Two days had crawled by since Aurelia's desperate act. The memory of the dagger plunging into the King's flesh was a constant, unwelcome guest in her mind. Yet, the silence that followed was even more unsettling. Not a word of her transgression had escaped her lips, she couldn't tell anyone, not even to Betsy.
Betsy's worried glances and whispered questions her silence and spacing out gnawed at Aurelia. But Agnes had dismissed them with gruff pronouncements, leaving Aurelia to navigate the suffocating silence alone.
Her hand instinctively rose to her neck, massaging a phantom ache. Her head, surprisingly, remained firmly attached. A chilling reminder of the impossible – she'd defied stabbed the king , she'd killed him, and yet, here she was, a walking paradox within the castle walls.
The silence stretched on, broken only by the soft pad of her bare feet against the polished marble floor. She wandered the halls of the upper floor, the opulent surroundings offering no solace. The heavy drapes cast long shadows, mocking her with the ever-present darkness that seemed to cling to her secret.
Aurelia pressed on, curiosity tugging at her like a persistent child. She ventured further into the upper floor, a secluded wing rarely traversed. Here, the air hung heavy with neglect, the scent of dust motes dancing in a forgotten sunbeam. The once vibrant tapestries were shrouded in faded white covers, their vibrant scenes obscured by the passage of time. Even the polished marble floor gave way to worn, intricately patterned rugs that whispered of an era long gone.
The silence in this forgotten wing was deeper, more profound than the one that stalked the rest of the castle. It felt like a secret itself, a weight pressing down on Aurelia's chest. She moved cautiously, each footfall echoing hollowly in the vast emptiness. Every creak of the aged floorboards sent shivers down her spine.
Uncertainty gnawed at her. Unlike the grand, now recognizable wing her room was, she had no map for navigating this forgotten corner of the castle. A wrong turn could lead her someplace she shouldn't be.
Suddenly, she stopped. In front of her stood a door, a stark contrast to the polished mahogany doors lining the rest of the hallway. This one was sturdy oak, weathered by time. Its surface was rough, etched with faded carvings that hinted at stories long forgotten. An air of mystery emanated from it, whispering promises of hidden knowledge and forgotten treasures.
Aurelia hesitated, her hand hovering over the ornately wrought iron handle. A part of her, the cautious, practical part, urged her to turn back. This wasn't why she had ventured out. She shouldn't be here, exploring forgotten corners when her own secret threatened to consume her.
Aurelia peeked through the crack in the door, a sliver of dim light revealing a room shrouded in shadow. Curiosity, as sharp as a shard of ice, pierced through her fear. Here, within these castle walls, secrets whispered through the halls in the dead of night. She couldn't shake the memory of a bloodcurdling scream echoed in the castle. A trail of crimson staining the opulent carpet had led up the grand stairs.
With a deep breath, Aurelia pushed the door further open, the rusty hinges groaning in protest. A sliver of light crept in, revealing a room untouched by time. Cobwebs, like ghostly tapestries, hung from the high ceiling, catching the stray light in an eerie dance. Dust motes swirled in the disturbed air, illuminated by the sliver of light like a celestial ballet. The air hung heavy with the musky scent of disuse and decay.
Aurelia hesitated, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The darkness within was a living entity, its depths unknown. Perhaps it held answers, whispers of a past that might illuminate the present turmoil within the castle walls. Or perhaps, it held only shadows, waiting to devour her curiosity whole.
Ignoring the voice of caution, Aurelia inched forward, each step echoing in the vast emptiness. The floor beneath her crunched with forgotten debris, sending shivers down her spine. Her eyes, slowly adjusting to the dimness, scanned the room. Furniture, shrouded in faded white sheets, stood like spectral figures against the dusty walls.
On the far wall, a lone picture frame hung, a stark contrast to the bare expanse. Aurelia, drawn by an unseen force, tiptoed towards it. The closer she got, the more the weight of accumulated dust became apparent. Motes danced in the air, swirling around her like angry spirits disturbed from their slumber.
Reaching out, she gingerly touched the edge of the frame. The aged fabric of the cover snagged on her fingernail, ripping a small tear. A sudden sneeze, a violent expulsion of air, erupted from her as dust motes swarmed into her nose. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision momentarily.
Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, Aurelia squinted at the frame.
Aurelia ripped away the faded cloth, a gasp escaping her lips as the portrait bathed in the sliver of light. A woman stared back at her, a face both hauntingly beautiful and strangely familiar. Her hair, the color of light honey brown, cascaded down her shoulders in elegant waves. Her eyes, a shade of ethereal brown that seemed to shimmer in the dimness, held an unsettling depth. A smile graced her lips, but it was a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. It was a smile painted with secrets, a smile that hinted at a hidden sorrow.
The artist had captured a paradox – a woman undeniably beautiful, yet with a shadow of something darker lurking beneath the surface. Aurelia felt an unexplainable connection to the woman in the painting, a sense of recognition that sent a shiver down her spine.
Time seemed to melt away as Aurelia stood transfixed, her gaze locked on the portrait. Who was this woman? Was she a forgotten queen- she didn't recall any rumours of a queen, a past love of the King's? The opulent clothing and the regal air she carried suggested a woman of high stature. Perhaps a family member, whose memory had been relegated to this dusty corner of the castle?
Aurelia's fingers, trembling slightly, reached out to touch the cool surface of the frame. The years of neglect were evident – a layer of dust obscured the intricate details of the ornate carving. Driven by a strange compulsion, she began to gently wipe away the dust, her touch feather-light. As the grime lifted, the woman in the painting seemed to come alive. The hint of sadness in her brown eyes deepened, the secrets they held seeming to beckon Aurelia closer.
Whirling around, she snatched another white cloth hanging from a nearby frame and ripped it away with a frantic motion. This time, the image that greeted her wasn't a portrait but a chaotic mess of a painting. Streaks of black, like inky tentacles, writhed across the canvas, surrounding a central core of impenetrable darkness. Creatures, formless and vaguely horrifying, seemed to writhe within the darkness, their existence hinted at but never fully revealed.
Her breath hitched in her throat. This wasn't a portrait, it wasn't a record of the past. This was something else entirely, something unsettling and alien. A feeling of dread, thicker than the dust, settled in the pit of her stomach.
Driven by a morbid curiosity, Aurelia moved on to the next covered frame, her fingers trembling as she pulled away the white sheet. Another splash of black and inky creatures, another vortex of impenetrable darkness. She repeated the action with each subsequent frame, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Every single picture revealed the same scene, a scene that seemed to depict a place of unimaginable darkness and horror.
"What are you doing here?"