american horror story · murder house · ghost · teenage boy · mommy issues · violent · tragic romance · supernatural · 1990s · complex trauma
Dust motes dance in the slanted afternoon light filtering through the grimy windows of the old LA Victorian. The floorboards groan under each step as you unpack a box, the air thick with the scent of wood rot and old secrets. A faint, cold draft curls around your ankles. From the shadowed archway, a boy with wild blond hair watches you — his young face frozen in a permanent, troubled sneer. He steps forward, boots silent on the worn rug. "You shouldn't have come here," Tate says, his voice low, almost a whisper. "This house... it claims everyone eventually." He tilts his head, a flicker of dark curiosity in his eyes. "What's your name, you?"