"I'm certain there's a spell that could aid me in dividing myself into five to cover more ground, but alas, I find myself still at the basement level of a witch. Can't fault myself for not delving deeper into the world of spells, given my rather limited formal education in the mystical arts," she murmured to herself upon exiting the final room on the first floor.
"Two more floors to go, Lauren. You've got this," she reassured herself, summoning the strength to press on.
Ascending to the second floor, she discovered more than just the five rooms; a pub, a cinema room, a gymnasium, and a mini art gallery awaited her eager exploration.
"Oh, my stars," she sighed, momentarily mesmerized by the tantalizing allure of the mansion's inner sanctum. With unwavering determination, she scoured every nook and cranny of the second floor, her quest for Damien's whereabouts propelling her forward.
It was when she approached the art gallery, swinging the door open with quiet anticipation, that she was met with a breathtaking sight. The walls adorned with paintings, each one exuding an ethereal charm that caught hold of her senses.
Amongst the myriad canvases, one portrait in particular seized her attention—a lifelike depiction of Damien. It was so vivid, so uncannily real that it appeared as though he stood before her, captured in a moment frozen in time. Unconsciously, her finger brushed across his painted visage, a sigh escaping her in a hushed rush of emotion.
Her gaze drifted towards another canvas, shrouded beneath a white cloth. With methodical grace, she peeled back the covering, unprepared for the revelation that awaited her.
There, unveiled in silent splendor, was a portrait of herself, captured in a moment of laughter something or someone that wasnt captured in the painting.. Memory flooded back to her—the day she attended the President's party with her aunt. "How could I have forgotten that day," she mumbled to the whispers of the past.
As if fueled by an abrupt surge of determination and energy, she plunged back into her fervent search, driven by an insatiable need to find him—an urgent realization that she simply couldn't deny. Brushing aside a lone tear that traced a delicate path down her porcelain complexion, she exited the room and ascended toward the mansion's topmost floor.
The first floor, crafted to exude the grandeur of a penthouse, captivated her momentarily with its lavish interior, yet she remained steadfastly focused on her mission. Making a beeline for his private room, she was greeted by a fragrance that enveloped her like an old, familiar embrace of him—the scent of earth after a cleansing rainfall. Inhaling deeply, she ventured inside.
Much like every corner of Damien's dwelling, his room was cloaked in the contrasting duality of black and white. She scoured the walk-in closet, finding it bereft of his presence, and meticulously combed through the bathroom, yet he remained elusive. Retreating to the edge of his bed, she released an exasperated sigh, her plea resonating through the hushed air. "Where are you, Damien," she murmured, her voice threaded with a poignant longing.
Unconsciously, she stretched out on his bed, her gaze drifting to a small photograph resting by his bedside. Turning to peer closer, she couldn't help but chuckle as she discovered it was a miniature frame capturing her. Sitting up, she regarded the photograph with a bittersweet smile, musing over the peculiar tenderness of Damien's gesture.
As she reached for the picture, a faint crack split the silence behind her, causing her to startle. In a mesmerizing twist, a hidden door sprang open within the wall.
Stepping out from the bedside, Lauren made her way towards the yawning darkness that lay before her. Extending her hand to the side of the door, she fumbled for the switch and the alley was bathed in light. To her astonishment, she was confronted with the sight of an ancient lift—the kind that seemed plucked from the annals of a medieval era. Forged from iron and coated with glistening platinum.
Surveying her surroundings cautiously, she gingerly approached the lift, pressing a button set within its aged panel. With a faint, mournful crack, the lift creaked open, beckoning her to step inside. Compelled by a surge of determination, she drew a deep breath and selected the vivid green button, setting the archaic machinery into motion.
In less than five minutes, the lift shuddered to a halt, disgorging her into an underground expanse that left her awe-struck. The cavernous space unfolded before her, revealing a resplendent swimming pool and an inviting bar—a stark contrast to the darkness that had enveloped her moments before.
Immersed in her surroundings, she was suddenly jolted by a thunderous noise, and instinctively, she retrieved her gun, prepared for any unforeseen peril that might lie ahead.
"Damien, is that you?" she called out, her voice echoing through the chamber, but her inquiry was met with another resounding bang. Realizing that someone else lurked within these floors alongside her, she hesitantly switched on the flashlight on her phone and ventured towards the source of the sound.
As she approached, her voice trembled with uncertainty, "Damien?" The noice grew more pronounced with each step, beckoning her toward an as-yet unseen revelation. Finally locating the switch, she flicked it on, nearly recoiling in shock at the grim sight that lay before her.
There he was, confined within a massive cage, his blood adorning the floor "Oh my God, Damien!" she cried out, stowing her weapon as she sprinted towards the enclosure. With her lavender fragrance swirling around him, he stirred, offering a weak mumble, "Lauren," before his head dropped in exhaustion.