Chapter 2
1865words
In this ancient manor, every corner hid secrets. By day, sunlight streamed through stained glass, painting everything in majestic beauty. But at night, when candles cast dancing shadows on the walls, the building seemed to awaken, breathing with malevolent purpose.
I began noticing patterns in the servants' behavior. They moved in groups, never alone—even in daylight. At any mention of the East Wing, voices dropped to whispers and eyes darted away. Once, I overheard two elderly servants: "It's been fifty years, and that door still hasn't been opened." The other hissed: "Hush! We don't speak of such things."
Mrs. West deliberately assigned me tasks far from the East Wing. I cleaned guest rooms and helped in the kitchen, but never near that forbidden corridor. If I even glanced in that direction, someone would invariably clear their throat—a warning to look away.
On my fourth afternoon, while making a bed in a second-floor guest room, I heard footsteps in the corridor—not the soft steps of servants, but something more deliberate and commanding. I peered through the door crack and froze at what I saw.
A tall woman glided down the corridor in a deep blue silk gown, its hem whispering against the floor. Her golden hair gleamed in the afternoon light, coiled in an elaborate bun. Even from behind, she radiated an unnatural elegance and authority.
This must be Princess Victoria.
I'd never seen nobility up close before. Her every movement displayed practiced grace, as if the very air bent to accommodate her. But when she turned, her profile briefly caught in sunlight, an inexplicable chill ran through me. Her skin was unnaturally pale—almost transparent—and her eyes... even in that fleeting glimpse, they shimmered with something inhuman.
Only after she vanished did I realize I'd been holding my breath. My hands trembled, my heart hammering against my ribs. Why would merely seeing her fill me with such dread? She was beautiful, elegant...
But fear doesn't lie. Every instinct screamed a warning: stay away from that woman.
That evening in the servants' dining hall, I met Martha—a plump, kind-hearted woman who'd managed the linens for fifteen years. When I carefully asked about the princess, her expression instantly darkened.
"Child," she whispered, leaning close, "best not to ask questions about our masters. That's the rule."
"But..." I hesitated, "the princess looks so young. I thought royalty would normally—"
Martha glanced around nervously, then leaned closer. "Princess Victoria has always been young. Since my first day here fifteen years ago, she hasn't aged a day. Not one bit."
My stomach twisted. "That's impossible..."
"In this house, many impossible things happen daily." Fear flickered in Martha's eyes. "Don't dig too deep, Emily. Curiosity is a luxury we servants can't afford."
That night, sleep eluded me again. Martha's words echoed in my mind. How could someone not age for fifteen years? It defied reason—but in this place, reason seemed the flimsiest of guides.
The midnight bell tolled, and I curled up tightly, clutching my mother's prayer book. But tonight brought no footsteps—instead, music drifted through the darkness.
It was unlike anything I'd ever heard—deep and melancholic, as if played from another world. The melody carried a hypnotic quality that pulled at something deep inside me. I knew I should stay put, heed Mrs. West's warning, but the music tugged at my soul like an invisible thread.
Before I realized it, I stood barefoot at my door. My hand trembled on the knob as reason screamed warnings, but curiosity proved stronger. I needed to find that music's source, to understand what secrets lurked within these walls.
The door opened without a sound.
The hallway stretched dim and cold before me, a few dying candles barely piercing the darkness. The music grew clearer—coming from upstairs, from somewhere I'd never been. I knew this was dangerous, yet my feet carried me forward against my better judgment.
I climbed the stairs slowly, each step bringing the music into sharper focus. An antique piano, played by masterful hands—a piece I didn't recognize yet somehow knew. The melody carried such profound sorrow and longing, as if the player poured ancient grief into each note.
The third-floor corridor was darker still. The decorations grew more elaborate and unsettling. Oil paintings lined the walls, their subjects seeming to track my movement in the flickering light. I avoided looking at them, focusing instead on finding the music's source.
The music led me to a room at the corridor's end, faint light spilling from beneath the door. I crept closer, fear and curiosity waging war inside me. As I reached the door, the music abruptly ceased.
The silence terrified me more than the music had. I stood frozen, hearing only my thundering heartbeat. Then, a gentle female voice spoke from within:
"I know you're there, child. Come in."
The voice was beautiful beyond measure, yet the power behind it made my knees buckle. I knew I should flee, return to my room and forget everything, but that voice held me like a spell.
The door swung open of its own accord.
A luxurious sitting room spread before me, more exquisite than anything I'd ever seen. Crystal chandeliers cast soft light over antique furniture that gleamed with subdued elegance. In one corner stood a massive black piano, its lid open, keys gleaming like fresh-fallen snow.
And at the piano sat Princess Victoria.
Even in dim light, her beauty was breathtaking. She turned to me with an elegant, mysterious smile. Her eyes caught the lamplight strangely—reflecting it back like a predator's in darkness.
