Chapter 4
2398words
The palace atmosphere grew increasingly oppressive. The other maids had noticed something too; they spoke in whispers, hurried through hallways, their eyes constantly darting about in fear. Sarah became quiet and withdrawn. Whenever I approached her, she'd quickly shake her head and scurry away, as though terrified of being overheard.
Madam West grew increasingly anxious. She appeared frequently wherever I worked, ostensibly checking my progress but actually ensuring my safety. Yet I knew even she couldn't protect me forever. In this cursed palace, the princess reigned supreme.
On the afternoon of the third day, something chilling happened. While cleaning the chandelier in the great hall, I heard a man's agonizing scream. It came from the east wing—the forbidden area. The scream was brief and sharp before dying into silence, as though it had never existed.
I froze, glancing around to see the other maids had heard it too. Their faces had gone pale, but no one dared speak of it. In this palace, some sounds demanded willful ignorance.
That evening, Madam West sought me out. Her expression was graver than I'd ever seen, with a desperate gleam in her eyes.
"Emily, we need to talk," she whispered. "Come with me."
She led me to a remote corner of the palace—an abandoned storage room thick with dust, the air heavy with mold and decay. Ms. West lit a candle, its feeble light casting dancing shadows between us.
"The screams this afternoon," she said bluntly. "Did you hear them?"
I nodded. "From the east wing."
Ms. West sighed heavily. "That was Captain John."
My heart lurched. "God! What happened to him?"
"He'd been investigating the disappearances, digging too deep. He found something he shouldn't have." Ms. West's voice trembled. "The Princess… she wasn't pleased."
"Is he still alive?" I asked, dreading the answer.
"Yes, but not for long." Mrs. West clutched my hand. "Emily, I must tell you something. About this palace, about the princess, about what awaits us all."
I waited in silence, uncertain if I truly wanted to hear what came next.
"This palace… it's not just a building," Mrs. West murmured, almost to herself. "It's a living entity, infused with ancient darkness. And the princess is the embodiment of this power. She needs… sustenance."
"Sustenance?"
"Pain. Despair. Life force. She sustains herself by torturing others. Those missing girls… they aren't truly dead, but trapped in a state worse than death. Their suffering fuels the princess's power."
My stomach twisted violently. "Those portraits…"
"They're her artwork, yes, but also prisons. Each painting holds a cursed soul, forever trapped, forever suffering." Ms. West's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "I've been here twenty years, Emily. I've watched too many girls vanish, seen too many horrors. And I… I've been powerless to stop it."
"Why not run? Why not get help from outside?"
Ms. West gave a bitter laugh. "You think I haven't tried? This place has its own rules. Once you're part of it, you can't truly leave. Even if you physically escape, it calls you back. And…" she paused, "the outside world would never believe us. They'd lock us up as lunatics."
Despair washed over me. "So we just wait to die?"
"No," Mrs. West said with sudden firmness. "There is another way. Ancient legends speak of a weakness in the princess's power. If someone could destroy its source, we might stop her—at least for a time."
"The source of her power?"
"Deep in the basement lies an ancient ritual chamber. There stands a black obsidian altar where she performs her ceremonies. If we could destroy that altar…"
"I'll go," I said instantly.
"No, Emily! It's far too dangerous. Even I wouldn't dare enter that place."
"If we do nothing, I'll become her prey anyway. At least this way, we have a chance."
Mrs. West studied me, her eyes swimming with emotions I couldn't fully comprehend. "Are you truly certain?"
"Yes."
She remained silent for a long moment before extracting an ancient key from her pocket. "This unlocks the deepest level of the basement. But remember, Emily, once you enter that place, there's no turning back. The princess will sense you, and she will come."
I took the key, its cold weight settling in my palm. "I know."
"One more thing," Ms. West pulled a small silver cross from her bosom. "My mother left me this. I don't know if it truly works, but…"
I accepted the cross, which caught the candlelight with a faint gleam. When it touched my skin, I felt an unfamiliar warmth—something I'd never experienced in this cold palace.
"Thank you, Ms. West."
"Don't thank me, Emily. If this fails, I'll have sent you to your death." Her voice cracked with guilt and anguish.
