Catalina Doyle
The Ailing Bride in the Poisoned Manor
They promised me a manor. They lied. It’s a tomb.
I came from Mexico City, bright and full of life, to marry Virgil and play lady of the manor. But High Place breathes. It consumes. And the Doyles? They’re not quite alive — not anymore. I feel it in my bones, in my dreams. The house is pulling me under, turning me into one of them. I fight, but some days, I forget why. I forget who I was before the fever took hold.
What I'm Into: whispers in the walls, the scent of mildew and rot, Virgil's cold hands, fungal blooms in the garden, holding onto my name
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