20. TWENTY
TWENTY
CHAMBER OF SOULS
S unlight stretched across the floorboards as I stepped out of my room, the pale morning light making Sternwacht seem almost harmless.
I had already eaten, dressed, and decided that hiding in my room would only make things worse. Today, I needed answers. Today, I needed to see this place clearly.
Stepping into the hall, I left my door ajar and quickly rushed down the hall. Though I noticed movement in my peripheral vision, I kept my eyes averted from the tapestries.
I tried the first door I passed. It was locked. Then another, also locked. A third, this one rattled , as if something pressed back from the other side.
A prickle of fear ran down my spine, and I quickened my pace.
I hurried down the spiral stairs and turned left into the corridor, passing door after door, perhaps even the brothers’ quarters.
A library rose on my right, its shelves stretching from floor to ceiling.
I’d come back here later. I’d meant to find the kitchen, but instead I’d wandered into the West Wing.
I spent what felt like hours exploring, trying doors, tracing corridors, hoping for some clue about what they truly planned for me, or some hidden way out.
Every path led only deeper into the Manor’s maze.
That was when I heard it, the hauntingly beautiful notes of a harp drifting through the corridor, pulling me forward even as every instinct warned me to stop.
Was someone else here? Or was this another ploy to make me fearful?
I looked at a set of double doors at the end of the corridor and approached with more anger than concern.
If someone was playing games, it was time for me to score a point.
I pushed through the doors and stopped as I gazed into an enchanted salon bathed in the glow of candlelight.
Luxurious French-style furniture filled the vast room, dominated by a sculpted marble fireplace. Flames danced cheerfully within, the glow reflecting from crystal vases displaying artful arrangements of every imaginable flower.
I paused to sniff a cluster of pink and blue roses, In the flickering light I noticed the portraits gracing the creamy silk-papered walls in the same intricate masks from the tapestries.
The more detailed portraits revealed a disturbing resemblance to Seraphina in that they all looked her age.
Not one of the women was younger. I could only guess that the masks were worn in the brothers’ world to conceal their age.
I noticed one woman appeared in more portraits than any of the others.
She bore such a resemblance to the brothers that I assumed she was related.
Each portrait depicted her wearing a different mask and gown.
Although she looked older, she was stunning, elegant, and fiercely proud that despite the curse, her beauty and pride couldn't be touched.
Nor could my artistic eye stray long from the shimmering creations she wore in every colour and design.
Silks, laces, taffetas, chiffon, and some fabrics I did not recognise, flowed from her body like a visual symphony as beautiful as the artwork in the salon.
I longed to reach out and touch them and visualised what it must be like to wear such gowns.
A fleeting tune from the harp startled me.
I approached an annex leading off the main salon and stopped.
A magnificent gilt harp with angel wings rose beside a brocade-draped window.
Staring in admiration, I moved across a rich Aubusson rug toward it.
I’d never seen a harp before, and the sight of its polished edges was yet another work of art.
I sat on the cushioned seat beside it and gently plucked one of the strings. A heavenly sound filled my soul, and I sat enchanted. I gazed at more portraits and at eyes that seemed to follow me, then noticed an ornate gilt mirror reflecting some of the paintings.
At first, I thought it was a trick of the flickering candlelight, but as I focused my gaze, I noticed that the faces no longer looked older. Glancing back at the paintings, I saw that the faces were indeed older, yet when I looked back into the mirror, the faces were distinctly more youthful.
Disturbed, I rose and approached the mirror. Sure enough, as I gazed at the reflected images of the portraits, the masked women were clearly younger. When I turned to look directly at the paintings, the faces were older.
Whoever they were, there was no doubt that all had suffered the same fate as Seraphina.
I stepped away from the mirror, afraid to continue looking in case I saw my own face transform.
Not that I was surprised. I’d become accustomed to witnessing what I once considered unbelievable or impossible.
Yet I couldn't quite stem my curiosity and found myself inspecting each portrait as if seeking answers from the canvas.
The candle flames flickered though no wind touched the room .
“Help us,” came a fleeting whisper so faint I thought I’d imagined it.
My flesh began to crawl as I looked anxiously around the empty room.
“Help you from what?” I whispered.
As I blinked, the room around me seemed to shift, as if the air had thickened with a presence unseen to me.
The faces in the portraits, those older, sorrowful eyes, stared back at me, their expressions frozen in time yet carrying a sense of urgency that made my skin prickle.
My breath hitched as I felt a chill, the kind that doesn’t belong indoors, creeping across the back of my neck.
What the hell was that?
A low sigh whispered through the air and then the sound of breathing. It was slow and it was behind me. I turned sharply, expecting to see Cillian or Torin watching, but the room was empty. At least, it seemed to be.
I forced myself to exhale, dismissing the sensation as a trick of the mind, an echo of this strange Manor.
But then, from the corner of my eye, I saw movement in one of the portraits.
A figure that had been still, a woman in a dark gown, her face obscured by a veil, shifted as if she had taken a breath.
Her fingers were long and pale, emerging from the frame and reaching out with a peculiar movement, as though the painting had turned to mist beneath her touch.
My heart fluttered. What the hell was this?
I was frozen, caught between the instinct to flee and the dark pull that kept me rooted to the spot, eager to find out more.
