Chapter 2: Shadows and Secrets
634 Words
Marilyn didn’t mention the note to anyone—not that she had anyone to mention it to. She stared at it again, her hands trembling slightly as she traced the words written in looping, elegant ink. You should leave before it's too late. It was signed simply with an initial—L. Lucien.
She couldn’t tell if it was a warning or a threat. Maybe both.
Still, she didn’t leave.
Her first day at her new job was uneventful on the surface, but tension clung to her like the city’s smog. The publishing office was sleek and modern, filled with chatty editors and over-caffeinated assistants. She met her supervisor, Jenna, a sharp-eyed woman who spoke in clipped sentences and clearly had no time for pleasantries.
Marilyn kept her head down, trying to focus. But the words on her screen swam, her thoughts constantly drifting back to the man upstairs. Lucien. His face. His voice. The way the lights dimmed when he entered. The warning.
By the time she returned home that evening, the sun had dipped low behind the skyline, casting long shadows across her hallway. Her door looked untouched, but she hesitated before unlocking it, heart thudding as if the note had somehow multiplied and was waiting for her again.
The apartment was cold. Too cold.
She checked the windows—shut. Checked the thermostat—normal. Still, a chill seeped through the walls like fog. She pulled a sweater around her and set about making tea.
That’s when she heard it again.
Whispers.
Soft. Slithering.
She spun around. Nothing.
They seemed to come from beneath the floorboards, threading through the cracks in the walls. Her hands trembled as she followed the sound to the back corner of the apartment, near the radiator. She crouched low.
A floorboard creaked.
She pressed her ear to it.
For a moment, silence.
Then—“Don’t trust him.”
Marilyn jerked back so fast she nearly fell. Her heart pounded as she stared at the floor, then slowly reached forward, prying up the loose board.
Underneath was darkness. Just a crawlspace? Storage?
No. Something was there.
Wrapped in old velvet cloth, she pulled out a small wooden box. It was old—carved with symbols she didn’t recognize, and bound with a rusted iron latch. She opened it slowly, expecting dust or papers.
Instead, there was a single item inside: a silver ring with a deep black gem, swirling with shadows that moved like smoke.
She didn’t touch it.
Instead, she slammed the box shut and stumbled back, breathing hard.
A knock at the door startled her.
Three knocks.
Again.
Her pulse raced. Slowly, she crept to the door, pressing her eye to the peephole.
Lucien.
Of course it was him.
But this time… he wasn’t alone.
A woman stood beside him, tall and regal with skin like polished obsidian and eyes that shimmered like steel. She didn’t blink. Didn’t smile. Just stared straight ahead like she could see through the door.
Marilyn didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
Then Lucien spoke, his voice clear even through the wood.
"I know you're there, Marilyn. We need to talk."
Her throat tightened.
The woman beside him tilted her head. Something about her felt… wrong. Not human.
Lucien’s voice softened. “You found the ring, didn’t you?”
She froze.
He knew.
“Open the door,” he said, voice still calm. “You need to understand what’s happening.”
Marilyn stared at the knob.
Every instinct screamed not to.
And yet, her hand moved, trembling as it reached for the lock.
She turned it slowly.
The door creaked open.
Lucien’s eyes locked onto hers. There was something new in them now. Urgency. Regret.
The woman beside him smiled—barely.
“Welcome to the beginning,” she whispered.
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- Writer