"Don't be afraid," she said, her voice smooth as silk. "I'm only playing music. Did you enjoy it?"
I tried to speak, but my throat constricted. I managed only a nod, though I wasn't sure I'd enjoyed that haunting melody at all.
The princess rose with dancer's grace and glided toward me. Each step heightened my awareness of her otherworldliness. Up close, her skin was indeed nearly transparent, as if sunlight had never touched it. Her lips were unnaturally red against her pallor.
"You're the new maid," she stated rather than asked. "Emily Snow. From Yorkshire."
I startled at her knowledge of my background. "Yes, Your Highness."
Her smile deepened, revealing nothing. "You're curious, aren't you? About this house, about the rules, about... me."
I didn't know how to respond. Truth might be dangerous, but lying seemed impossible before her penetrating gaze.
"Curiosity is human nature," she continued, as if reading my thoughts. "But here, curiosity leads to... unexpected consequences. Didn't your Mrs. West tell you this?"
"She did, Your Highness."
"Yet here you stand." Something like admiration flashed in her eyes. "Brave or foolish? Here, they're often the same thing."
She drifted to the window, gazing at the moonlit courtyard. The silver light made her appear even paler, even more beautiful. But beneath that beauty lurked something ancient and predatory.
"Do you want to know the truth, Emily?" she asked suddenly, still facing the window.
My heart nearly stopped. Was this a trap? An opportunity? I remembered Mrs. West's warnings, Betty's disappearance, all the strange occurrences. But I also felt that burning need for answers.
"I... I don't know, Your Highness."
She laughed—a sound like silver bells that somehow chilled my blood. "An honest answer. Most claim to want truth, but when confronted with it, they regret their curiosity."
She turned to face me. In the moonlight, her eyes glowed with an inner light—like some deep-sea creature's lure, beautiful and deadly.
"Return to your room, child," she commanded, her voice carrying irresistible authority. "Forget tonight. Do your work, follow the rules. Perhaps, if you're careful enough—lucky enough—you might survive here."
I wanted to ask more—about her identity, about Betty's fate—but under her gaze, I could only nod. My body began retreating of its own accord, as if pushed by invisible hands.
"Remember," she called as I reached the doorway, "some doors, once opened, can never be closed. Some knowledge, once gained, cannot be forgotten. You're young—you still have choices. Choose wisely."
I stumbled from the room and fled down the stairs, heart racing, legs barely supporting me. Only when I'd locked myself in my room did I realize I was drenched in sweat.
I collapsed onto my bed, trying to process what had happened. Her words echoed in my mind: "Some doors, once opened, can never be closed again." Was it warning or threat? Why tell me this at all?
And what of her otherworldly presence? Those predatory eyes, that soul-piercing gaze, her impossible knowledge of me—all pointed to one disturbing conclusion.
Princess Victoria was not human.
But if not human, then what was she?
I clutched my prayer book, seeking comfort, but the familiar words now seemed hollow and powerless. In this place, facing something beyond comprehension, human faith felt pitifully small.
Dawn finally brought exhausted sleep. But even in dreams, that mournful piano played on, and the princess's eyes glowed in the darkness.
Next morning, Mrs. West immediately noticed my condition.
"You look exhausted, Miss Snow," she said, concern flashing in her eyes. "Trouble sleeping?"
I hesitated, unsure whether to mention my nocturnal adventure. But remembering the princess's words—forget what happened—perhaps silence was wisest.
"Just adjusting to the new bed, Mrs. West," I lied.
She studied me carefully, as if reading between the lines. Then she nodded. "It takes time to adjust. But remember, proper sleep is essential for survival here. Exhaustion leads to foolish decisions."
Something in her tone suggested she knew more than she said. But I dared not ask.
In the days that followed, I tried returning to routine. I focused on work, stayed in my room at night, and suppressed my curiosity about the manor's secrets. But the princess's words and those glowing eyes haunted me constantly.
I began noticing details I'd overlooked before. Princess Victoria never appeared in public during daylight. Servants spoke of her with a mixture of reverence and terror. And there seemed an unwritten rule—no one moved alone during hours when the princess might appear.
More disturbing still, Captain Harrison's investigation had stalled. He grew increasingly agitated, pacing the halls with frustration burning in his eyes. Once, I overheard him speaking to another guard, his voice thick with despair:
"They vanished into thin air. No witnesses, no trail. This isn't normal—this is goddamn impossible."
I realized Betty's disappearance wasn't unique. Other young maids had vanished in recent months. And now, Captain Harrison was dangerously close to uncovering the truth.
That night, when the sorrowful piano began again, I stayed put. I buried my head under my pillow, trying to block the alluring melody. But the music penetrated everything, reaching directly into my soul.
I realized this wasn't merely music but a summons. Princess Victoria was calling to something—or hunting for someone.
And I, a curious young maid, might well be her prey.
