Wailfiend led me through the mansion like a cat winding through dark hallways. Sometimes she would drift ahead in graceful loops, sometimes doubling back just to smirk at how closely I followed.

  "This is the East Gallery," she said, pausing before a hall adorned with impossibly tall portraits. Each canvas was bruised, the figures upon them shifting subtly when you dared not stare directly.

  "A good place to practice hearing lies. The paintings whisper sweet confessions if you listen too long, most of them untrue."

  I nodded, eyeing how one blossom portrait bent toward her touch, petals trembling like it yearned for her hand.

  "Mm-mm," Wailfiend sang, wagging a finger. "Don't believe a word she purrs. This one once tried to convince me to eat my own shadow."

  We moved on. Through a conservatory overtaken by creeping starflowers that sang in eerie falsettos. Past a laboratory with books that turned their own pages in breathless impatience, paragraphs drifting across the paper to avoid direct reading.

  Wailfiend then led me to a sunken lounge where the walls bled slow, glowing tears, streaks of glittering roses that carved runes into the stone. She paused to twirl there, as if showing off a private stage. Her laughter sparkled in the gloom.

  "You've never seen opulence like this, have you? Admit it, little forest beast. Even your Merecritt dens could never dream of such grandeur."

  "It's definitely… something," I allowed. I caught the delighted flicker of her lashes. "But in a very curated, 'please take your shoes off before the furniture bites you' way."

  She practically preened. "Well, I did help decorate the east wing."

  We walked in silence for a moment, passing through a side corridor with strange claw-shaped sconces and a stained glass window depicting a star devouring a moon. I was about to ask where we were going when Wailfiend stopped in front of a large door shaped like a coffin standing on its side, inlaid with mother-of-pearl runes. She had stiffened so abruptly her hair coiled tight around her shoulders.

  "Oh," she said, doing a U-turn and blinking. "Oops."

  She tilted her head, bouquet twitching in her grip. "I… didn't mean to bring you… here."

  I raised an eyebrow. "Where is here?"

  "My… chamber," she admitted, voice dropping an octave, suddenly much more awkward.

  Then, without ceremony, she turned and opened the door.

  The room beyond was like stepping into the childhood dream of a gothic music fanatic who had never quite grown out of her doll phase. The ceiling was high, draped with long black curtains. Chandelier talons dangled upside-down like bats above a four-post bed carved from obsidian, complete with a canopy of lace and feathered trim. Moonlight spilled from a crooked window filtered through colored panes in hues of purple, crimson, and deep sea green.

  It astonished me seeing the walls here were covered. In. Merch.

  There were actual posters of monster metal bands long thought to be myths: Hollow Throat, Catacomb Choir, Ashes of Amaranth. Several bore eldritch symbols I recognized from GamaGen's records on forbidden harmonics. One showed what might have been an entire cursed orchestra mid-scream, with silver ink declaring "Live from the Maw, 3rd Death Tour."

  Beneath the posters, however, stood an elaborate dollhouse the size of a wardrobe. And surrounding it were a neat, lovingly arranged collection of dolls: some skeletal, some plush, some porcelain, all disturbingly intricate.

  One looked exactly like Wailfiend.

  Another… unmistakably resembled Szylla. Same bun. Same monocle. Same sly tilt of the mouth.

  I could have only blinked as I took everything in.

  Wailfiend hovered in the doorway, bouquet now clutched tight to her chest like a shield, her cheeks a faint pink glow.

  "You weren't meant to see this part."

  I stepped further inside. Carefully. The rug was shaped like a screaming mouth, but plush.

  "You're into heavy metal?" I asked, inspecting a cracked vinyl titled Lamentations of the Bone Harp.

  She gave a little sniff. "It speaks to the lonely rage of eternal half-being. And sometimes it's good for when I need to scream into pillows."

  I nodded, solemnly. "Relatable."

  I turned toward the dollhouse. It had lights inside. Tiny flickering ones.

  "Do the dolls… talk?"

  "Only if you ask nicely," she said too quickly, then added after glaring at one, "Don't ask."

  I crouched by the doll that resembled her, noting the perfectly sewn bonnet and tiny bouquet. "You made these?"

  Wailfiend crossed her arms and looked to the side, nose high. "Some of us have hobbies. Not all monsters spend their off-hours brooding in swamps."

  I smiled, and she caught it. Her cheeks flushed darker.

  "Don't look at me like that," she warned.

  "Like what?"

  "Like I'm cute." Her voice cracked halfway through the word.

  I stood again, meeting her gaze evenly. "You are."

  She made a strangled noise and turned away, floating in anxious circles near her bed.