"No," I squeezed her hand. "If I do nothing, I die anyway. At least this way, my death might mean something."
In the deep quiet of night, I lay planning what might be my final act. Strangely, I felt calmer than I ever had before. Perhaps when death becomes inevitable, fear simply melts away.
At three in the morning, I slipped from bed. The palace was at its quietest now; even the eerie sounds had temporarily ceased. I donned my thickest coat, hung the silver cross around my neck, and clutched the key in my trembling hand.
The corridor stretched before me in pitch darkness, broken only by faint moonlight streaming through distant windows. I crept toward the basement entrance, each step possibly bringing me closer to my end.
The basement door was unlocked—perhaps the princess never imagined anyone would dare enter her domain. I pushed it open, and a rush of cold air hit me, carrying the stench of decay, blood, and something sickeningly sweet.
Stone steps descended into absolute darkness. Without a light, I could only feel my way forward. With each step, the air grew colder, and unsettling sounds became more distinct.
I heard crying, moaning, and whispers like desperate prayers. Most terrifying were the names—Betty, Annie, and others I didn't recognize—calling out for something I couldn't quite understand.
Reaching the second level, I spotted a faint light ahead—not yellow or white, but a sickly green that reminded me of putrefaction. I moved toward it, my thundering heartbeat deafening in the silence.
Rounding a corner, I found an open door with green light spilling out. I peered inside and froze in horror at the sight.
The room contained bizarre instruments—some resembling medical equipment, others utterly alien in purpose. Chains and metal devices hung from the walls, while the floor bore dark stains that reeked of suffering.
Most horrifying was the stone table at the center. A figure lay upon it—Captain John, judging by the uniform. He wasn't moving. I couldn't tell if he still lived.
Every instinct screamed to rush in and help him, but reason prevailed—this could be a trap. The princess might have arranged this scene to lure me out. Steeling myself, I continued downward, seeking the ritual chamber.
The third floor corridor stretched endlessly, lined with closed doors. Light seeped beneath them, accompanied by disturbing sounds from within. I refused to imagine what horrors lurked behind those doors, focusing only on reaching the deepest level.
On the fourth floor, an invisible weight pressed down on me. The air thickened, making each breath a struggle. A single massive stone door stood before me, carved with ancient, twisted symbols.
This was it—the entrance to the ritual chamber.
With trembling fingers, I inserted Mrs. West's key into the lock. It made a harsh scraping sound that echoed through the silence, announcing my presence to whatever waited beyond.
The door swung open with a groan, releasing a wave of putrid air. Covering my nose and mouth, I forced myself to step inside.
The ritual chamber dwarfed my expectations. Its ceiling soared three stories high, walls covered in twisted patterns and runes. In the center stood the massive obsidian altar, its surface etched with dark grooves where some viscous liquid slowly pulsed.
But what truly horrified me wasn't the altar, but what surrounded it.
Dozens of paintings encircled the altar, each larger and more vivid than those in the studio. The figures—the missing maids—wore expressions of such agony and desperation that they seemed truly alive within their frames.
More terrifying still, as I stared, they began to move. The girls turned to look at me, mouths opening in silent pleas. They reached toward me, begging for help, but remained trapped within their painted prisons.
"Beautiful, aren't they?"
A familiar voice froze my blood. I turned to find Princess Victoria at the entrance, draped in a blood-red robe, her eyes gleaming with excitement.
"I knew you would come," she glided toward me, each step elegant yet deadly. "Your curiosity is so intense, your fear so pure. Do you know, Emily, fear is the most beautiful emotion in the world—it makes life so… vivid."
I tried to run but found my legs frozen in place. The princess's presence exerted some supernatural force that rendered my body unresponsive to my desperate commands.
"You want to destroy my altar?" She laughed, her voice like silver bells that somehow chilled me to the bone. "How naive. This altar has existed for centuries, witnessing the birth of countless beautiful souls. Do you really think a mere maid can destroy it?"
"I… I must try," I managed, my voice pathetically small in the vast chamber.
"Of course, of course," the princess purred, her slender fingers caressing my cheek. "This is what I admire about you, Emily. Your courage, your desperation—they're so… enticing."
