haunted.

The next morning, Virat woke up feeling an overwhelming sense of depression and insignificance. The weight of the argument with Rohit, coupled with the eerie tales from the previous day, seemed to crush his spirit. He moved through his morning routine in a daze, feeling more vulnerable and lost with each passing moment.

As he stood at the sink, washing the breakfast dishes, the power suddenly went out, plunging the kitchen into darkness. His heart pounded in his chest, the silence of the mansion amplifying his fear. He knew he had to check the generator in the attic, despite his growing dread.

Grabbing a flashlight, Virat made his way up the creaky stairs to the attic. Each step felt like a journey into the unknown, his anxiety building with every sound. When he reached the attic, he flicked on the flashlight, its beam cutting through the darkness.

The attic was filled with old furniture and forgotten memories, casting eerie shadows that danced on the walls. As Virat approached the generator, he suddenly saw a figure standing in the corner of the room. It was the ghost from his nightmares, the spirit of Edmund Hawthorne.

Virat's breath caught in his throat as the ghost slowly moved towards him. He tried to back away, but his legs felt like lead. The spirit's cold presence washed over him, and in that moment of vulnerability, Edmund Hawthorne's spirit found its way into Virat's body.

Virat let out a blood-curdling scream as the spirit took hold. His body convulsed, and his eyes glazed over, filled with a darkness that wasn't his own. The room spun around him, and he collapsed to the floor, no longer in control of his own body.

Miles away, in another city, Rohit sat in a café, staring at his phone. He missed Virat terribly and regretted the harsh words he had said during their argument. The realization of how much he loved and needed Virat weighed heavily on his mind. He decided to buy flowers and make amends, hoping to surprise his husband with an apology.

Rohit picked out a beautiful bouquet, imagining the smile it would bring to Virat's face. He couldn't wait to see him again, to hold him and tell him how sorry he was. Little did he know that his 23-year-old husband was now in the grasp of a demon, trapped in a nightmare that would soon change both of their lives forever.

Virat lay on the attic floor, his body trembling. He felt an icy chill seep into his bones as Edmund's spirit began to take control. His eyes, once filled with warmth and love, now glinted with a sinister light.

"Welcome, Virat," a voice echoed in his mind, cold and malevolent. "You are now mine."

"No," Virat whispered, his voice barely audible. "I don't want this."

"But you are weak," Edmund's voice taunted. "And the weak are always mine to control."

Virat struggled to fight back, but his body felt heavy, as if he was being weighed down by an unseen force. His mind clouded with dark thoughts, memories of fear and pain.

"Rohit," he managed to gasp, thinking of his husband. "I need you."

"Your precious Rohit cannot save you now," Edmund sneered. "You belong to me."

Rohit sat in his hotel room, staring at the bouquet of flowers he had bought for Virat. He missed his husband desperately, the ache in his heart growing with each passing moment. He replayed their last argument in his mind, regretting every harsh word he had said.

"I was so stupid," Rohit muttered to himself. "I just want to hold him and tell him I'm sorry."

As he looked out the window, he thought about surprising Virat with the flowers. Maybe it would help mend the rift between them. He couldn't wait to see the look on Virat's face, to feel his arms around him again.