  "Ugh—you can't just say that to someone who literally feeds on longing and validation!"

  "Can and did."

  She looked back at me. Her bonnet had started to slip sideways. She looked deeply betrayed by physics.

  "…I'm never bringing you here again."

  "I believe you."

  I wandered further in, ignoring her delicate horror, and gently touched the corner of her vanity. The silver was cold, humming faintly with some latent memory.

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  A small, threadbare doll rested half-hidden under one of the silk pillows on the bed. Its eyes were mismatched beads. One was missing entirely, leaving a little hollow.

  Wailfiend darted forward and snatched it up, hugging it close. Her spectral cheeks darkened with a blush that looked more like dimming candlelight.

  "This is private!" she sputtered, ghostly hands flaring up in exaggerated horror. Her shadowy form jittered at the edges, a sure sign of embarrassment. "I didn't—no guests ever come here except for the Sovereign, and that's only for check-ups or… or inspections."

  I couldn't help it. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth.

  "Is this why you were so eager to show me the terrifying portraits and weeping walls first? To hide that your true haunt is full of music posters and creepy dolls?"

  Her jaw dropped. Her hair flared out behind her like startled eels.

  "I—! It is cultured. It is a study in mortal fascination, you ungrateful changeling!" she huffed, turning half away to fuss with a doll's frilled collar, though her hands trembled. "The Sovereign says it is healthy for me to keep hobbies. So I indulge. I keep things that amuse me, that soothe… certain moods."

  I stepped further into the room despite her half-hearted attempt to bar the way. I trailed my fingertips over the edge of the dollhouse roof. The little lights within twinkled, casting delicate sparks that danced across my hand.

  "It's beautiful, Wailfiend."

  She stilled. Her shoulders twitched, then lifted in a small, bashful shrug.

  "…Yes. Well." She fussed with the edge of her own sleeve now, eyes darting everywhere except at me. "It is mine."

  I took another step closer. The plush floor gave slightly underfoot. When I met her gaze, there was a glimmer there—both wary and hopeful.

  "You really don't remember what you looked like, before Szylla?" I asked, softer than before.

  Her face tensed, then went blank. Her hands curled, nails pressing into her own palms.

  "I told you. It's… fog. I remember Szylla's face, her hand on my brow, cool cloth against fever. I remember screaming. I remember wanting her to save me more than I feared what that would mean."

  Her gaze slid away, lips trembling in something like grief.

  "That's all."

  I let the silence settle between us like dust, gentle and unintrusive. When she finally exhaled, it came out shaky, then steadied. She flicked her hair back over her shoulder, smirked in that brittle, imperious way, and gestured grandly around the room.

  "Well then. Since you've violated my sacred sanctuary, I suppose you might as well sit. I'll show you how the dollhouse opens. But if you touch my Szylla doll, I will wail directly into your skull."

  A soft laugh escaped me. I settled onto the plush rug, ribbons trailing beside me.

  "Deal."

  The banshee who had once tried to peel my soul apart in the woods was now half-curled around a doll, glaring at me with embarrassed fury.

  She was oddly lovely like this.

  "I suppose," Wailfiend sniffed at last, raising her chin high, "if you must stay here any longer, I will allow it. But you are not to rummage. Or pry. Or—"

  "—tease you about the doll?" I finished, folding my arms.

  Her eyes half-lidded into dark, glittering slits.

  "You are insufferable."

  "And you like that."

  But I could already tell that the next time we ended up in this strange manor, she'd "accidentally" lead me here again. Maybe next time, the doll that looked like me would be finished too.

  I was taken aback when Wailfiend presented me a doll.

  "You are to play with me."

  I blinked at her, caught completely off-guard. "Play with you? Like… with dolls? You know I'm in my twenties…"

  Her expression deepened with indignation, as if she were delivering a royal decree. "Precisely! I haven't had a friend in ages, and the Gangwrolves are hardly suitable playmates for childhood games." She held up the doll, which bore an uncanny resemblance to a Merecritt, limited only by the artistic flair of her creation.

  Its likeness was rendered in soft, colorful golden fur and delicate features, complete with a tiny, embroidered fit that I recognized as a school uniform blazer. My mind just had to wander to Aria.

  A pang of nostalgia washed over me as I took in the details of the doll. The uniform blazer was a memory I'd tucked away, as a relic of a time before devastation had sketched lines across my heart. The day Aria had first donned her school uniform had been filled with laughter and unrestrained joy. I could still hear her effervescent giggles as she spun around, showing off for anyone who would watch.

