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The hair on my arms stood up and I felt a prickle at the back of my neck. My body grew cold and I didn’t know if it was just a feeling or if it was because the temperature of the wide corridor had somewhat decreased.
The chandelier lights were dimmed and as Mirai and I walked past, our shadows danced on the walls. The knights stood still, for they were frozen in time. The statues that decorated the corridor stood tall and imposing. The sculptured faces were not ones of joy, but their expressions were contorted in what seemed like despair and anguish – as if tormented souls were trapped in them.
“There,” Mirai pointed at the end of the corridor, “this was Arabella’s room.”
We stopped in front of the double doors, with golden and carved designs on the wooden surface. I inserted the key into the lock, holding my breath at the same time. There was a loud click that echoed through the deserted walls of the north wing as Mirai pushed the doors open.
We crossed over the doorway, but my feet faltered at the entrance. I gaped at the inside of the room. I didn’t know why I imagined an unkept room with dust and spiderwebs… something old and well, looking quite… haunting. But it was the complete opposite.
The room was spotless. It appeared that the housekeepers had been keeping it clean and organized. The room was quite similar to mine. A huge four-poster bed in the middle, neatly made, with silk curtains and more pillows than I could count. Two nightstands on either side of the bed, a dresser to my left and a large window that overlooked the labyrinth. There was another full-length mirror on the other side of the window, the frame made out of thick wood and the carved flower design was… well, fancy and immaculate. There were two crystal chandeliers and there were hints of gold in the crown molding. The wallpaper was a golden flower design, giving it the final feminine touch.
The bedroom was every bit antique, just like my own – and just like the rest of the castle.
I stayed by the door while Mirai rummaged through the drawers, almost impatiently. She pressed against the walls, as if expecting them to open up and to show her a secret passage. When she didn’t find anything on one side of the room, she walked to the next drawers, opening and closing. Searching.
I walked over to the dresser, trying to find anything that would look out of the ordinary. For a brief moment, I felt a sense of… guilt. Like I was doing something wrong.
Well, snooping around was wrong.
But then again, Arabella died more than a century ago. Her stories had been told over and over again, each version different from the previous one. And this castle belonged to Killian and me, after all.
Every secret that came with it was mine to discover.
Maybe Mirai and I should leave the dead souls to rest, and let the secrets be buried with them. But damn it, my fingers itched to know everything.
I didn’t know why I was so curious about their story. But I felt it, deep inside my bones.
I wanted to know.
I needed to know.
I had been obsessing over it for a week.
A small squared jewelry box caught my attention. I reached for it, but the bottom of it was stuck to the surface.
Curious, I wrapped my fingers around it, struggling with the pretty box as if it had been glued to the dresser. With a flick of my wrist, it turned to the side and there was a clicking sound that made me pause and then… a drawer in the dresser opened, revealing stacks and stacks of books and… letters?
Not just any random letters. They were handwritten; some were sealed in envelopes while others were piled and tied together with several thin ropes.
“Holy shit, you found the letters!” Mirai practically squealed, coming to stand by my side. I guessed I did…
My heart slammed into my rib cage, like a thundering storm, and my legs grew weak.
Arabella’s secrets… and her love story were all right here. Written in these pages.
I took out the stack from the drawer and the musky scent of old books and papers prickled my nose. The letters were so old, some of them were wrinkled and torn apart. The black ink had run out, slightly fading on the brown paper, but I could still make out the words.
The papers had many creased lines, from so many times of being folded and unfolded.
There were some stains on the letter… tearstained?
“This is literally Arabella’s life in your hands,” Mirai said in awe.
My fingers brushed against the first letter, the one on top of the stack. I admired the penmanship of Marchioness Wingintam, my eyes caressing over every cursive word, the careful strokes of the pen made so many years ago.
