**Day 1**

It was the strangest inheritance anyone in Clara’s family could remember. When Great-Aunt Leticia finally died—alone, grotesquely wealthy, famously mad—she left everything to Clara.

Briar House, the vaults brimming with old money, even the sprawling gardens that half the locals swore were haunted.

The only condition: Clara had to live there for thirty days. Couldn’t step beyond the gates, not even once. If she did, it all reverted to the state.

Her relatives muttered of curses, scandals, ghosts. Clara laughed it off. “I’ll take a haunted mansion over listening to my neighbor practice trumpet scales at midnight.”

So she packed books, coffee, pajamas. Convinced herself it would be easy.

**Day 4**

The first days felt quiet, almost disappointingly so. A housekeeper named Mrs. Holm came by each morning, left trays of food outside Clara’s door without saying a word.

Sometimes Clara thought she heard sighs in the walls. Once, footsteps echoing behind her that didn’t belong to her own shoes.

That morning, she decided to explore the gardens. Ivy spilled everywhere, swallowing statues and paths. The air was heavy with the scent of crushed herbs.

She almost tripped over him.

Julian knelt by a cracked fountain, hands buried wrist-deep in dark soil. When he looked up, Clara’s breath caught. His eyes were startlingly pale, like moonlight trapped in water.

“Oh—I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”

“There’s always someone to care for the gardens,” he said. “Julian.”

She offered her hand. He didn’t shake it. Just brushed his fingertips across her knuckles, as if feeling for a pulse. A shiver crawled up her spine.

**Day 7**

It became a strange kind of ritual. Every morning, she found Julian somewhere new—clipping black roses, whispering over herbs, always watching her.

“It’s like the gardens are alive,” Clara joked, trying to ignore the goosebumps that never quite left her arms. “Like they’re… following me.”

Julian’s smile was small, almost pleased. “Maybe they are.”

That night, she dreamed vines slid through her window and curled around her wrists, her ankles, cool and gentle. She woke with faint green smears on her sheets, sharp with the scent of mint.

**Day 10**

Julian began leaving her small bundles—tiny bouquets of dark flowers tied with twine, tucked onto her pillow or windowsill.

“For your protection,” he murmured when she found the first.

“From what?” Clara tried to laugh. “The family ghosts?”

He didn’t answer. Just studied her face, too long and too intently.

**Day 14**

Briar House seemed to watch her now. Doors that once stuck eased open at her touch. Her bedroom was always warm, even when the rest of the house felt chilled to the bone.

Sometimes in her mirror, she caught flickers of movement—just behind her shoulder—but when she turned, there was nothing.

When she told Julian, his expression softened into something almost fond. “They’re growing used to you.”

“They?” she echoed.

“The gardens. The house. They’ve been waiting.”

Her stomach twisted. And yet—some shadowed part of her felt oddly flattered.

**Day 18**

She woke in the night. The moon was high, flooding her room in silver. Vines hung through her open window, brushing her cheek.

When she sat up, they pulled back—almost shy.

By morning, her hair smelled faintly of crushed leaves. Her fingertips were stained green.

She didn’t mention it to Julian. Somehow she knew he already understood.

**Day 23**

She found him by the hedge maze. His skin looked too pale, threaded through with dark lines. Tiny white flowers bloomed from where sweat should have beaded.

“It’s nearly time,” he whispered, voice cracked. “They’re hungry. They’ve waited so long.”

Clara tried to laugh, but it splintered in her throat. “Hungry for what? Blood sacrifices?”

Julian’s hollow eyes met hers. “For you.”

**Day 26**

Her phone refused to charge, screen blank no matter what she tried. Once she thought she heard faint voices through the dead speaker—soft, coaxing, calling her name.

She buried it under a stack of sweaters. Stopped trying to reach anyone. What would she even say? That the house seemed to be falling in love with her?

**Day 28**

She woke in the dark. Julian stood at the foot of her bed, knife glinting in one hand, moonlight striping his face.

“Julian… what are you doing?”

He didn’t answer. Just helped her out of bed with gentle hands. Led her barefoot through the silent house, down echoing stairs, out into the gardens.

The maze waited, hedges shivering like they were excited.

He pressed her back against an ancient oak, breath ragged. The knife rose until its tip touched her throat—cold, sharp.

Her heart thundered, but deep inside, something opened, old and strange.

“I trust you,” she said as his knife points to her throat.

Julian’s eyes squeezed shut. A pained sound escaped him. The knife fell from his hand, landing in the moss with a soft thud.

“You shouldn’t,” he whispered, forehead pressed to hers. “I’m not strong enough. Without the offering… they’ll come.”

**Day 29**

She woke curled in the center of the maze, dew soaking her nightgown. When she stood, tiny roots slipped from her ankles. Her legs felt weak—strangely hollow.

Inside the house, she found a letter on the library desk. Her own handwriting, though she didn’t remember writing it. Declaring she’d completed the month. That Briar House now belonged to her.

Something inside the walls seemed to sigh. Pleased.

**Day 30**

Julian waited for her at dawn. His hair tangled with tiny white blooms, his eyes so pale now they seemed empty.

“I tried to warn you,” he breathed. His hands cupped her face, cool and trembling. Tiny filaments slid from his fingertips into her skin. It didn’t hurt—it felt intimate, electric.

“Warn me of what?” Clara whispered. Her breath smelled of mint and moss.

He didn’t answer. Just pressed a kiss to her forehead.

The hedges parted behind him, revealing a narrow path lit by flowers that pulsed like small hearts.

“It’s time,” he said.

Her feet moved before she told them to. Her hand found his. Thin green tendrils wound from his palm into hers, linking them.

Together, they stepped into the maze. The hedges closed behind them with a slow, contented sigh.

**Day 32**

She stopped counting days. Sunlight and shadow spun together in a lazy dance she no longer tried to follow.

She slept on thick moss. When the sun shifted, roots under her body moved too, gently turning her so she was always warmed. Flowers bloomed across her collarbones. When she glimpsed her reflection in a still pool, tiny leaves had sprouted around her eyes, like a living crown.

Julian stayed close. His skin split along old scars, pale blossoms opening there. Sometimes when he touched her, slender vines slipped from his hands into her chest, twining deep inside. Instead of pain, there was a bright, dizzy sweetness.

They didn’t bother with words. The garden’s hush carried every secret and vow.

**Epilogue**

Years later, children dared each other to stand at the gates of Briar House at dusk. They whispered about the woman who wandered the maze, hair a tangle of vines, eyes hollow and softly glowing green.

Some swore they saw a dark-haired gardener standing just inside the hedges, smiling with a mouth full of petals, watching to see who might come too close.

If you were foolish enough to call her name—Clara—the hedges sometimes shivered and parted, as if inviting you in.

And if you stepped past the gate, it would close behind you with a slow, greedy sigh.