Shanane searched the cottage for hours, her eyes scanning every wall, every floorboard, every shelf cluttered with jars of dried herbs and bottles of homemade remedies. Her fingers grazed the wooden panels, pressing, knocking, searching for the hollow sound that would signal something hidden beneath the surface.
But the hours dragged on, and nothing revealed itself. The cottage remained stubbornly ordinary: dusty, creaking, filled with the remnants of her grandmother's life.
Her frustration began to bleed into doubt. Was she chasing ghosts? Following fragments of nightmares that had tangled themselves into her waking mind? Her grandmother had always warned her not to wander too far into fantasy, to stay grounded. Yet here she was, searching for a room that might not exist, a room she had only seen in twisted dreams and heard of from the mouth of something that wore her mother's face.
Her pulse quickened as her thoughts spiraled: "Am I going mad"
Maybe the villagers were right. Maybe the whispers about her grandmother's bloodline weren't just ignorant superstition. Maybe something in her was cracked, broken. Something that made her vulnerable to illusions and shadows.
"You're following orders from your nightmares."
The thought pressed against her mind, cold and heavy. What if she was just like those villagers feared? Touched by something unnatural, cursed to see things that no one else could? What if her mind had unraveled beneath the weight of her grief and fear?
Her eyes burned with exhaustion, her fingers numb from searching. The air in the cottage felt heavy, thick and oppressive, clinging to her lungs like cobwebs. She slumped against the wall, her forehead pressed to the cool wood, her eyes closing as she tried to steady herself.
She wanted to give up. To stop. To bury this all like a terrible dream she could wake from.
But the nightmares wouldn't stop. The creatures wouldn't leave her alone. The shadows, the whispers, the twisted footprints, they were still here. Still lingering. Still watching.
Her gaze drifted around the room, scanning the walls with the dull resignation of defeat. Her eyes landed on a corner, a shadowed, dim part of the cottage where the light of day never seemed to reach.
It was always darker there, even when the sun was bright outside. She had never thought much of it before, just an unfortunate design of the cottage, a corner left in perpetual shade.
But now....
Her breath caught. Had she even checked there?
It had been the one place she had avoided, unconsciously, perhaps, a place that had always seemed like an afterthought. A part of the cottage she had never lingered in, never questioned.
Her pulse quickened, the sharp beat of hope and fear merging into one. She pushed herself away from the wall, her body aching, her legs unsteady. Her gaze locked on that corner, that space that had always been too dark, too quiet.
Maybe the room wasn't in the obvious places. Maybe it was hiding exactly where it was meant to be, where the light couldn't reach. Where shadows could thrive.
Shanane's heart thudded unevenly as she took slow, hesitant steps toward the corner of the cottage. Her eyes strained against the shadowed space: darker than it should have been, even with the morning light creeping through the windows.
The closer she came, the more the air seemed to change. The stillness of the cottage broke, replaced by a thickness that clung to her skin. The air felt hot, stifling, a suffocating contrast to the cool, drafty chill that lingered in the rest of the house. Her fingers trembled, a sheen of sweat beginning to form on her palms.
And then, she heard the whispers. They slipped beneath the silence like threads of sound, too low to make out, yet unmistakably present. Words tangled together, overlapping, fading before she could grasp them. Some were frantic and pleading; others felt mocking, sharp like teeth snapping at the air.
Her eyes widened, her feet slowing. The corner seemed to bend, the shadows pulsing faintly as if they were alive. Her breath came uneven, shallow, her heartbeat pounding like a warning.
"Go back." Her instincts screamed at her to turn away, to leave this place before something reached out from the dark and pulled her under. This was a mistake. She should have never searched for this, should have never given in to the nightmares, to the faces that wore her loved ones like masks.
But it was too late. She could feel it, the pull.
The cottage had shifted around her, guiding her here. It had let her wander, let her lose hope, only to reveal itself in the end. This corner wasn't just a shadowed space left by careless architecture. It was a threshold. A place she wasn't meant to find.
The whispers grew louderurgent, impatient. Her pulse quickened as she reached out, fingers trembling. She didn't know what she was searching for, Maybe something to press, something to move. Her fingertips brushed against the rough wood of the wall, the splinters scratching her skin.
And then, something cracked. A harsh, splintering sound tore through the silence. The wall shivered, shuddering as if it were a living thing. Shanane stumbled back, her eyes widening as the wood seemed to split apart, revealing a dark, narrow passageway, a door that hadn't been there moments before.
It gaped open, waiting.
The heat surged from within, a suffocating wave that burned against her skin. The whispers surged with it, louder, frantic, urging her forward or pulling her back, she couldn't tell which.
Shanane's mouth went dry. Her limbs felt heavy, locked in place as her mind warred with itself: "Run, just run. Leave this place, pretend you never saw it, bury it with the rest of your nightmares."
But she couldn't. If she turned away now, she would never be free. The shadows would keep following her, the whispers would keep calling her name, the creatures would keep circling her bed. Her grandmother's face, her mother's voice, her own twisted reflection, they would never let her go.
She swallowed hard, her throat dry and raw. The darkness within the passageway seemed endless, a void that could swallow her whole.
But if the answers were anywhere, they were here, beyond this doorway, buried in the darkness her grandmother had tried so hard to keep from her.
Her fingers curled tightly, her nails pressing into her palms as she took a slow, unsteady breath. Her feet moved before her mind could stop them, crossing the threshold into the black, suffocating dark of the secret room.
And the door closed behind her.
