I slip away from the constant throngs and looming gazes, drawn to a lesser-known passage rumored to connect distant wings of the estate. Each step leads me deeper into a dimly lit corridor where the flicker of old lanterns throws restless shadows across the floors. My vow prickles at my senses, as if even here, tucked far from the main halls, it insists on being felt.
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The hush is tangible, draping every stone and drape with an electric sense of possibility. Unlike the public halls where watchers monitor every movement, this corridor breathes secrets. Its walls have likely absorbed centuries of hushed confessions and covert alliances. My pulse thuds, a mixture of relief at being away from roving eyes and a newly sharpened wariness. Why does everything in this cursed vow-saturated place
