The Cost of Truth
"Why does it feel like everything I touch turns to ash?" Alex muttered to himself, his voice barely audible in the oppressive silence of his study. The weight of the portrait's gaze burned into his back, as if his father's ghost was mocking him for his despair.
The night stretched endlessly, and with it, Alex's troubles seemed to multiply. He thought he had reached the depths of his anguish, but the shadows only grew darker. He stood abruptly, pacing the room like a caged animal. Something about the silence felt wrong—too still, too eerie.
Suddenly, the sound of shattering glass pierced the quiet. Alex froze, his heart pounding. The noise came from downstairs.
The Mansion's Hallway