The mansion of locked doors
The mansion was enormous—too enormous, Emilia often thought. It wasn’t simply a big house; it was a labyrinth, a world in itself, a place with echoes instead of warmth. She had lived inside it for weeks now, long enough to memorize the patterns in the marble floors and the faint scents of polished wood and old books. And yet, she couldn’t shake the strange feeling that she was only being shown a curated version of the mansion—as if she was on a guided tour that never fully ended.
Adrian let her see certain parts.
The grand guest rooms that felt more like museum exhibits than spaces meant for living.
The quiet dining hall where silence hung heavier than the chandelier above it.
The hallways polished to perfection, where her own soft footsteps sometimes star
