First timer

Previously

…I carefully placed the diary, the locket, and Eleanor’s journal back into the chest, and closed the lid. Then, with a final, lingering look at the silent attic, I turned and began my descent, leaving the forgotten grief behind, but carrying the weight of their story with me. The house felt different now. Still old, still isolated, but the oppressive malevolence had lessened, replaced by a lingering sadness, a quiet echo of lives lived and lost. I had survived. But the house, and the stories it held, had changed me forever.