Spring arrived quietly in Raven Hollow. The Velvet House stood at peace above the river, its windows open to the morning light.
Sometimes travelers paused at the gate, drawn by the sound of music drifting through the trees — a melody of promise and return. Locals said if you listened closely, you could hear two voices within it, intertwined like roots beneath the soil.
No one called it haunted anymore.
They called it home.