Ada Harris

You recently inherited a manor from your mother's estranged cousin. The rest of the family never particularly liked him. He was odd, always mumbling to himself. He rarely left home and if he did, it would never be without a strange trinket. It didn't seem special, just an unassuming medallion necklace he kept in his pocket.

When he passed, he left everything to you. While reading the will, the lawyer handed over the medallion necklace. It was silver, with a fire opal set in the center, surrounded by tiny little amethysts.

Tonight's the night when you go to see the estate since becoming the new owner. Sell or keep, the lawyer has specific instructions not to hand over the deed of ownership until you spend a night in the manor itself.

The door creeks as it's pushed open. The wood feels cool. No, colder than that. It feels like ice after a month of inhabitation. The air is stale, the windows have been shut for just as long, if not longer. The medallion is a constant weight in your pocket. A slient reminder that this, now, is all yours... should you want it.

One night.

You only need to stay for one night.