Chapter 5: The Portrait in the Cellar

The next morning, the mansion felt colder.

Not just from the wind or the weather, but from something inside its walls—like the silence after a scream. Aerin stayed close, but neither of us talked about the dream again. Not yet.

At breakfast, his mother stared at me longer than usual. Her eyes were sharp, like knives behind a polite smile.

“You didn’t sleep well, did you?” she asked, sipping her tea.

I shook my head. “Strange dreams, I guess.”

She tilted her head. “Dreams are only dangerous when we believe they’re real.”

I didn’t respond. But I noticed the way her fingers trembled slightly as she set down her cup.

Later, while Aerin spoke with his father in the library, I wandered the halls alone.

I don’t know what pulled me toward the cellar.

Maybe it was curiosity. Or maybe… the house was still whispering to me, guiding me.

The cellar door creaked open without force. The steps were old and dusty, and the air grew heavier the deeper I went.

Cobwebs brushed my arms. My flashlight flickered once, then steadied.

The cellar was wide and filled with old furniture, boxes, and covered paintings.

I walked past them slowly—until one caught my eye.

It was taller than the others and covered in a black cloth.

My fingers hesitated, then pulled it off.

Beneath was a painting of the girl in the red dress—me.

But this one was different.

She wasn’t smiling.

She looked trapped. Her eyes were wide, as if she had seen something terrible.

And behind her stood shadows.

Tall, faceless shadows, almost human—but not quite.

Suddenly, the light flickered again.

I stepped back.

And the whisper returned.

“You’re getting close…”

I spun around. No one was there.

But then—footsteps.

Real ones.

From behind me.

I turned and saw Aerin.

“I knew I’d find you here,” he said, catching his breath.

“You knew about this painting?” I asked, pointing at it.

He nodded slowly. “It was hidden after her death. No one wanted to look at it. It was said to be cursed.”

“It shows her fear,” I whispered. “Something happened to her… just before she died.”

Aerin’s jaw tightened. “They blamed her for the fire.”

“What fire?”

He sighed. “The west wing burned down the night she disappeared. Some believed she set it. Others said she was trapped inside.”

“And you?”

He looked at me. “I think someone tried to erase her. But the house didn’t let them.”

Suddenly, the light overhead burst with a pop. Darkness swallowed us.

I clutched Aerin’s arm. “Did you hear that?”

He nodded. “We’re not alone down here.”

From the shadows, a cold breeze passed between us.

Then… a laugh.

Soft. Childlike.

Wrong.

We ran upstairs, slamming the cellar door behind us.

---

That night, I sat with the painting again in my room.

This time, I noticed something.

In the corner of the artwork—barely visible—was a symbol. A small rose with thorns wrapping around it. The same as my birthmark.

Aerin entered quietly.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I nodded. “Do you believe in fate?”

He sat beside me. “I used to. Then I lost her. Now… you’re here.”

Our hands brushed. His touch was gentle, careful—like I might break.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” I said.

“Maybe you’re here to finish her story,” he said. “To give her peace.”

I looked at him.

“Or maybe,” I whispered, “I’m here to write a new one.”

He smiled. Just barely. “Then I’ll be in it. Every chapter.”

---

But as I looked out the window, I saw something that froze my heart.

A flickering light in the ruins of the west wing.

Moving.

And standing in front of it… a girl in red.

Watching me.

Waiting.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***