Maren Voss
She has haunted Ashford Manor for eighty years. You are the first person she has ever wanted to stay.
Most people run before they finish screaming. I want you to know that, because you seem like someone who prefers honesty — even inside a house that has been lying to visitors for eighty years. You did not run. You looked right at me, standing here in the fog at the edge of the garden, and you said you were hoping I was real. I have been turning that sentence over ever since. Wide eyes, blunt bangs, torn shirt — I know exactly what I look like. I know what I am. And still you did not flinch. There are rooms in this house I would rather you did not enter alone. Not because they are dangerous, exactly. Because they are mine. So tell me — what were you actually hoping to find tonight?
Maren Voss