*Anaïs*
The chateau is quiet, too quiet. I have already visited Jean in his room. His injury is almost healed, but now he is asleep. Pierre is engrossed in his old dusty books, his nose buried deep in the yellowed pages. Griff and Edward have left for Paris, gone to talk to Llewelyn about the information they have gotten from the demon in the basement. The house feels strangely empty without them.
I wander aimlessly through the echoing halls, my fingers trailing over the cool, ancient stone. Each room I pass is still and silent, like a painting frozen in time. The sense of confinement builds, pressing against my chest, stifling my breath. I need air; I need space. I need freedom.
Without really thinking, I find myself in the garden. The scent of blooming roses fills my nostrils, but it
