The mansion had gone silent again, but not still. Every corridor trembled in its own heartbeat. The walls swelled like lungs, breathing dust and old perfume.
Jungkook clutched the camera to his chest; its lens now flickered with ghosts of frames already filmed. Whenever he blinked, he saw another version of himself—sometimes smiling, sometimes crying, sometimes with Taehyung’s eyes.
They stumbled into a ballroom drenched in blue light. Chandeliers hung upside down like frozen lightning. The marble floor was a mirror, rippling faintly under each step.
“Don’t look down,” Namjoon said. “It’s showing us—”
Too late.
The reflections on the floor were *not* their own. They were older, paler, whispering lines they hadn’t spoken yet. Jin’s reflection turned and walked away by itself. Jimin’s dissolved into smoke.
Yoongi cursed under his breath. “This place isn’t haunted—it’s hungry.”
In the middle of the ballroom stood Taehyung, still, facing an invisible horizon. Jungkook approached slowly. “Hyung,” he said, the word catching in his throat, “what do you see?”
Taehyung smiled faintly. “The night we met. The one with the lanterns and the rain. Remember?”
A flash of warmth cut through the cold—rainwater on their hands, laughter under a single umbrella, a dare that had ended in a kiss they never mentioned again.
“Yeah,” Jungkook whispered. “I remember.”
But as he looked closer, the memory flickered—replaced by something else. In this version, Taehyung never smiled. His eyes were hollow. His lips mouthed *help me.*
Jungkook staggered back. “No… that’s not real.”
The ballroom mirrors erupted in cracks, one by one. The sound was like bones snapping underwater. The fans’ chat—still running somehow—filled with terrified messages:
> *“He’s talking to nothing!”*
> *“Tae’s behind him—no he isn’t—he’s—”*
Hobi screamed as the chandelier chains burst, glass raining like stars. Namjoon shouted for everyone to run. But the exits were gone; the doors led to more doors, looping endlessly.
Only Taehyung and Jungkook remained in the center, surrounded by shards reflecting hundreds of versions of them—some holding hands, some turning away, some covered in ash.
“Jungkook,” Taehyung said softly, “if the house is feeding on us, then love is its favorite meal.”
“Then it’s not getting any more.” Jungkook grabbed his arm. “You’re real. You’re right here.”
The mirrors flared white. Every reflection screamed in unison. The sound tore through the livestream—static, feedback, hearts breaking.
When the light faded, the others were gone. Only the camera remained, pointed at the two of them.
Taehyung’s voice trembled. “If we forget each other, it wins.”
“Then remember,” Jungkook whispered. “Even if this place erases everything—remember me.”
For a heartbeat, the house hesitated. The reflections froze mid-scream.
Then, somewhere deep in the mansion, something *snapped.*
The blue light vanished, leaving them in complete darkness—except for the faint red glow of the recording light.
Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah
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