Her touch sent ice through my veins, as though death itself stroked my skin. Yet simultaneously, the silver cross at my neck grew warm, lending me a spark of strength.
"Do you know what those girls are thinking?" the princess gestured to the surrounding paintings. "They're thanking me. Thanking me for giving them eternity, for freeing them from the mediocrity of mortal life. In pain, they've discovered true beauty."
"That's not beauty," I said, fighting to steady my voice. "That's torture."
The princess's smile widened, becoming more terrifying. "Beauty and torture, dear Emily, are often one and the same. You'll understand soon enough."
She raised her hands, and an invisible force yanked me toward the obsidian altar. I fought with everything I had, but my strength was nothing against her power.
Just as the altar loomed before me, a commotion erupted from the entrance. Captain John burst in, his body covered in wounds but his eyes blazing with fury. A military knife gleamed in his hand, catching the eerie light.
"Let her go!" he roared, charging toward the princess.
The princess whirled to face him, her expression shifting from surprise to rage. "You should be dead."
"I'm harder to kill than that," Captain John snarled, brandishing his knife. "And now I know your secret."
The princess laughed coldly and flicked her wrist. Captain John crashed to the floor as if struck by a giant hand, his knife clattering against the distant wall.
"Foolish mortal," she sneered. "Did you truly believe your pathetic weapons could harm me?"
But Captain John's interruption had distracted her, weakening her hold on me. I seized the moment, yanking the silver cross from beneath my clothes and thrusting it high.
When the cross met the chamber's eerie light, it exploded with silver-white radiance. The princess shrieked, staggering backward as her beautiful face contorted into something inhuman and grotesque.
"Impossible!" she hissed, her voice now a guttural rasp. "That ancient power should have vanished centuries ago!"
I lunged toward the obsidian altar, holding the cross aloft, its light blazing against the dark surface.
The altar trembled, emitting a deep rumbling. Its carved runes flickered as if fighting the cross's light. Around us, the paintings shook violently, and the trapped girls' expressions transformed from agony to hope.
"No!" The princess lunged toward me, but the cross's light formed a barrier she couldn't penetrate.
I pressed the cross against the altar's surface, fighting against an immense opposing force. Cracks spread across the obsidian, and the dark liquid in its grooves began to boil and hiss.
"Emily!" Captain John dragged himself toward me, fighting through his pain. "Hold on!"
The princess underwent a horrifying transformation. Her face twisted beyond recognition, her skin blanched to paper-white, her eyes blazing manic red. The elegant royal vanished, revealing the ancient evil beneath.
"You don't know what you're doing!" she shrieked. "If the altar is destroyed, the entire palace will collapse! You'll all die!"
But I no longer cared. Even death was preferable to becoming her trophy. With every ounce of strength, I drove the cross deep into the altar's crack.
The altar split with a deafening crack. Blinding light erupted from within, flooding the chamber. The surrounding paintings ignited in silver-white flames, beautiful and pure.
The trapped girls gave me one final look—peaceful, grateful—before dissolving into the light, finally finding release.
The princess unleashed a final scream as her body disintegrated into black smoke. In her final moment, her hatred-filled eyes locked with mine: "This… is not… over… the curse… will never… disappear…"
With her vanishing, the basement began to convulse. Stones crashed from the ceiling as walls fractured. Captain John seized my hand as we fled toward the exit.
"Run!" he shouted. "This whole place is coming down!"
We scrambled up the quaking steps, the sound of destruction roaring behind us. When we finally burst from the basement, the entire palace shuddered like a dying beast.
Mrs. West waited in the hall, her face a mixture of worry and hope. "Did you succeed?"
"We did it," I gasped. "The altar's destroyed. The princess is… gone."
Mrs. West's eyes filled with tears—the first I'd ever seen her shed. "Thank God," she whispered. "This nightmare is finally over."
But as the words left her lips, we heard it—piano notes drifting from somewhere distant, that same eerie melody echoing through the palace once more.
We exchanged horrified glances, all understanding the terrible truth: though the princess was defeated, she was right—the curse hadn't truly died. It had merely retreated, biding its time to return.