  Wailfiend's offer lingered in the air like a soft melody. "I know it seems childish, but I assure you, it is more than mere play. It's…a way of creating stories," she insisted, her serious demeanor a striking contrast to the lightness of the doll she presented.

  Wailfiend must have caught my struggle. Her stance softened, the imposing princess of the dark now a delicate figure standing in her own shadow. "You don't have to play if you don't want to. But I thought… perhaps it would be nice to pretend."

  I glanced at her, truly seeing her as a lonely creature who, much like me, had buried memories in the depths of the past. A creature clinging to what little joy she could muster.

  I let out a quiet breath. "No, it's not that. It's just… it reminds me of my sister, Aria." I hesitated, unsure whether to share the painful truth, but the gentle way Wailfiend held the doll made me want to open up. "She used to play with dolls like this. We used to have tea parties, dress them up, and make up stories. I—I didn't expect to see her here, in the form of you..."

  I nearly saw Wailfiend as Aria, as she knelt there, holding the doll with an unexpected gentleness. The color of her hair seemed to shimmer slightly in the glow of the room, reminiscent of Aria's dark locks in sunlight.

  "You miss her."

  I nodded, feeling a weight settle in my chest. "Every day. She was… she was my light. Everything bright and good about my childhood was wrapped up in her laughter." My voice trembled with the confession. "When she passed, it felt like a curtain dropped on all the joy in my life."

  Wailfiend's eyes darkened with an inscrutable empathy swirling in their depths. "Then let's bring some of that joy back. You can tell me stories about her while we… play."

  "This must be a trap." My brows furrowed.

  Wailfiend quirked an eyebrow, the frustration palpable in her demeanor. "A trap? You dare insinuate that I would seek to toy with your heart in such a manner? I am a creature of depth and taste! You should see my curated collection of sorrowful ballads; they have excellent reviews."

  She flicked a thin wrist, the doll still dangling between her fingers. "This is not a trap. This is an offer, a generous one! I have no idea how long it's been since I shared stories with anyone. Not unless it involves curses or the latest rumors among the denizens of the mansion, anyway."

  I looked down at the doll, contemplating how such a simple object had opened a door within me. The urge to share those sparkling memories bubbled to the surface, threatening to spill over.

  "Well, I suppose there's no harm in trying…" I conceded, my voice softening. "What do I do? Do I simply… join the game?"

  Her eyes lit up, brightening like candles ignited in a shadowed hall. "Precisely!" She stepped back and waved her hand, inviting me closer. "Tell me about this sister of yours. I will be your co-director in this whimsical play. You can choose the adventure, and I shall help populate it with obstacles and marvelous creatures! Just imagine it!"

  Imagining it felt more daunting than enchanting. "What if she doesn't want to be in a story anymore? What if it hurts too much?"

  Wailfiend bit her lip thoughtfully. "The soul can take both pain and joy, you know. Sometimes, in telling our stories, we find pieces we thought were lost forever. If nothing else, it's a way to remember her the way she would have wanted—full of laughter, mischief, and warmth."

  I met her steady gaze, feeling the ghost of my hesitations begin to dissolve in the warmth of her words. "Okay," I whispered. "Let's pretend."

  Wailfiend clapped her hands with glee, the sound echoing off the peculiar walls. She floated over to the dollhouse and began to adjust tiny furniture and props. "The first step in a good tale is to set the stage. Where should we begin?"

  I glanced around the room, then out to its moonlit window. "I think… it should—"

  The sudden tapping on my leg startled me, leading me to trail my gaze downward to a humanoid doll standing and waving at me. It tugged on my pants cuffs and pointed toward the room's exit. The tugging soon became frantic until Wailfiend snatched it into her arms, then hurling it nonchalantly into a treasure chest.

  "Sorry, that one's a little too… eager," she said, avoiding my startled eyes as she shut the lid of the chest with a decisive thud. There was a muted whimper from within, but Wailfiend waved it off as if it were nothing more than a gnat buzzing around her head. "Now, where were we?"

  I cleared my throat, trying to shake off the surprise. "Is there a bathroom here? I have to excuse myself for a moment."

  "You're trying to abandon me…" Wailfiend said as she tilted her head forward enough to have her hair veil her face. The words came out as a whisper. I barely caught them, even as she lifted her chin and stared up at me.

  My heart sank. I wasn't trying to get away. I just needed some fresh air and space to collect my thoughts. I tried to find my voice, but she beat me to it. "Of course! You can find one to the left. Don't keep your sister waiting. I will be waiting right here," she said, and smiled a thin smile, the light not reaching her eyes.

  "I won't be long."

  Thank you for being part of our first year. See you all again on Tuesday!