Chapter 4: Woman in the Shadows

The grand hall beneath Liora's feet felt grounding, but her trembling body betrayed the chaos within. The intensity of Dante's presence—his hunger, his words, the near loss of control—clung to her like a second skin, refusing to fade. Her thoughts churned, fragmented and raw, as if her mind was caught in the same inescapable pull that Dante's gaze had ignited. Something deeper than fear was gripping her now, something that whispered to her from the shadows.

She forced herself to rise, her legs unsteady beneath her as she moved through the shadowed corridors of Blackthorn Manor. The walls seemed to loom closer, the vast emptiness of the manor pressing in on her like an unseen force. Each step she took echoed hollowly, a sound swallowed by the oppressive silence. The air was heavy, and with each breath, she felt as though the manor was alive, its unseen gaze fixed on her every movement.

When her room finally came into view, she paused. The small, elegant space was cloaked in muted tones and draped in velvet curtains, a sanctuary that might have offered comfort on another night. But tonight, it felt alien—an ornate prison steeped in shadows. The flickering of a single candle on the nightstand cast restless shapes on the walls, their movements too fluid, too deliberate, as if they were alive.

Liora hesitated, her hand hovering over the doorknob. A weight settled over her chest, a suffocating pressure that made it hard to breathe. The sensation wasn't new—she'd felt it the moment she stepped into Blackthorn, an unspoken warning—but tonight, it was sharper, more insistent. With a deep breath, she turned the knob and stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her.

The room greeted her with its unsettling stillness, the silence thick enough to make her ears ring. She removed her shoes and sank onto the edge of the bed, her hands trembling as she buried her face in them. She needed clarity, needed to think, but her thoughts were consumed by Dante. His touch, his words, his unspoken hunger—they filled every corner of her mind, leaving no room for reason.

She stretched out on the bed, her body heavy with exhaustion. The velvet drapes of the canopy seemed to close in around her, cocooning her in darkness. Her eyes fluttered shut, and though sleep came, it was anything but peaceful.

Liora found herself in a strange place—a dream, perhaps, though it felt far too real. The air was damp and cold, the walls of the dimly lit space looming around her like jagged cliffs. A cracked mirror hung on one wall, its fractured surface reflecting nothing but an endless void. The silence here was different from the silence of Blackthorn; it was alive, pulsing, whispering faintly just beyond her hearing.

A sound rose in the distance, soft at first but growing steadily—a wail, mournful and haunting. Liora turned, her breath catching as the air around her grew icy. From the corner of the room, shadows began to coalesce, shifting and writhing like living things.

And then the woman appeared.

She was tall and gaunt, her figure thin to the point of frailty. Wild, disheveled hair framed a face marked by sharp, haunting features. Her eyes, sunken and hollow, seemed to pierce through Liora, seeing far more than she was willing to reveal. The flickering light in the room cast eerie shadows across her form, making her appear more specter than human.

"You don't understand yet," the woman said, her voice soft but laden with an unsettling calm. "You think you've escaped, but you're only walking further into his world. Into the same web I found myself in."

The words sent a chill racing down Liora's spine. Her throat tightened, her voice barely more than a whisper when she managed to speak. "Who are you?"

The woman's lips curled into a hollow smile, one devoid of any warmth or life. "Someone who was once where you are now."

The answer struck Liora like a physical blow. She wanted to step back, to put distance between herself and this apparition, but her feet refused to move. She was rooted in place, held captive by the weight of the woman's gaze.

The woman took a step closer, her movements slow and deliberate. "Do you think you can save yourself, child?" she asked, her tone almost pitying. "Do you think he'll let you?"

Before Liora could answer, the woman's hand shot out, her icy fingers brushing against Liora's arm. The touch burned like frostbite, and a searing pain tore through her, sharp and unrelenting. Liora gasped, the sound echoing through the room as the shadows surged forward, swallowing everything in their path.

And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over.

The room dissolved around her, the oppressive space vanishing like smoke. The woman was gone, leaving no trace of her presence except the lingering chill in the air.

Liora woke with a start, her breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps. The shadows of her room pressed in around her, heavier and darker than before. Her chest felt tight, her pulse racing as though she had run a great distance.

The woman's voice echoed in her mind, her words a haunting melody that refused to fade. Liora sat up, her hands clutching the velvet covers as though they could anchor her.

Whatever this was—dream or reality—it wasn't over. And deep down, she knew she was only beginning to unravel the mysteries of Blackthorn Manor.