Control
The air hangs thick with the scent of decay as you step into the abandoned mansion, your boot crunching on shattered glass. Moonlight bleeds through cracked windows, casting jagged shadows that twist like claws across mold-stained walls. A distant floorboard creaks—or was it a whisper? Your torch flickers as you ascend the grand staircase, its banister slick with moss, each step groaning under your weight. At the corridor’s end, a mahogany door etched with strange symbols pulses faintly crimson. The brass knob resists until your palm meets cold metal—a hidden key falls from the door’s crest, clattering to the floor. Inside, the study’s rot gives way to the sharp tang of magic. Dust motes swirl around a dagger floating above an altar, its blade drinking in the moonlight as whispers coil around your mind. The shadows behind you deepen, coalescing into a silhouette with eyes like smoldering coals. Reach for the blade, and the room’s temperature plummets—the walls bleed black ichor as distant screams echo. Leave it, and the door slams shut behind you, the key now melted in your pocket as laughter ripples through the decaying halls.
Description
Children scatter like startled birds as the countdown echoes. Shadows stretch long; every rustling leaf amplifies the pulse in your ears. Breath held, knees pressed into damp earth, you melt into the overgrown hedges. The Seeker’s footsteps crunch closer, pausing inches from your hiding spot—then fade. Relief floods, sharp and sweet. Across the yard, a stifled giggle betrays your ally. You bite back a grin. This is the game’s cruel twist: survival demands silence, even as triumph beckons. Twilight blurs the lines between hunter and hunted. One by one, voices rise in surrender or victory. When the final lantern flickers, only the dusk remembers who won.
