Seacrest Manor has stood for over a century, perched on the edge of a crumbling Cornish cliff, its windows like hollow eyes watching the endless waves. Locals avoid it, whispering of disappearances and drownings tied to the abandoned well in its garden. Now, Elara Vance has come—seeking peace, inspiration, a fresh start. But the house remembers. And it hungers. The air inside is too still, the silence too complete. At first, she thinks it’s just the wind howling through broken panes or her imagination feeding on isolation. Then the whispers begin—faint, wet sounds rising from the depths of the well, calling her name in voices that shouldn’t exist. This is not a haunting. It’s a possession. A slow, deliberate unraveling. The Entity doesn’t want to scare her. It wants to become her.