The old mansion stood at the edge of the forest, its windows boarded up and its iron gate rusted shut. No one knew who had built it or why it was abandoned, but over the years, rumors swirled around it like fog. Some said it was once a grand estate for a reclusive family; others claimed it had been a secret laboratory for forbidden experiments. Whatever the truth, the building had long since become a place people avoided. One spring morning, a young woman named Elara found herself drawn to the mansion. She had heard stories about it as a child, whispered by her grandmother while they sat by the fire. But now, with a notebook in hand and a sense of curiosity that had never left her, she decided to investigate. The path leading to the house was overgrown, with ivy creeping up the stone walls and wildflowers blooming in the cracks of the pavement. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and something faintly sweet, like old perfume. She pushed open the creaking gate and stepped inside. The silence was heavy, broken only by the occasional chirp of a bird or the rustle of leaves. The front door was slightly ajar, as if waiting for someone to come in. Inside, the air was cool and still. Dust motes danced in the slivers of light that filtered through the broken windows. The floorboards groaned under her weight as she moved deeper into the house. Elara explored the main hall, where a grand staircase led to the upper floors. The wallpaper was peeling, revealing patches of faded floral patterns. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, its crystals dulled by time. On the walls were portraits of people whose faces seemed too still, their eyes following her every move. She paused before one, a woman with an expression both serene and sorrowful. When she turned away, the portrait looked different—her lips were parted as if whispering something. In the library, books lined the shelves, their spines cracked and brittle. She ran her fingers along the spines, feeling the weight of forgotten knowledge. A single desk sat in the center, covered in dust and a few yellowed papers. One page caught her eye—a journal entry written in a delicate, looping script. It spoke of "the shadow that walks when the moon is high" and "the voice that calls from the walls." The last line read: "I cannot escape, but I will not be forgotten." As she climbed the stairs, the temperature dropped. The hallway on the second floor was dimly lit, the shadows stretching unnaturally along the walls. At the end of the corridor, a door stood ajar. Inside, a bedroom with a four-poster bed and a large mirror. The mirror reflected not just her image, but also something else—a figure standing behind her, faceless and blurred. She turned quickly, but no one was there. The room was empty, yet the mirror still showed the same shadowy presence. She stepped back, heart pounding, and noticed a small, ornate box on the nightstand. Inside was a silver locket, its surface engraved with a name she didn’t recognize. When she opened it, a photograph fell out—a man and a woman, both smiling, their hands clasped. The date on the back was 1923. She placed the locket back in the box and closed it carefully. As she made her way down the stairs, the house seemed to change. The air grew heavier, and the sounds of the forest outside became muffled, as if the building itself was holding its breath. In the foyer, the door slammed shut behind her, and the lock clicked into place. She tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. Panic surged through her, but she forced herself to stay calm. Then, she heard it—a soft, melodic hum, like a lullaby sung by an unseen voice. It came from the hallway above. She hesitated, then climbed the stairs again. This time, the door at the end of the corridor was open. Inside, the room was exactly as she had seen before, but now the mirror was clear. Her reflection stared back at her, but so did another figure—tall, cloaked, with glowing eyes. The voice spoke, not aloud, but in her mind: "You have seen what was hidden. Now you must choose—stay, or leave and forget." Elara’s breath caught. She wanted to run, but something held her in place. The mirror's reflection shifted again, and for a moment, she saw herself standing beside the cloaked figure, smiling. Then the image vanished, and the room returned to silence. When she finally managed to unlock the door, she stumbled outside into the bright sunlight, her legs trembling. She looked back at the mansion, now silent and still, as if it had never been alive. She never told anyone what she had seen, but sometimes, in the quiet moments of the night, she would hear the lullaby again, and wonder if the house had truly let her go—or if it had simply waited for the right time to call her back.