Aurora’s POV
The west wing was forbidden.
And that was the one rule I had never dared to break. Not because I respected it, but because the entire corridor seemed to breathe warnings in the dark. All the servants avoided it. The air itself grew colder the moment you stepped near its arched entryway.
But today, something pulled me there like a whisper, like a hand brushing against my shoulder, guiding me into shadows that smelled of dust and secrets.
The moonlight was weak through the stained glass. My footsteps echoed softly. Every door I passed was locked. Every window was boarded shut. Until I reached the last door with claw marks carved into the frame.
It was slightly open. My pulse jumped.
“Don’t do it,” I said to myself. But my fingers had a will of their own. The door creaked
