The east wing was empty.
Or at least, it looked that way. It was too quiet and still. It was the sort of silence that didn't soothe but scraped the back of your throat, and made you want to cough just to make sure you were still alive.
Every footstep I took echoed for too long. The walls seemed wider and the air colder. The corridor stretched out like a skeletal spine, with shadows lodged between each rib-like door. Most of them were closed. One was cracked open, the darkness inside swallowing the little ray of light that dared peek in.
I walked slower.
Not because I was afraid… I wasn't. Not exactly. But something about the east wing didn't feel like the rest of the house. Even when empty, other wings still felt lived in. Like the echoes were from people who might return. But the east wing? It felt like the ghosts here never left.
The silence here was pregnant. Not still. Not dead. Just… waiting and watching.
I inhaled, but the air didn't feel right in my lungs. It was stale like forgotten perfume and cold stone. It carried something underneath the dust, like the breath of someone standing behind me. But each time I turned, there was nothing.
No one.
Still, my skin prickled. I rubbed at my arms.
"I'm just tired," I muttered. "Or going insane. Great options."
The corridor narrowed and I thought I could see the walls bending like ribs again, swallowing the light. But that was just my paranoia playing with me.
My boots scuffed along the marbled floor, and my fingers brushed the wall for balance. It was way too smooth like it had been cleaned. Scrubbed.
Like someone wanted no fingerprints here.
Every door I passed felt like it might burst open and pull me inside. I kept telling myself that was stupid, that nothing was behind those doors except maybe storage or dust.
But my body didn't believe me. My fingers were damp, and greasy with sweat. My heart thudded. My pulse wasn't running away—it was hunting something. It wanted answers. My curiosity was sharper than my paranoia.
A part of me wondered if I was dreaming. Or if the house had finally decided to dream me back. Something was here. Something was always here.
I turned a corner and found that the air was more humid now like someone had just exhaled against my neck.
That was when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
I jumped, flinging myself forward like I'd just been marked. My scream died halfway through my throat, thanks to my fear and raw confusion. I spun around, fists clenched out of pure reflex.
And suddenly, I was no longer alone. A woman stood there. Dressed in white and smiling.
"Relax, darling," she beamed.
Her voice sounded like a combination of honey and knives. "I came to find you. No need to scream."
She was beautiful.
I don't mean pretty. I mean the kind of beautiful that made your brain short-circuit. Dark eyes that saw too much, full lips curved, skin like carved porcelain, and hair like the night had spilled over her shoulders. She was barefoot, toes pale against the dark tile, like she floated instead of walked.
As beautiful as she was, she gave me the creeps. My mind scrambled to rationalize her presence, but logic gave up and ran.
"Who are you?" I whispered, backing against the wall. "How did you get here?"
She tilted her head, still smiling. "I didn't think you'd come, to be honest. Everyone avoids the east wing. With good reason."
I stiffened. "What reason?"
She ignored my question and moved closer. "But you did come. That means something, Rose."
I squinted. "How do you know my name?"
She sighed, almost fondly. "You're not ready for that part. Let's start small. I came to tell you something very important. But first, you have to decide."
"Decide what?" My voice came out hoarse.
"What you need to know." She leaned in. Her perfume smelled like lavender and old blood. "Secrets come at a price, you know."
What I needed to know came at a price? What price? Was she trying to mess with me? I didn't ask for answers. She offered to give them to me, and now, she dared to speak of a price?
I straightened. "I don't deal with riddles. If you've got something to say, just say it."
"Fiery," she whispered. "No wonder he likes you."
I scowled. "Who are you talking about?"
She brushed her hair back and looked at me with such pity it made my chest clench. "Your fate is entangled to the psychopath, Rose."
"What?"
"You belong to him."
I barked out a bitter laugh. "I don't belong to anyone."
"Oh, sweetheart," she said, as if it hurt her to see me so naive. "That's what all the girls said before they were devoured. Fawned over. Lied to. Broken. Dead."
My eyebrows raised at that as Aurora's words came back to me; don't fall for Caligo's charm, he's not what he seems. I remembered her sharp eyes. Her warning.
"Did Aurora send you?" I asked quietly.
The woman laughed. It was a sound too musical to be safe. "No, not her. She's already tangled in her own cage."
"Then who?"
"I was sent by the girls. The ones who never got to speak. The ones who were fed to the beast and forgotten. They scream through me."
"Stop talking in metaphors!" I snapped. "If you came to warn me, then WARN me. Say what you mean."
The woman didn't flinch. She simply walked closer until her cold fingers tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "Don't be deceived by those who want you to believe he's your savior."
I swallowed hard. "Who are you talking about?"
"The beast who wears a lover's face. The monster who pretends not to be."
"Caligo?" I asked.
But she only smiled wider. "If I say his name, he'll hear me."
Oh, gosh. This must be some sort of prank, right? How on earth was anyone supposed to hear us from such a distance? We were literally alone here!
"Then what are you trying to tell me?" I hissed.
She leaned forward until her lips were inches from mine. "That your story isn't just yours anymore. That he… she—has marked you."
"She?"
The woman nodded. "Yes. That's my name. The name you wanted so badly."
"What name?" I whispered.
She stepped back and whispered, "Valeria."
I stuttered. "What…"
However, much to my fear…
"What are you doing?" a deep voice boomed behind me.