The heavy door shifts, drifting open as if pushed from the other side.
A chill jolts up my spine.
I should leave it alone. I should go back to my room and wrestle myself into the blue dress and stop acting like the paranoid bride of a madman. But curiosity hooks me, tugging me inside.
A circular stone stairwell spirals up into darkness. My voice feels trapped in my throat as I take the first step. Each step kicks up a puff of dust. The air smells like cold stone.
I find a switch on the wall and flip it. The lights flicker violently, buzzing in protest. Half of them burn out immediately, leaving long stretches of shadow between pools of yellowish glow.
The higher I climb, the colder it gets.
At the top, I enter a bedroom frozen in time. Tall windows covered in grime. Heavy velvet curtains eaten by moths. A once grand four-poster bed draped in faded brocade.
The room feels like a dream that was forgotten.
I open the wardrobe, expecting dust and decay. Instead, something pristine waits inside. Among many dresses, is a vintage gown, cream silk with delicate embroidery, untouched by age. My breath catches. It is beautiful. Too beautiful. The exact kind of dress a bride would pray for.
I lift it carefully, the fabric soft and cool in my hands.
On the dresser, a jewelry box sits half-open, the velvet inside lined with blood-red rubies. They glitter even in the weak light. As though they’ve been waiting.
I lift a ruby necklace, its weight heavy and cold against my palm.
That’s when I see it.
A photograph tucked behind a cracked silver frame. A woman with kind eyes and black hair, holding a baby swaddled. The shape of the baby’s face looks familiar enough that my heart slows.
It must be Gustav.
And his mother?
I look around the room again. The dress waiting. The jewels. The portrait. As if the woman in the picture left all of this for me.
It’s ridiculous, but the words slip out anyway, quiet as breath.
“Do you want me to marry your son?”
Thud!
My gaze snaps to the window, and I jump back.
Black feathers float in the air. The glass has a giant smudge where a bird just flew into the glass.
I gasp and bolt.
Dress clutched to my chest, rubies rattling in my grip, I rush down the spiral steps, nearly tripping as the lights flicker out one by one behind me, swallowing the tower in darkness.
In my bedroom, I slip on the dress with trembling hands.
The lace hugs my curves. The neckline dips modestly but frames my collarbones. My dark hair is dry now, soft from brushing, falling down my back in loose waves. I stare at my reflection in the cracked mirror.
I hope Gustav doesn’t hate it. I hope he sees me and doesn’t sigh or sneer. It’s ridiculous to care, but some part of me wants to impress him. Maybe because he risked his life for me. No one else ever has.
I’m still processing everything when a woman steps forward from near the doorway, moving with grace.
She is striking in a sharp, understated way. Blond hair pulled back into a sleek knot. Blue eyes that catch everything. Fair skin, plum lipstick, and a small chin that makes her look kinder than her expression suggests. She wears a fitted red coat and stands with confidence.
She stops in front of me.
