The once resplendent house at the edge of town was now a forbidding silhouette, its darkened windows like sightless eyes. It was said to be haunted, the former home of a family torn apart by betrayal and rage.

Here, years ago, a family once lived. The parents, and their twin sons, Sun and Moon. Their days were filled with laughter and warmth until the father left, betraying them for another woman.

The mother, driven to madness by her husband's deceit, took her rage out on Sun and Moon. They bore their mother's wrath, innocent and confused, their home turning into a place of dread.

The night the unthinkable happened was shrouded in a deafening silence. The mother, eyes wild with anger, turned on her children, her sanity finally slipping away.

With a chilling laugh, she took a kitchen knife, slashing aimlessly at Sun and Moon, the twins backed into a corner, their pleas for mercy echoing in the cold house.

The mother's madness, however, drowned out their cries. She continued her assault until the two young ones fell lifeless on the floor, their blood pooling around them in a horrifying display.

Her frenzied rage subsiding, she fled leaving behind the grisly scene. The once vibrant home was now a chilling tomb, echoing with the silent cries of the innocent.

When she returned, the macabre spectacle awaited her. The ghostly figures of Sun and Moon roamed the rooms, their eye sockets empty pits of darkness, bearing witness to their gruesome end.

They tormented her, their phantom laughter echoing through the halls. The sight of her children, whom she had cruelly murdered, pushed her to the brink of sanity.

One morning, she was found dead, her eyes wide open in terror. The house, once a home, was abandoned, left for the ghostly twins to inhabit.

Now, we sink into the depths of our eternal night. We, Sun and Moon, were once vibrant, full of life, but fate has left us as mere echoes in our derelict home.

We wander aimlessly through the countless rooms, our feet leaving no marks on the dusty floors. The once warm and cosy rooms are now cold, filled only with our spectral presence.

Our laughter, once vibrant, is hushed now, just a haunting echo that sends shivers down the spine of any brave enough to approach the house. Yet, we still play, if only to pass the endless time.

Our mother is gone now, and we're alone. We remain, trapped in this purgatorial existence, bound to the house where our lives were so cruelly ended.

We've watched seasons change from behind the grimy windows, the only testament to the passage of time. The house is our dungeon, and time, our torturer.

We miss the warmth of the sun on our skin, the wind ruffling our hair. We yearn for the taste of our mother's cooking, the sound of our father's laughter, but they are naught but echoes of a past life.

Instead, our existence was replaced by a hollow, desolate world of dust and echoes, where our laughter sounds like cries, and the darkness is our only companion.

Our once lively eyes have been exchanged for dark pits, reminding us of our gruesome death, keeping the pain fresh and alive, even in death.

Our faces, once identical mirrors of joy and mischief, are now dreadful masks of terror. Only in the dead of night does our true appearance reveal itself, the spectral twins eternally bound to this house.

We are no longer the innocent children. We are the haunting specters of Sun and Moon, the twins who were betrayed and murdered by their own mother in a wave of madness.

In death, we found fulfillment in tormenting our mother, giving her a taste of the fear she had inflicted on us. But with her gone, we are left with an emptiness that even revenge couldn't fill.

There are days when we wish we could let go of this house, this town, and fly away into the starry night, follow the moon, chase the sun, but we're shackled to this house.

There's no escape, no salvation for us. We're trapped in an endless cycle of haunting, reliving our last moments and our mother's betrayal, forever cursed to roam this house.

As the years pass, we've become part of the house, inseparable, as if we were always meant to be here, eternally trapped, a solemn reminder of a tragedy long past.

We no longer yearn for freedom or salvation, we've accepted our fate, embraced our existence as spirits. We are Sun and Moon, the ghostly twins, forever bound to the haunted house.

We've learned to find solace in each other's spectral presence, to comfort one another amidst the cold and the darkness. After all, we're all each other has, forever and always.

This is our existence now, haunting our old home, our laughter echoing in the cold, empty halls, our spectral figures dancing in the moonlight, forever reminding the town of our tragic tale.

Our story remains etched in the whispers of the wind and is echoed by the rustling leaves. We are the ghostly tales of Sun and Moon, the haunting legends of the old, abandoned house.

We've become a part of the town folklore, a sobering tale of love, betrayal, and revenge. We are the testament to a tragedy that befell this quiet town many years ago.

As the sun sets and the moon rises, we continue our haunting dance, forever bound to our spectral existence. We are the lingering souls, the eternal echoes in our old, abandoned home.

While the world moves on, we remain, eternally 12, reliving our past, bound to the house that was once our home. We are Sun and Moon, the haunting spirits of the old, abandoned house.