Amara's heartbeat began to pound violently within her chest an erratic, trembling rhythm that filled her ears louder than the rain outside. She stood frozen in the darkness, holding the lamp tightly as the faint sound of barefoot footsteps echoed through the hall. At first, they were distant, soft almost like someone pacing idly on wet stone. But then, they grew louder… heavier… closer.
The air thickened.
Her trembling fingers clutched the brass handle of the lamp until it burned against her palm. The flickering flame inside quivered, throwing shadows that twisted along the ancient walls walls adorned with paintings of people who seemed to watch her every move.
Again, the footsteps.
Slower this time. Heavier. Coming from different directions left, right, then behind her. Amara turned sharply, her breath catching in her throat, holding the lamp high as if the faint light could protect her from whatever lurked in that suffocating dark.
The wind moaned through the broken windows, carrying the smell of rain-soaked leaves and damp stone. Her reflection shimmered faintly on a nearby glass frame a reflection that trembled as she did. Her heartbeat thundered louder, her breath short and uneven.
Then
A thud.
Another.
And another.
Amara's mind screamed to run, but her body refused to move. The footsteps grew heavier still, as though a tall man no, something much larger was walking barefoot through the shadowed corridor. The floorboards creaked beneath its unseen weight.
Her lamp flickered. The darkness pulsed around her.
"W-who's there…?" she whispered, her voice shaking like the flame.
No reply only that slow, deliberate rhythm. Then
A crack of thunder.
The lightning outside flashed, flooding the hallway with blinding white light for a split second
And Amara saw it.
A tall figure, towering at the far end of the corridor. Taller than any man she had ever seen. Its body stretched unnaturally, limbs long and thin, its skin a pale gray that almost matched the walls. But what froze her blood was its face there was none. Only a smile. A wide, fleshless grin without lips, stretching far beyond human shape.
Amara's hand went limp. The lamp slipped from her grasp and shattered against the floor. The light went out.
For a heartbeat, silence. Then
The creature moved.
The sound of barefoot feet slapping the wet floor rushed toward her, impossibly fast. Amara gasped, her body reacting before her mind could think. She turned and ran.
Her cloak whipped around her, her shoes slipping on the damp stone. The echo of her footsteps collided with the monstrous ones chasing behind. The air was cold, every breath slicing her lungs. Her heart screamed in terror, pounding so hard she could barely hear the storm outside.
All she could hear
Were the footsteps.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
Faster.
Closer.
The corridor stretched endlessly, paintings on both sides flashing in the dim lightning faces that seemed to move, eyes that followed her. Her hair stuck to her cheeks, her breathing ragged, panic clawing through her chest.
"Please—no—"
She turned a corner, her cloak nearly tearing against a marble pillar
Then bumped into something solid.
Her knees buckled, and the world spun. She looked up
A man stood before her.
He held a lamp. Its faint glow cast a warm circle in the darkness. His posture was calm, composed, his expression unreadable. His skin was pale as snow, his hair combed neatly back like a nobleman from a portrait. But the strangest thing the thing that rooted her in place—
were his eyes.
Red as blood.
Glowing faintly beneath the flicker of light.
In a voice smooth and low, he spoke, tilting his head slightly, curiosity and quiet amusement in his tone.
"What is a lady doing at this hour… and in such a dark hallway, running as if chased by death itself?"
Amara's chest heaved, her trembling hand gripping her skirt. She turned her head back
And froze.
The hallway behind her was empty.
No footsteps. No shadow. No tall, smiling figure.
Only silence.
Only the sound of rain whispering against the windows.
Amara's breath shuddered. The man's red eyes glimmered faintly in the lamp's glow, watching her waiting for her to speak.
The mysterious man's voice lingered softly in the air, calm yet strange, echoing faintly between the stone walls.
"What is a lady doing at this hour… in such a place?"
Amara steadied her breathing. The fear that once consumed her began to fade, replaced by a curious calm. She straightened her posture, brushing her damp cloak aside. The lamp's golden light reflected faintly against her eyes as she spoke, her tone polite but cautious.
"Then allow me to ask, sir… what are you doing in this dark hallway?"
The man chuckled softly a quiet, elegant sound that carried a trace of amusement. His smile was sharp yet oddly charming, the kind that seemed both kind and dangerous at once.
"Perhaps the same as you," he replied, stepping closer, his lamp light drawing faint patterns on the walls. "I could ask why a young lady escaped her home in the middle of a storm."
His words were teasing, but there was a knowing look in his crimson eyes, as if he could see through every secret she held.
Amara exhaled slowly, gathering her composure. Her soaked hair framed her pale face, and though her heart still raced, her voice remained calm.
"You need not trouble yourself, sir," she said gently. "Though I am a lady, I am capable of returning home on my own."
Then, in proper grace, she lowered her head slightly and gave a small bow.
"I thank you for your concern. Farewell."
The red-eyed man smiled again quiet, amused, and somehow approving. His voice was smooth as silk as he answered,
"Then be careful on your way, my lady. The night has a way of hiding things that should not be seen."
Amara offered a faint, polite smile before turning back toward the grand doors of the art hall. The rain outside had softened, turning from wild storms to gentle drizzle. The air smelled of wet stone and moss, that faint green scent of the earth after rainfall. She stepped outside beneath the gray clouds, lifting her skirt slightly from the puddles as she whispered to herself,
"Was that a hallucination? There's no way… but it felt so real."
She paused, glancing back toward the hallway once more. The light within had dimmed again, the corridor swallowed in darkness as if nothing had ever happened there.
"I should return," she murmured. "They might notice I'm gone."
Her carriage awaited near the gates, its black horses breathing softly in the cool air. She climbed inside, closing the door with a quiet click. As the carriage began to move, Amara leaned her head against the window, watching the raindrops slide down the glass. The night was calmer now. Peaceful. Almost enough to make her believe it had all been her imagination.
But inside the art hall, the silence was not as still as it seemed.
Through the long corridor of portraits and marble pillars, the red-eyed man still stood, his lamp burning steadily in his hand. He hummed a quiet tune something old, almost ancient and his whistle echoed faintly in the dark, blending with the soft tap of the fading rain.
He walked slowly down the hallway, his boots clicking against the marble. His clothing was of fine make dark velvet coat trimmed with gold, a high-collared shirt beneath, and gloves of black leather that fit his hands perfectly. A crimson brooch, carved in the shape of an unfamiliar crest, rested at his collar. Every inch of him spoke of nobility and quiet authority, though something about him felt older than the time he belonged to.
He moved with unhurried grace, the flame of the lamp swaying gently with each step. Then, a flash of lightning burst through the tall windows blinding for a heartbeat.
And when the light faded, the faceless man was there.
It stood in the center of the hall tall, thin, motionless. Its grin was gone. For the first time, the creature's hollow face seemed almost… afraid.
The red-eyed man stopped in his tracks. His expression did not change. His gaze, calm and cold, met the trembling figure before him.
For a moment, only the rain could be heard. Then, the man's voice dropped low almost like a whisper, but heavy enough to fill the air.
"How dare a peasant."
The words carried quiet fury, like the calm before a storm. The lamp's light flickered.
The faceless man twitched. The air itself seemed to tremble.