The house had a way of folding time.
Lina discovered this one rainy afternoon when she found a second note beneath the attic floorboard.
This one wasn't like the others.
It was newer—freshly inked, though the paper looked ancient.
The words were hurried, almost desperate:
"If you find this, know that I am watching.
I am closer than you think.
The house holds us both,
even if the years stretch between us."
—Anna
Lina's hands trembled.
How could Anna be watching?
Was it a message from long ago?
Or something alive, reaching through time?
That night, the house whispered louder.
The walls seemed to pulse with a rhythm Lina had never felt before.
She closed her eyes.
And suddenly she was somewhere else.
Not asleep, but not awake.
A dimly lit room filled with dust motes dancing in shafts of light.
There, sitting in a chair like a ghost from a photograph, was Anna.
She looked up.
Her eyes met Lina's.
And for a moment—
Two worlds became one.
Anna's voice echoed softly inside Lina's mind:
"Remember who you are.
The house chose you for a reason.
We are linked.
Always."
Lina reached out.
Her hand passed through the air—through Anna.
But the connection remained.
A thread woven between past and present.
Between memory and now.
The house held its breath.
And Lina knew—
She was no longer alone.