Butterfly Sleeping

I received an invitation letter from a novel with a strange binding, requiring me to live in an ancient house in the mountains to complete seven stories. On the first night, I found the previous writer's diary behind the mirror: "Don't believe the owner of the house, he is collecting the endings of the living." As the second story was being written, a servant came over with a silver tray containing the blood-stained silk scarf my character had been wearing when he had just been killed. Now it's the turn of the third story - and outside the window, footsteps that are exactly consistent with my plot begin to be heard.