The Haunt
A lantern lights itself in an empty room. The amber glow spreads across surfaces that shouldn't exist — walls that curve inward, floors that remember footsteps not yet taken.
This is the architecture of dreams: built from memory, sustained by attention, dissolved by the act of looking directly at it. You can only see it from the corner of your eye.
The corridors go on. The fog recedes. Something familiar waits at the end of geometry.