & J.”

She reached for it—

But the room breathed.

The light flickered.

The door behind them creaked closed—slowly.

Rowan turned. “No. Don’t you dare—”

Click.

Locked.

She looked at Bastian. “Architect or exorcist, Hart?”

He held up his hands. “Today? Mostly panicked civilian.”

[Scene: Later – Room Still Locked]

They sat on the floor, waiting for the door to unlock itself. Or for the ghost to get bored. Whichever came first.

Rowan leaned her head back. “Why is this happening now?”

Bastian tilted his head. “Maybe Vera was waiting for someone who’d finally listen.”

“To what? Her mixtape of regrets?”

“No. Her ending.”

That shut her up.

After a long pause, Rowan said, softly, “I think this house wants me to finish something.”

He looked at her carefully. “Do you want to?”

She didn’t answer right away.

Then: “I don’t know. But I’m still here.”

The lightbulb blinked once—warmly.

The door unlocked with a click.

[Scene: Evening – Screening Room]

Bastian set up an old projector they found in the basement. He fiddled with the reel, gently handling the fragile film.

“Ready?” he asked.

Rowan nodded, curling her knees to her chest on the old velvet couch. “For ghost cinema? Absolutely.”

The reel clicked on.

Footage played.

Vera. Smiling. Alive. Laughing in a garden.

Then Juliette entered—barefoot, in a sundress. They danced. They kissed. They filmed themselves loving each other. Quietly. Proudly. Intimately.

The film crackled midway. Burned.

The reel snapped.

The room fell into silence.

But behind them, a woman’s voice whispered—barely above breath:

“Thank you.”

Rowan turned. Nothing there. But she was smiling through her tears.

Bastian said quietly, “You okay?”

She nodded. “I think Vera’s starting to trust me.”

He paused. “Do you trust me?”

She looked at him. No smirk this time. “Not yet. But I’m getting there.”

[Final Scene: Bedroom – Nightfall]

Rowan curled up in bed.

Outside, wind whispered through the trees.

The mirror stayed clear.

No writing.

No lipstick.

No warnings.

Just her.

Alone.

But not lonely.

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