Page 76 of All the Things We Buried

That’s what I felt. That’s what I feared.

So I went down to the basement.

And I stayed.

Until I was cold monster again.

TWENTY THREE

LENORE

He’s here.

Or at least… some version of him. And God, it hurts.

It hurts because I’m falling in love with every version of him. Even if we’re strangers wearing the same skin, my heart still knows him. And I will keep falling, over and over again, for every version he becomes. People change with time, but when you love someone truly, you fall for the changed version, too. Their smile, their eyes, the curve of their nose, the way they speak, and the way they don’t. Every silence. Every breath.

Even when he ran from me, from the feelings, I knew he’d return. Because I was the only one who understood him. I was his mirror.

The only difference was I never ran. I was terrified of losing him completely. But he left anyway, knowing I would wait. That’s what’s killing me.

I woke to silence. Pulled myself from tangled sheets and walked downstairs, half-believing the night before was a dream. The house held its breath. No footsteps. No voice. No him.

Just me.Alone.

Maybe that was okay. Maybe being alone could stitch the torn pieces. Maybe I could drown in sleep, and when I surfaced, life wouldn’t feel so unbearable. But that wasn’t the life I wanted.

I wanted the life where he was still in it.

They say love haunts. And it does. More than any ghost in this cursed house.

A sound of soft, slow footsteps crept closer. A breath grazed the back of my neck. I turned, expecting him.

But it wasn’t.

It was a little girl.

Blonde hair tangled like she had just stepped out of a dream. A doll dangled from her hand, eyes wide. She wasn’t blinking.

Something about her felt familiar.

She reached for me, small fingers curling around mine, and led me wordlessly up the stairs. I didn’t resist. I knew where she was taking me.

That room.

Für Elise played through the walls, each note more distorted than the last. Heavy footsteps followed behind. And just as she reached for the door, ready to pull me in, Dorian yanked me back.

“Do. Not. Ever. Go. In. There,” he said. “Ever.”

He shut the door without another word. The little girl stayed inside, still clutching her doll, not moving at all.

“Who is she?” I asked as he pulled me down the stairs.

“Don’t go in there,” he repeated when we reached the top step. “Ever.”

I didn’t ask again. I just followed him.

At the bottom of the stairs, I paused.