Felt so seen
528 Words
Time passed strangely in the room.
There was no window, no clock, no sound. The lamp flickered on the wall, but the shadows didn’t move. Clara sat on the bed, box at her feet, her fingers twisting in her lap. She had never felt so seen and unseen at once.
She stood. Crossed the room. Opened the wardrobe.
Inside, five dresses hung in a perfect row. All soft fabric, pale ivory and cream, far finer than anything she’d ever worn. One had lace along the collar. One was sheer enough she could see the outline of her hand behind it.
Clara closed the door quickly.
Her old dress—rough and gray—suddenly itched her skin. She pulled it off, folded it, and placed it beside her wooden box.
That’s when she saw it.
A piece of folded paper had been slipped beneath the box, barely sticking out.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she picked it up. The paper was thick, soft. Her name was written on the front in black ink.
Inside, in the same careful script:
> Undress.
Stand by the door.
Hands behind your back.
Eyes down.
Say nothing.
—D.A.
No time.
No reason.
Just now.
Clara swallowed hard.
She looked at the locked door, then back at the paper. Her heart pounded—not with fear exactly. Something hotter. Tighter. Something she didn’t have a name for.
She slowly pulled the gray dress over her head again and set it aside.
The air touched her bare skin like a warning.
She moved to the door, her skin prickling. Pressed her back to the cool wood.
Her hands slid behind her, fingers locked together.
She lowered her eyes.
And waited.
One minute. Two.
Her breathing was loud in the room.
Then—click.
The lock turned.
The door opened slowly.
She kept her eyes down.
She heard his breath first. Then his footsteps—one, two—just past the doorframe.
No words.
Silence.
Then a low hum in his throat. Not quite approval. Not quite surprise.
She felt him move closer. Not touching her. Just there. The heat of him, the scent of clean rain and something darker—woodsmoke and leather.
A fingertip brushed just beneath her chin, lifting gently.
“Eyes.”
Clara looked up.
Dorian stood in front of her, dressed in black, coat open, gloves gone. His expression was unreadable. But his eyes—his eyes held her like a grip.
“You followed instruction,” he said.
She nodded slightly.
“I didn’t say to move.”
Her mouth parted.
He stepped closer.
“You’ve been watched your whole life,” he said softly. “But no one ever saw you, did they?”
Her breath caught.
“I see you.”
His eyes trailed down her throat, her collarbone, her bare chest. She felt it like touch.
He stepped even closer. His breath warmed her cheek.
“You belong to me now, Clara Vale.”
Still, he didn’t touch her again. Not yet.
He leaned in to her ear and whispered:
“Tomorrow, we begin.”
Then he stepped back.
And the door closed again.
Click.
- Writer