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∆☆ ATHERAMOND ☆∆
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The door slammed shut behind her, sealing her in darkness. The sudden sound echoed in the cramped, suffocating space, a harsh and final thud that sent a spike of terror through her.
Shanane spun around, her fingers fumbling desperately along the rough wood, searching for a handle, a latch, anything. Her nails scraped uselessly against the wall, the uneven grain biting into her skin.
"No! It can't happened" she whispered, her voice tight and panicked.
Her pulse hammered in her ears, drowning out the heavy silence that followed. The air felt wrong, hot and thick, pressing against her lungs. The whispers from before seemed to cling to the walls, trapped in the enclosed space, muffled and restless.
Her breaths came faster, too fast, her chest tightening painfully. She pressed her forehead against the wall, trying to steady herself, but the darkness around her was too deep, too consuming.
She couldn't see anything, not even her own hands. The shadows felt like they were shifting, moving just beyond her reach, watching her with unseen eyes. The room felt small and endless all at once, the space too confined, the air too heavy.
Her fingers trembled, clutching the edges of her sleeves. The darkness seemed to breathe around her, its weight pressing down on her shoulders.
What if she was trapped here? What if this was just another part of the nightmare, another place she would be left to rot, caught between what was real and what wasn't?
Her heartbeat quickened, panic clawing up her throat. She had to get out, she had to.
But then she remembered her phone. Her fingers scrambled to her pocket, fumbling to pull it out. The small device slipped from her grasp once, her hands slick with sweat, but she caught it, pressing the screen in desperation.
Light burst from the flashlight, harsh and blinding against the absolute dark. For a moment, she squinted, her eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness. The room flickered back into existence, the shadows shrinking away, curling against the corners.
Her breathing slowed, the rush of adrenaline easing as the light steadied her nerves. Her hands still trembled, but she forced herself to raise the phone, to let the beam sweep across the room.
And then she saw it, a large, old lamp resting on a low, wooden table against the wall. Its base was metal, worn and scratched, with a crooked shade that seemed ready to topple.
Her phone's light caught the curve of a flint wheel. An oil lamp, not electric. Her fingers worked quickly, shaky and desperate. The wheel struck, a spark caught, and a soft, wavering flame bloomed to life.
Warm, golden light spread across the room, chasing the shadows into retreat. The whispers faded, the suffocating heat loosened its grip.
The room was no longer an endless, consuming void. It was a space, a room hidden and forgotten. And she was inside.
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∆☆ ATHERAMOND ☆∆
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Her breathing remained uneven, her heart still racing from the panic that had seized her. The heat of the room lingered, clinging to her skin like a heavy, oppressive film. Her fingers tightened around the lamp's handle, the flame flickering softly as it steadied her.
Her mind screamed for control, but the fear still coiled around her lungs, squeezing tight. The memory of the door slamming shut echoed in her mind, a final, brutal sound that had trapped her in this place. Her eyes darted nervously to the entrance, but there was no sign of it anymore, just the solid wall of wood that looked as if it had never opened.
Her hands trembled, and she forced herself to take a deep, shaky breath. She couldn't afford to lose herself to panic, not here. Not now. She had come for answers, not to become another ghost trapped behind this hidden door.
Her grip on the lamp tightened, the warm glow spreading across the space and revealing more of the room. Her eyes followed the path of the light, forcing herself to focus, to ground herself in her surroundings.
Slowly, the room began to take shape, no longer an endless abyss, but a place built with purpose.
It was a library.
Books lined every wall, their spines stacked tightly together, some frayed and worn, others wrapped in leather, gilded with symbols she didn't recognize. The shelves climbed from the floor to the low, arched ceiling, some leaning precariously as if the weight of their knowledge had begun to bow them inward.
A desk sat near the center of the room, old and weathered, its surface cluttered with scattered papers. Loose pages covered in cramped handwriting, symbols she didn't understand, sketches of herbs and diagrams of things that looked both scientific and arcane. An ink pot rested at the corner, the ink inside dried and cracked, a quill left discarded beside it.
On the opposite side of the room, a shelt stood against the wall, its shelves lined with jars and bottles of all shapes and sizes. Some held dried herbs: lavender, sage, rosemary, things she recognized from her grandmother's teachings. But others contained powders of strange, iridescent hues, roots twisted into unnatural shapes, liquids of black and crimson that seemed to shimmer even in the dim light.
Shanane's pulse slowed, her eyes wide as she took it all in. The room was both familiar and alien, a blend of her grandmother's world and something far deeper, something that had been hidden for a reason.
She took a slow, hesitant step forward, the worn floorboards creaking beneath her weight. Her fingers brushed along the spines of the books, feeling the worn leather, the coarse fabric, the dry, brittle paper.
Her mind swirled with questions. Why had her grandmother hidden this place? Why had she guarded it so fiercely, buried it behind walls that shouldn't exist? Why had she kept it from her?
And what was she meant to find here?
Her gaze drifted to the desk, the scattered papers, the ink-stained quill. Her grandmother's hand had moved across those pages, scribbling notes, secrets that she had never shared. Secrets that had died with her.
Shanane swallowed, the heat of the room pressing against her skin, the weight of the hidden room pressing against her mind. She had found it, the room from her nightmares, the room from the twisted, impossible memories that had haunted her.
But what now?
The air felt heavier again, the whispers seemed to curl at the edges of her mind, faint but relentless. The truth was here, somewhere in this room, waiting to be uncovered.
And for the first time, she wasn't sure if she was ready to face it.