Chapter 3: Trapped in the game

The friends walked forward, their eyes darting around, taking in the sheer enormity of the castle. A massive staircase led up to the next level, the steps broken and crumbling. Dust and cobwebs hung from the ceiling, creating a blanket of decay and abandonment.

The voice grew louder, a mix of pleading and desperation in its tone. "Hurry," it urged, the single word sending chills down their spines. The friends took a deep breath and began to climb the stairs, their footsteps loud in the empty silence of the castle.

They reached the top of the stairs, the hallway before them stretching long and dark. Suits of armor lined the walls, their empty eyes staring sightlessly ahead. The voice continued to call out, its location now unknown, bouncing off the stone walls in an unsettling echo.

As the friends continued down the hallway, a feeling of helplessness slowly crept over them. The castle seemed to close in on them, the silence a heavy, oppressive weight. They turned a corner and found themselves facing a large door, its dark oak marred by deep gouges and scratches.

The friends approached the door, their steps slowing as they got closer. They could hear the voice calling urgently from behind the door, the sound now tinged with a hint of triumph. Jack reached out and slowly pushed the door open, his hand shaking slightly.

They stepped into a throne room, the massive space empty and dark. A large throne sat at the far end of the room, the seat and arms covered in dust. Broken and rusty chains hung from the walls, the metal twisted in painful-looking shapes. The voice was louder now, echoing around them in the silent, oppressive space.

Without warning, the lights flicked on, bathing the room in a harsh, glaring illumination. The friends gasped, their eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness. A single figure was revealed, standing in front of the throne. The figure seemed to be made of darkness itself, the shadows blending into her form. As they stared at the figure, a slow, menacing laugh began to fill the room, cold and malevolent.

The friends backed away from the figure, their breaths quickening. Fear coursed through their veins, their palms clammy with sweat. The shadowy figure lifted her head, her eyes, like black pits, gleaming in the gloom.

"Who are you?" Jack managed to asked, his voice trembling. The figure chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down their spines. "I am the Mistress of this castle," she said, her voice a soft, chilling whisper. "And you have stumbled into my domain."