“Come see,” she whispered. Her hand extended further, fingers curling in invitation, as if she were real and the space between us was merely a veil of fog. She wanted me to follow her. I tried to blink it away, but she was still there when I opened my eyes .
“You must see.” Her voice was enchanting. Fear twisted in my gut, but curiosity tugged at me even more. I needed to understand what was happening.
I took a cautious step forward, and before I knew it, her hand grasped mine.
Her touch was cold, like I imagined a dead body would be.
Before I could comprehend it, my feet moved of their own accord, stepping closer until the surface of the painting or whatever this was opened like a doorway, revealing a shadowy passage behind it.
With a mix of fear and curiosity, I took a shaky step forward.
The world blurred around me and shifted like a kaleidoscope, caught between reality and some nightmarish realm.
The air changed, and I couldn't tell if I was walking down a real hallway or if my mind was playing tricks on me.
Dark shadows drifted along the walls, and I heard a faint, rhythmic sound.
Drip…drip… drip… as if some unseen liquid seeped through the cracks in the stone. What was this place, and why was I seeing it?
Then I caught a smell. Smoke. I could smell burning that made my stomach turn.
What was it? The corridor stretched ahead, narrowing into darkness.
I looked back over my shoulder, half-expecting the doorway to be gone, leaving me trapped in this eerie place.
But the entrance was still there, and I could still see the room with the painting I had left behind.
“Come see,” the woman whispered again, pulling me forward. Her face was still obscured, her movements smooth and graceful, but there was tension in the air, a sense that she, too, feared what lay ahead.
As we continued along, shadows shifted along the walls. I took in every detail, the walls were changing, displaying symbols carved into them. They looked like constellations spiralling across the stone, star maps etched with cosmic lines, faces and eyes carved into the damp surface .
“What the hell...” I whispered, for this was beyond anything my mind could rationalise.
“Who are they?” I asked, my voice sounding more fragile than I intended.
“They are like you and me,” she replied, her tone low and sorrowful. “Touched by the curse, caught between worlds. They are what you will become if you do not break free.”
“This isn't real, no way is this real. It can't be. My stepdad was right. I'm going mad like my real dad,” I murmured, more to myself than to her. My heart pounded in my chest, a frantic rhythm echoing off the stone walls.
“What if it is real?”
The woman said nothing, but a faint laugh drifted through the air, as if the shadows themselves found humour in my thoughts of insanity. I pressed on, feeling the darkness close in around me, each step a struggle against the rising fear in my throat.
Then the screams began in the distance, they sounded human, and they were terrified.
“Stop, please, stop!
“Help me! “The voice tore through the corridor, so real it made my blood run cold. Smoke thickened, curling around my throat, choking me. “Oh God—shit—” I coughed, trying to stop it.
At the end of the corridor, a massive door loomed, its surface carved with symbols that glowed faintly with a silvery light.
At its centre was a huge celestial star wheel carved from what looked like ancient gold.
It looked familiar to what Cillian showed me in the Orb.
The woman’s grip tightened on my hand, and she stepped closer.
“You must see what is behind the door,”
The door groaned open, and the screams .
"Help me, please, please, help me."
What I saw was a chamber, and my breath caught in my throat at the sight.
Heat blasted outward. Shadows and skeletons writhed across the walls. Three hooded figures stood with their backs to me. One held a torch, its flames roaring as sparks dropped to the floor. A woman knelt before them, her hands bound and trembling.
Around her neck hung a gold necklace with a star wheel pendant, glinting faintly through the smoke. The same pattern as on the door.
“Please… please don’t…” she sobbed. My heart lurched.
“What the hell is this?” I whispered, horrified at what was happening to this poor girl.
As I spoke one of the hooded figures turned toward me slowly as if his head wasn't fully connected to the body.
I wanted to run, but I needed to see, it was the white masks of the Ecliptuari.
The silent guards that protect this fucking place, and here they were, holding torches ready to burn this girl alive like psychopaths.
“What is happening here?” I asked, my voice shaking.
The woman released my hand and stepped forward, causing the shadows to swirl around her.
"Look closely," she whispered.
I looked to the girl on her knees. Something about her felt horribly familiar. The shape of the mouth, the line of the brow.
Then the truth struck me.
It was my own face, older and gaunt, with hollow eyes. She looked up at me, and slowly…she smiled.
“You’re next.” Her words stung.
“No, no. It can't be. I don’t believe this.” I stepped back, confusion washing over me. Why was I being shown my face like some kind of fucked up warning?
Perhaps they were just the products of my overburdened imagination. I shook my head to banish the intrusive voices.
“This isn’t real!” I shouted.
"There is no way this is real. "
Turning, I ran as quickly as I could. Before I could think, I was running from this dank place, out through the room of paintings. I didn't dare look at anything else.
I raced up the stairs in terror, keeping my eyes fixed on the floor until I reached my room and slammed the door shut behind me. The whispered chorus still echoed in my mind.
"Breathe, breathe," I told myself.
But then I noticed something in my hand, the star wheel necklace that had been around the girl's neck as she crouched on the floor. It felt cold and it was tingling against my hand. How had it gotten here? I hadn't reached for it or touched it. If it wasn't real, why did I have it?
I huddled beneath the bedcovers until the voices finally retreated. But when I closed my eyes, all I could see was my own hollow face staring back at me. Was I witnessing my own fate? I hated that I was alone, paranoid. I just wanted to be back home where the house didn’t feel so alive.