The Black Hallway

The halls inside Rellhart Estate were too quiet for how large they were.

Elian’s footsteps echoed, though he walked as lightly as he could. The man leading him—tall, red-haired, dressed in gray—spoke not a single word, not even to warn him when they turned corners or passed under archways carved with names Elian didn’t recognize. The chandeliers above were crystal, but their light felt cold. Their shine didn’t reach the black marble floor. It was like walking through a cathedral built to worship silence.

Behind him, the echo of the doors closing had faded, but the sound still lived in his chest.

He kept glancing back. There was no sign of Aster. The moment they were separated, Elian had called out, but no one acknowledged it. His voice had seemed to vanish into the stone around them.

He pressed his hand to the collar on his neck. It wasn’t tight, not exactly—but it was unyielding. It reminded him of the leather belts the matron used to hit them with, the way they folded without mercy. The metal didn’t chafe. That would’ve been more honest.

They turned one last corner, and the corridor changed.

Here, the walls were deeper—dark oak panels instead of stone, polished so well they reflected the weak light. No portraits, but frames still hung there, empty, like the family had decided to forget who they were supposed to be.

The man stopped outside a tall white door.

“This is your room,” he said.

Elian blinked. It was the first time the man had spoken. His voice was low and flat, like a reading from a list.

“When will I see my brother?”

“That is not my concern.”

“But—he’s—he’s not well sometimes, I need to know—”

“You belong to the heir of this wing. That is your concern. Do not ask questions again.”

Elian opened his mouth—but the man was already walking away.

He stood alone for a moment, hand still hovering near the door handle.

Then he opened it.

The room inside was enormous. Bigger than the matron’s entire office back home. The floor was ivory tile covered by a thick red rug. A canopied bed dominated the far wall, its curtains drawn back, sheets pressed so tight they didn’t look slept in. There was a gilded mirror above a dressing table, and next to it, a wardrobe with carved brass handles shaped like wolves.

He stepped in slowly.

There was a tray of food on a table near the window. Chicken, potatoes, bread, and a goblet of something red—not wine, he thought. Juice maybe. It didn’t smell like alcohol.

He didn’t touch it.

The door clicked shut behind him.

He turned quickly. There was no lock on this side. His fingers grazed the seam. No bolt. No keyhole.

He tried turning the knob. It didn’t move.

His breath stilled.

He was locked in.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay. It’s fine.”

His voice didn’t carry far. The ceiling was too high. The walls too thick.

He crossed to the window. It was tall and wide, framed in velvet curtains. But when he tried to open it, the latch wouldn’t budge. He looked out—and saw only gardens. Sculpted hedges, perfect lines, white roses.

No people. No sound.

He stepped back.

He didn’t cry. Not yet.

Instead, he went to the food and picked up the fork, turning it over in his hand. Not sharp. Useless. The knife wasn’t real silver. It bent slightly when he tested it.

“Okay,” he whispered again, just to hear something.

The air smelled faintly of old perfume. He walked to the wardrobe, opened it. Inside were garments—delicate robes, soft white underclothes, outfits that looked ceremonial more than lived in.

He stripped and dressed slowly. Everything fit perfectly.

Someone had measured him before he arrived.

That, more than anything else, chilled him.

He sat on the edge of the bed, hands in his lap. Time passed, but nothing changed.

No knock.

No voice.

No one came.

No one checked.

Eventually, Elian lay back against the pillow, collar cold on his throat, the mattress too soft beneath his bones. His thoughts circled Aster like moths drawn to flame. Where was he? Was his room this silent? Was he locked in, too?

He closed his eyes, but he didn’t sleep.

Not yet.

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