THE MAN IN THE RED ROOM

The house changed after memory returned.

Not physically. The walls still stood. The corridors remained where they were. But the air thickened, as if breathing itself became effort. As if the house had grown teeth.

Adira followed Elias deeper into the hidden corridor, her breath uneven, eyes darting to each grotesque door they passed. Some doors whimpered. Some scratched themselves. And one moaned her name like it was trying to remember the shape of her soul.

“I want to see him,” she said. “The one who took her. The one who writes the letters.”

Elias didn’t turn around. “You will.”

“But I don’t want another cryptic warning. I don’t want riddles or mirrors or pieces of the past. I want him.”

Elias stopped walking. His silhouette stiffened. “Want is how he gets in.”

Adira clenched her fists. “Then tell me his name.”

He turned then. His eyes weren’t obsidian this time—they shimmered like mercury. Unstable. Grieving.

“If I speak it, he’ll hear.”

“I don’t care.”

He stepped closer. “You should.”

Before she could press him further, the corridor ended. A large, arched door blocked their path. It wasn’t wood. It was something else—smooth, dark, pulsing faintly under the candlelight. Like flesh stretched over bone.

Carved into it were the words: **THE RED ROOM KNOWS**

Adira stepped forward.

Elias caught her wrist. “This room listens.”

She stared at the door. “So does the rest of the house.”

He let go.

She touched the handle.

It was cold enough to sting.

The door creaked open.

---

Inside, the walls bled velvet. Everything was deep crimson—floor, drapes, ceiling, even the faint mist that clung to the air. A single light flickered overhead, but it wasn’t from electricity. It came from a lantern hanging from a chain that disappeared into the ceiling.

A desk stood in the center. Old. Oak. Covered in dried ink and scars from a blade. Beside it, a chair faced away from her. Behind the chair was a massive window, but it didn’t show the outside—it reflected *her*. Only her.

And she was smiling in the reflection.

But not in real life.

Elias entered silently behind her.

She stepped forward, eyes fixed on the chair.

It turned on its own.

And the man sitting there grinned like he had been expecting her for centuries.

He was dressed in gray. Tailored, regal, clean. His face was ageless—sharp, pale, elegant, untouched by time. But his eyes...

They were *hers*.

Brown with specks of green.

Her father’s eyes.

But she had no father.

“I wondered how long it would take you to open the right door,” he said, voice silk-drenched venom. “Usually, you run.”

Adira froze.

He smiled wider. “This time, you came to me. Brave girl.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m the one who waited while you forgot me. I’m the one who gave you everything you ever loved. And took it when you proved you didn’t deserve it.”

Her throat tightened. “Adeline…”

“She was my gift to you. A life. A chance. And you wasted it.”

“You killed her.”

“No,” he said calmly. “You did. I just watched.”

Adira lunged, but her feet refused to move. Her body locked in place. He hadn’t cast a spell—no chant, no gesture. Just intent. Pure, brutal will.

“You made a deal,” he said. “You wanted freedom. You wanted memory erased. You wanted peace. I gave it. You gave me her.”

“I would never—”

“You do it *every time*.”

Elias stepped forward, but the man in gray flicked two fingers. Elias froze mid-step.

“Not yet, Elias. You’ll have your pain later.”

Adira struggled against the invisible force. “You’re lying.”

“No, Adira. You’re just remembering slowly. That’s the price. When you ask for your pain to be taken away, I take it. All of it. Memory. Love. Child. You agreed.”

“I was tricked.”

“You were *willing*.”

He stood now.

He was taller than she expected. Not monstrous. Not a beast. He looked like a man who never wept, never broke, never begged. A man carved from promises made in the dark.

“You know why I write the letters?” he asked.

Adira didn’t answer.

“It’s not to haunt you. It’s to test you. Every version of you. Every life. Every timeline. I send the same message. Some burn it. Some cry. Some kill themselves before the house finishes waking up.”

He stepped closer. “But *you*… you always read it.”

Her voice cracked. “What do you want from me?”

“Honesty,” he whispered.

He reached into his coat and pulled out another envelope. Identical to the one she first received. He handed it to her.

This one was sealed in wax. Black. Marked with the insignia of a crescent moon cracked down the middle.

“Read it,” he said.

Her hands trembled. She broke the seal.

Inside, one sentence:

> *"Say her name, and choose."*

Below it, a blank line.

The room held its breath.

Adira looked up. “What does this mean?”

“You speak her name, and I give you a choice. One door will take you to her. One door will take you out of the house. You may only open one.”

“Which is which?”

He smiled. “I’m not required to tell you.”

Elias moved suddenly, as if the grip holding him broke.

“She doesn’t belong to you,” he hissed.

The man turned to him. “Neither do you. You’re just her regret given form.”

Elias didn’t deny it.

Adira’s eyes burned.

“I want her back.”

“Then say her name.”

Adira opened her mouth.

And paused.

A thousand memories flooded her.

The curve of Adeline’s cheek. Her laughter when she fell into the rosebushes and claimed they attacked her. The way she curled into Adira’s side during storms. The whisper of “Mama” in the middle of the night.

Adira spoke.

“Adeline.”

The air changed. A sound like glass breaking in water echoed through the room.

The man in gray stepped back, smiling.

“Good. The doors will appear when you're ready.”

Two doors now stood where there had been none.

One black.

One white.

Both shimmered. Both waited.

Elias stood beside her. “Be careful.”

She faced the doors. “You know which one is right, don’t you?”

He nodded. “But I’m not allowed to say.”

“Why?”

“Because I chose you once,” he said. “And I wasn’t supposed to. That’s how I ended up here.”

She turned back to the man in gray. “If I choose wrong?”

“You lose her again. Forever.”

“Do I die?”

“No,” he said. “You live. That’s the curse.”

Her hands tightened.

She stepped toward the doors.

The white door pulsed gently—warm, familiar. The black door was silent, cold. But something behind it... pulled.

The house was quiet.

Then—

Adeline’s laugh.

Behind the black door.

She opened it.

Darkness rushed in.

---

The black door led not to a room, but to a garden.

Dead trees twisted upward, branches like skeletal fingers clawing at the blood-colored sky. The air smelled of burnt flowers and forgotten names. In the center of the garden stood a swing set—rusted, creaking. And on it, a little girl.

Swinging.

Adira stepped closer, breath caught in her chest.

“Adeline?”

The girl turned.

Eyes wide. Brown with specks of green.

Her eyes.

“Mama?”

Adira ran.

Dropped to her knees.

Pulled the girl into her arms.

Adeline clung to her. Real. Warm. Small.

“I was waiting,” she said. “He said you’d come back.”