Chapter 11 – Secrets in the Mansion
1299 Words
The mansion loomed in silence, its walls whispering stories Seraphina could not hear yet somehow felt. By now she had grown used to its sprawling corridors, the echo of her own footsteps, and the unsettling way shadows seemed to breathe when the light shifted. But tonight, something in the air was different—thicker, expectant, as if the house itself were holding its breath.
Kael had left before dawn that morning, summoned to deal with business she was forbidden to ask about. The moment the heavy doors closed behind him, the estate changed. Servants moved faster, their eyes lowered, their whispers sharper. Even the air in the hallways felt colder.
Seraphina wandered through the corridors after supper, unable to sit still. She had discovered early that the mansion was a labyrinth—corridors that led to dead ends, staircases that stopped abruptly, and doors that seemed to appear and vanish overnight.
Her curiosity had always been her downfall.
The west wing was the oldest part of the mansion, rarely entered, and thick with dust and disuse. She had asked about it once, and the housekeeper’s face had gone pale. “That part is closed, my lady,” the woman had murmured. “Lord Kael keeps it locked for a reason.”
Tonight, that warning only fed her need to know more.
Carrying a small lantern, Seraphina made her way through the dimly lit hall. The deeper she went, the quieter it became—until even her heartbeat felt too loud. Her hand trailed along the cold stone wall as she turned a corner and stopped before a large oak door. It was unlike the others—thicker, carved with intricate patterns she didn’t recognize, and bound with a heavy iron lock.
She touched it lightly. The wood was warm, almost pulsing beneath her fingertips.
Her brow furrowed. “Strange…” she whispered to herself.
Then she noticed something—a faint line of light bleeding from the c***k beneath the door. Someone was inside.
Seraphina crouched, peering closer, when a soft click echoed down the hall. She jumped, spinning toward the sound. The corridor stretched behind her, empty and dark. Only the flicker of her lantern disturbed the stillness.
“Who’s there?” she called softly.
No answer. Only the faint rustle of curtains in a distant draft.
Her heart pounded. Logic told her to turn back, to return to her chambers and pretend she had seen nothing. But her heart—it urged her forward.
She searched the walls, fingers brushing along the cold stone, until she found what she hadn’t expected—a small, hidden latch disguised as part of the carving.
“Kael…” she breathed, his name a mix of curiosity and defiance. “What are you hiding?”
With a push, the latch clicked, and a narrow panel slid open beside the locked door. Behind it, a staircase wound downward into darkness.
Seraphina’s breath caught. She hesitated only a moment before stepping inside, closing the panel softly behind her.
The staircase was steep and narrow, the air damp and cold. Her lantern flame trembled as she descended, revealing ancient brick walls and cobwebs that shimmered like silver threads. Every step echoed too loudly, a reminder that she was trespassing.
At the bottom, the passage opened into a small stone corridor lined with old doors—each locked, each bearing strange symbols she couldn’t decipher. Her curiosity warred with unease.
The first door she tried was sealed tight. The second opened slightly before stopping, as if something heavy barred it from the other side. The third creaked open with a reluctant groan.
Inside, the room was small and bare—except for a single portrait hanging on the far wall. The lantern’s glow revealed a woman with pale hair and eyes that mirrored her own.
Seraphina froze.
The resemblance was uncanny.
She stepped closer, her breath quickening. Beneath the portrait, a tarnished nameplate read: Lady Elysia Darvesh.
Darvesh. Kael’s family name.
Her pulse thundered in her ears. Elysia Darvesh—the woman in the portrait—could have been her reflection in another life. She reached out, brushing dust from the frame, when a sudden gust extinguished her lantern.
Darkness swallowed her whole.
She gasped, clutching the cold handle. “Hello?”
A floorboard creaked behind her.
“Who’s there?” Her voice trembled, echoing off the walls.
Then, a whisper—low, soft, almost mournful—drifted through the dark. “You shouldn’t be here…”
Seraphina froze. The voice was unmistakably female, yet distant, like an echo from the walls themselves.
Her trembling fingers fumbled for the flint. After a few frantic strikes, the lantern flared to life again. The room was empty.
But something had changed. The portrait now hung slightly askew, and beneath it, a drawer she hadn’t seen before was half-open.
Heart racing, she knelt and pulled it out. Inside lay a stack of yellowed letters, bound by a crimson ribbon.
She unfolded the first one, the ink faded but legible.
My beloved Kael,
If you are reading this, it means the curse has begun again. You must not let them find her…
Seraphina’s breath hitched. The rest of the letter was too smudged to read, but the name at the bottom froze her blood.
—Elysia
Before she could read further, heavy footsteps echoed from above—the unmistakable sound of boots striking stone.
Kael.
Panic surged through her. She stuffed the letters back into the drawer, heart hammering as she snuffed the lantern and darted toward the staircase.
By the time she reached the panel, the footsteps were closer. The latch clicked, and the panel slid open just as Kael’s shadow filled the hall above.
“Seraphina.” His voice was low, calm—but she could hear the steel beneath it. “What are you doing here?”
Her mouth went dry. She stepped into the corridor, clutching her skirts to hide her shaking hands. “I—I was walking. I lost my way.”
His gaze dropped to the faint dust smudges on her gown. “In the west wing?”
She swallowed hard. “I didn’t realize this part was forbidden.”
Kael stepped closer, his presence like a storm closing in. “Everything in this house has rules, Seraphina. Break them, and you may not like what you find.”
Her heart thudded painfully. “What are you hiding behind those doors?”
Something flickered in his eyes—a shadow of pain, gone as quickly as it came. “Ghosts,” he said quietly. “Of things that should have stayed buried.”
He took her by the hand, not roughly but with authority, and led her back toward the main corridor. His grip was firm, his silence heavier than anger.
When they reached her chamber, he stopped at the threshold. “Curiosity,” he said, his tone dark and unreadable, “is a dangerous trait in this house.”
She met his gaze, refusing to lower her eyes. “And secrets,” she whispered back, “are poison when left to fester.”
For a heartbeat, their eyes locked—two storms colliding, neither willing to yield. Then Kael turned away, his voice low. “Goodnight, Seraphina.”
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
She stood there for a long time, her heart still racing, the ghostly whisper echoing in her mind.
You must not let them find her…
That night, sleep refused to come. The mansion seemed alive with sounds—creaks, sighs, faint whispers carried through the walls. And as Seraphina lay awake, staring at the ceiling, she realized something undeniable.
Whatever Kael was hiding in those locked rooms… it had everything to do with her.
- Writer
