“It’s not real.”
You have to face what you have done.
“It’s not real.”
I’m not real.
“It’s not real.”
I’ve never been real.
“It’s not real.”
You are the monster.
“It’s not real.”
You need to face it, Augustus.
Auden. I needed to find Auden. He was the reason I was here—the reason I let in the Devil. I needed to save him and prove I wasn't the monster everyone thought I was.
“Auden?!” I choked out.
I scoured every inch of the first floor, the mirror following me into every room, a haunting reminder of what I had done.
“It’s not real."
It's real.
"It's real."
It's not real.
"It's not real."
We can play this game all day.
"It's not real."
I ascended the staircase, shouting Auden’s name into the endless void. There was no response. Every room was empty.
Breathing heavily, stomach threatening to bring up my last meal, I bolted downstairs to check the outside perimeter, but when my fingers wrapped around the door handle, it would not open. I tried again, and again, and again, even using my foot to kick it open, but it would not budge.
Frustrated, I hurried to a boarded-up window and attempted to yank off the planks of wood. An invisible force threw me backwards, pain shooting down my spine.
There was no way out. Not one door, window, or crack. The House would not let me leave. I was trapped—a prisoner of the House on North Lane.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
I am made of neglected glass and abandoned iron—uncared for, forgotten, alone.
No, not alone. Never alone.
The ghost of North Lane hid in the shadows. Watching me. Taunting me. A harsh reminder of what I had become—of what I had always been. She was right. The Devil lived inside me. I was the monster haunting this tale. And now, I was condemned to an eternity with her ghost, trapped inside an endless loop—my own personal Hell.
I had long since given up hope of escaping, but I had not given up on Auden. I had to find him. He was the sole reason I returned to North Lane, the reason I murdered my mother, the reason I could not escape. But even if we were prisoners of the House, at least we'd be imprisoned together.
Days passed, and those days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months. I thought I'd seen him one day, standing by the stairs, but he'd transformed into a mere shadow, vanishing before I could utter more than his name. He was gone. Nowhere to be found.
