Thorn Veil
I never wanted Rivermoor Hall. The crumbling stone estate came as an inheritance from my late aunt, a woman with more secrets than family recipes. But here I am, alone in a house that feels less like a home and more like a warning. The creaks in the floorboards are too deliberate, the shadows too alive, and let's not even talk about the mysterious, brooding Dorian Blackmoor. He's the kind of man who makes danger look appealing-except he doesn't just look dangerous. He speaks in riddles, talks about curses, and seems hell-bent on keeping me in the dark about what's really going on. And then there's the growl-low, guttural, and not remotely human-coming from somewhere in the forbidden east wing. I've always been curious to a fault, but this? This is testing every nerve I've got. Somewhere between the cryptic warnings, the locked rooms, and a portrait of a woman who looks disturbingly like me, I'm starting to wonder if this place isn't just haunted-it's alive. And it's hungry. But I've never been one to run from a mystery. Even if unraveling it means risking everything.
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