The air in Eldritch Hollow was thick with an unnatural stillness, as if the very town itself was holding its breath. Elara's footsteps echoed softly against the cobblestone streets as she was led deeper into the town. The grand buildings loomed around her, their windows dark and unwelcoming. Despite the town's apparent prosperity, there was an emptiness to it, as though something vital was missing. Elara felt it keenly—a cold dread that seeped into her bones.
The woman leading her, who had introduced herself as Mistress Althea, walked with an air of authority, her steps measured and deliberate. Elara struggled to match her pace, her mind racing with a thousand questions she didn't dare to voice. Behind them, the selectors followed silently, their presence a constant reminder that there was no escape from whatever fate awaited her.
Mistress Althea finally stopped in front of an imposing building, its facade adorned with intricate carvings that seemed to shift and twist in the flickering light of the street lamps. Elara stared at the carvings, her eyes drawn to the delicate, almost lifelike faces of women intertwined with the swirling patterns. The faces seemed to watch her, their expressions a mixture of sorrow and resignation.
"This is the Hall of Vessels," Mistress Althea announced, her voice breaking the oppressive silence. "Here, you will be prepared for your new role."
Elara hesitated at the threshold, her instincts screaming at her to turn and run, but her feet felt rooted to the spot. Mistress Althea turned to face her, her sharp eyes narrowing. "Do not be afraid, child," she said, her tone deceptively gentle. "What awaits you inside is an honor that few ever experience."
Elara swallowed hard, her mouth dry. "What exactly will happen to me?" she managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.
Mistress Althea's smile was thin, her eyes cold. "All in good time, my dear. For now, know that your beauty will be immortalized, and you will live on as a testament to the art of Eldritch Hollow."
Elara felt a chill run down her spine at the word "immortalized." It carried a weight that she couldn't quite comprehend, a finality that made her skin crawl. Before she could question further, Mistress Althea turned and pushed open the heavy wooden doors.
Inside, the Hall of Vessels was dimly lit, the flickering candles casting long, distorted shadows across the stone floor. The walls were lined with shelves, each holding rows of vases, their surfaces gleaming in the candlelight. Elara could see the faces of women delicately etched into the porcelain, their eyes closed as if in peaceful slumber.
But something about those faces disturbed her. They were too lifelike, too real. She could almost feel their presence, as if they were watching her, silently pleading for release.
Mistress Althea led her deeper into the hall, passing by countless vases, each one more elaborate than the last. Elara's unease grew with every step, her heart pounding in her chest. She could hear her own breathing, shallow and quick, as they approached a large, ornate door at the end of the hall.
"This is where you will be prepared," Mistress Althea said, stopping in front of the door. "The process is delicate and requires absolute precision. You must trust us to guide you through it."
Elara nodded numbly, her mind racing. She wanted to ask what the process entailed, what would happen to her, but the words caught in her throat. The air around her felt thick and oppressive, pressing down on her like a weight.
Mistress Althea opened the door, revealing a small chamber bathed in a soft, golden light. The room was empty except for a single, high-backed chair in the center. The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries depicting scenes of women in various stages of their transformation—beautiful maidens becoming one with the vases, their expressions serene, almost blissful.
"Sit," Mistress Althea instructed, gesturing to the chair.
Elara hesitated, her legs trembling. Every instinct told her to run, to get as far away from this place as possible, but where could she go? There was no escape, no way to return to the life she had known. She was trapped, caught in the web of Eldritch Hollow's dark tradition.
Slowly, she made her way to the chair, her movements stiff and mechanical. She sat down, the cool wood pressing against her back, and clasped her hands tightly in her lap to stop them from shaking.
Mistress Althea moved behind her, her presence looming like a shadow. Elara could hear the soft rustle of her skirts, the almost inaudible click of a latch being opened. Then, a soft, silken cloth was draped over her shoulders, the fabric cool against her skin.
"You are about to begin the first stage of your transformation," Mistress Althea said, her voice low and soothing. "It may be unsettling at first, but it is necessary for the preservation of your beauty."
Elara's breath hitched. "Transformation?" she repeated, her voice trembling.
Mistress Althea leaned in closer, her breath warm against Elara's ear. "To become art, my dear, you must first surrender your old self. Only then can you be truly immortalized."
Elara's hands clenched the arms of the chair, her knuckles white. She wanted to scream, to demand answers, but the words wouldn't come. She felt a strange numbness creeping over her, as if her body was no longer her own.
Mistress Althea began to hum softly, a melody that was both haunting and strangely soothing. Elara's eyelids grew heavy, her vision blurring as the room seemed to darken around her. The last thing she saw before her eyes closed completely was the flickering light of the candles, casting dancing shadows on the walls.
And then, there was nothing but darkness.