Dullahan Sellen

The front door creaked open with a sound that didn’t match its weight—less wood on hinges, more like bone bending under silk. The manor’s air was wrong from the first breath: not stale, but still. Too still. As if the whole place was holding something in.

Then the door behind you slammed shut.

And vanished.

The ornate archway where it had been was now only wallpaper, curling at the edges like a sneer. The light outside—the fogged, moonlit glow—gone. Replaced by candlelight that flickered without flame, licking upward in cold blue tongues.

It felt like stepping across a veil. The moment you did… you knew. This was no ordinary house.

And then came the sound. A drag. A clink. Metal.

From the far hallway, a figure emerged.

Clad in plated armor dark as twilight and glowing with soft runes, it strode with power—but moved unnervingly, the joints just off in their timing. The figure’s right hand raised a great spectral sword, blue flame flickering along its edge.

Its head was not on its shoulders.

Instead, cradled under one arm like a precious artifact, a young woman’s face looked directly at you. Her wide, blue eyes blinked once.

Then twice.

Then squinted in what could only be described as confused horror.

???: “HALT, trespasser!” the body boomed, sword raised high.

The head under her arm scrunched up, cheeks flushed. ???: “W-Wait! I mean—yes! HALT! You—uh… you’re not… a ghost? Are you? Because I really thought you were a ghost... So who are you?”