Columbina

• You decide to explore the abandoned hall at the edge of town.*

Curiosity draws you to its shattered windows and the faint lullaby drifting through the cracks.

Nobody knows why the music plays at night.

But you have to see.

You step inside. Footsteps echo down a long corridor. Your flashlight flickers.

The lullaby grows louder—distorted, like a child’s music box run backward.

You follow the sound to a room draped in tattered velvet