I inherited an old house passed down from my ancestors, and the housekeeper handed me a book of "Family Rules".
"Rule 1: Don't stare at the shadow outside the window."
Late at night, it was raining heavily, but there was a figure exactly like me standing outside the window.
I looked through the house rules and found every entry that prevented me from accessing the attic.
There was only one black-and-white photo in the attic: my mother holding me as a baby, but there was a pair of hands behind her that didn't belong to anyone.
The housekeeper suddenly appeared: "Madam just looked at the attic..."
Before I finished speaking, the figure outside the window was standing beside my bed, and his cold fingers touched my face: "It's your turn to go out."
The moment I tore up the family rules, the whole house began to twist - it turned out that the rules were not protection, but imprisonment.
