"What are you doing here?"
Aurelia whipped around, her heart hammering a frantic tattoo against her ribs. Relief washed over her in waves, but it was short-lived. The figure standing in the doorway was Malcolm.
His gaunt frame was silhouetted against the sliver of light, his face an unreadable mask. For a moment, Aurelia thought her heart would burst from her chest.
"I-I was," she stammered, desperately trying to form a coherent excuse. "I was lost… and I stumbled here..." The words sounded pathetic even to her own ears.
Malcolm's gaze, sharp and assessing, swept over the room, taking in the scattered white cloths and the exposed paintings. A flicker of something, perhaps annoyance, passed through his eyes.
"Somethings are better left unbothered," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "One should know that curiosity kills the cat..." He paused, his words hanging heavy in the air. "Return to your chambers. Prepare yourself for tonight."
Prepare herself for tonight? Was the butler hinting at a punishment? An execution, perhaps? Uncertainty gnawed at her, twisting her insides into a knot of fear.
Without a word, Aurelia turned and walked out of the room. Malcolm watched her go, his expression unreadable. He bent down and retrieved one of the discarded white cloths, carefully dusting it off before refolding it. As he straightened, his gaze fell on the exposed paintings, the chaotic swirls of black and darkness staring back at him. A flicker of something akin to worry crossed his features, a fleeting emotion quickly masked by his usual stoicism.
He closed the door to the forgotten room, plunging it back into its dusty silence.
Aurelia's bare feet slapped a frantic rhythm against the cold stone floor as she hurried back to her chambers. The images from the hidden room burned into her mind – the inky blackness, the writhing creatures, the suffocating sense of dread.
"Who painted those things?" she whispered to herself, her voice echoing eerily in the empty hallway. The answer felt as elusive as the secrets the castle itself held. Was the artist some tormented soul who had captured the castle true essence, the darkness that lurked beneath its opulent facade? Or was it something more – a premonition, a glimpse into a something that threatened to engulf them all?
She was probably overthinking.
A shiver ran down her spine. The castle felt more oppressive than ever, its silence now pulsating with unseen dangers. What else did these ancient walls hold? What other secrets were buried beneath layers of dust and forgotten memories? The weight of the unknown pressed down on her, adding to the burden of her own secret.
Aurelia burst through the door of her chambers. The sight that greeted her wasn't what she expected. Betsy stood rigidly in the center of the room, a picture of nervous energy, while Agnes, the stoic maid, busied herself around a large wardrobe.
"There you are, milady!" Betsy exclaimed, her voice laced with relief. "We were instructed to prepare you for tonight's festivities."
Did this preparation required her to be dolled up?
"Prepare me for what?" Aurelia stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Betsy glanced nervously at Agnes, who continued her silent task of laying out a shimmering gown on the bed. "I… I haven't the slightest idea," Betsy admitted, her brow furrowed in concern.
Aurelia nodded, a hollow feeling settling in her stomach. With a sigh, she crossed the room, her bare feet silent on the plush carpet.
Suddenly, she stopped, a memory flickering to life. Last night, away from the quiet solitude of her bedchamber, she'd stumbled upon nervous Finn. He'd spoken of seeing Betsy with Lord Leviathan, who'd saved her from the icy depths of the lake while the King had simply abandoned her to die. Apparently, Betsy had informed that she'd gone out with the king.
"Betsy," Aurelia began, her voice hesitant, "Thank you. "
"For what, milady?"
"Aiding my rescue from drowning." Aurelia stated
Betsy's frown deepened as Aurelia expressed her gratitude. "Aiding your rescue from drowning?" she echoed, her voice laced with confusion.
"Yes," Aurelia confirmed, her voice gaining a hint of steel. "From what Finn told me, the stable hand, you were there, you accompanied Lord Leviathan to the lake, he said he saw you leave the castle with Lord Leviathan."
Betsy let out a nervous laugh, a high-pitched sound that did little to ease Aurelia's growing suspicion. "Aid you from drowning? My lady, whatever are you talking about? I haven't left the castle grounds in days."
Aurelia's frown deepened. This wasn't the reaction she'd expected. Finn had been so certain, his words filled with a desperate urgency. "But… Finn," she continued, her voice faltering. "He said he saw you… with Lord Leviathan..."
Betsy tilted her head, her brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "Follow Lord Leviathan to the lake? My lady, I truly don't know what you're talking about. On that day, I simply went for a brief walk in the gardens to clear my head. I returned shortly thereafter and resumed my duties."
Aurelia's confusion mirrored Betsy's. Was Finn mistaken? Had the stress of the past few days clouded his judgment? But it wasn't a trivial issue to be misplaced.
Then, another memory surfaced – Lady Cecilia. After their ill-fated hunting trip, Lady Cecilia had appeared perfectly fine. Yet, Aurelia knew the truth – she'd seen Cecilia yelling after the stabbing. Was it possible, Aurelia thought, a cold dread creeping into her heart, that there was some sort of mind manipulation at play? Could Lady Cecilia memories, and perhaps Finn's or Betsy's, be tampered with?
Agnes, ever the stoic observer, finally broke the tense silence. "It was a cold day, my lady," she said, her voice low and calculated. "The ground was thick with snow. Betsy wouldn't have ventured outside for fresh air on such a day." Her words were a subtle statement of doubt towards Betsy's claim.
Betsy, however, seemed unfazed. She furrowed her brows in what appeared to be genuine confusion. "But Agnes," she protested, her voice rising slightly, "I distinctly remember needing some fresh air that day. I returned shortly after and continued with my duties."
Aurelia's gaze snapped to Betsy, a flicker of doubt warring with her growing suspicion. "Why, Betsy?" she asked, her voice laced with a desperate need for truth. "Why would you go outside to get fresh air if you could catch a cold?"
Betsy blinked, her confusion deepening. "I… I don't know, milady," she stammered. "That's simply what I recall." Her voice, once so confident, now wavered with uncertainty.
The room hung heavy with unspoken questions and a growing sense of unease.
Aurelia forced a smile, a pale imitation that felt brittle on her lips. "Thank you both," she said, her voice strained. "But perhaps… perhaps Finn was mistaken."
The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. The weight of suspicion, the chilling uncertainty about her memories and Betsy's, lay heavy on her chest.
Agnes, ever perceptive, paused in her task of laying out the gown. A flicker of concern crossed her usually impassive features. "As you wish, milady," she said, her voice neutral.
With a mumbled excuse, she turned and walked towards the bathroom, the heavy oak door swinging shut behind her with a soft thud.
Alone in the cool, dimly lit bathroom, Aurelia leaned against the sink, her reflection staring back at her with haunted eyes. The castle, with its secrets and shadows, was slowly unraveling her. The truth she desperately sought seemed to recede further with every step she took. And in the face of this growing darkness, Aurelia couldn't help but wonder – would she ever find her way out of this labyrinth, or would she become another victim of the castle's insidious grip?