Death had been so close to touch, and yet again, I evaded it once more. For a second time that day, I was nearly killed by specters of his castle, and twice, I had been plucked from danger from the same man.
“You, the one who is damned, come to take from death has been so long told. We warned you and now the time nears in which all is lost. Watch as it crumbles around you, as you slowly fade into obscurity,” the ghosts hissed in union with the woman’s haunted eyes aflame with fury.
All the spirits’ rage continued, swarming around us as they pressed us closer to the stairwell.
The woman cocked her head, lashing forward.
Silas swept behind, taking the blow of her hands wrapped tight around his throat. “Go. Get to your room. Under no circumstances do not leave that room,” he yelled, throwing the spirit across the room. Silas ushered me up the staircase, transfixed at the ghosts crowd closing in. “Go, now!”
I sprinted up the staircase, ghostly hands reaching for me—preparing to drag me down to their depths. Howling spirits at my heels, my foot snagged at the end of the hallway near my door. I scrambled up. The icy touch raised goose bumps upon flesh, and I slammed the door behind me.
It’s only when I slammed the door that it sank in with my back against the horrors of the castle. Spouting words hardly made any sense. It was woven—stitched together in the fabric of my soul, invisibly strung together by the words of worlds beyond this one.
I sank to the floor, my head in my hands.
Hours had gone by, and I had not moved from the door, still trembling at the thought of leaving from my spot. I cared little for comfort if it meant I’d avoid the specters and the dark tendrils hiding under my bed and in the shadows. My knees were more comfortable for resting my head, and it’s where I’ve been when the knocking reverberated against the wood.
“Valeria. Little Dove, I know you’re in there.”
Silas’s concerned voice came through, and the shadows playing within my room shrank.
I unlatched the door and saw him there, ruffled, with streaks of red claws dragged against his perfect skin, ripped through with scarlet droplets.
“Are you alright?”
I kept the door cracked, hesitating to open it farther. Despite there not being ghosts loitering the hallway, I was not going to take a chance that Silas was an apparition pretending to be the man.
Behind the cracked door, I nodded slowly.
“Okay, that’s good.” Silas strung his hand through his hair and leaned against the doorframe. “This is the first time that the ghosts of the castle have acted like this. I’m sorry that you had to witness such violence, and I am unsure what to say at this point to—”
“Don’t. She practically strangled me, Silas. This is the second time today I was nearly killed and then saved by you. There are too many secrets. None of them or all of them seem to connect to the possible mystery that is your bloody name.” I took a breath, taking every piece of me to say what is next. “I need you to stay away from me. If you truly care for me in that frigid heart of yours, stay away.”
“Little Dove.” Silas’s face pressed firmly into the wood, and a husky voice breathed against the frame of the door. “You don’t mean that. After all, we have our deal, and you live under my roof. There is no escaping me, Valeria. There is no escape.”
I laughed, a crude laugh that it was. The concept of escape had been on my mind since day one, but itbecame smaller. The thought of freedom was slowly fleeting just as the seasons were. There would be no way out—that much was true, especially not when he was still breathing.
“Escaping you seems more like a fantasy than a reality. No use in keeping up with the charade.” I slammed the door in his face and locked the latch.
There, I stayed—in my room, at least.
Shuffling feet would come to the door, then skitter away, leaving a tray of food. Silas’s heels clicked at my door each evening, and he never said a word from the other side, nor did he ever knock. Night after night, he stood there for minutes, sometimes hours, outside the door. Listening perhaps to the horrid dreams of inky black shadows and the smell of decay locked behind a wall of secrets of his own doing.
On day three of my isolation, a note was slid under the door alongside breakfast. It had been tucked between the cup of hot coffee and a heaping stack of sugar cakes. I had almost thought of it as a bribe until I unfurled the little scroll.
Come out, or I’ll break the door down. Remember our deal, Little Dove.
I promptly tore up the note and threw it into the wastebasket. I had my reasons for not coming out. This had been just one of the few that angered me to make a point of never coming out much less answerthe door to him. I’d rather entertain the shadows lurking beyond my bed.
I shuddered, climbing into my bed and peering into inky depths of sightless eyes.
The darkness lurked night after night, more so since the day in the west wing. They sat at the edge of the bed, licking at my feet. I’d thought they were trying to instigate a fearful reaction, but as it continued, it appeared rather they had a taste for my flesh. I’d stay up in the candlelit room, watching them.
I did not sleep those three days.
When I did sleep, the dreams were vivid, the colors brighter with the taste of hope and happiness from a long-forgotten time upon my lips. The boy was dressed in bright blue and gold, their raven locks and silver-dusted freckles reaching divine dimpled cheeks. The boy’s face had been stained from bloodied tears with the scene before him, clear and blissful.
The summer fields were filled with tulips swaying to the faint breeze, red dancing under the full golden light of the day as well as white petals hugging the moon. One moment, the boy’s head turned toward the sun, soaking up the rays into his gold tan skin, warmed and alive. The next, he’d reach toward the moon. The breeze clawed their hands through the long strands of hair, sometimes raven, other times silver weaving the air.
