Slave

By the time the maids had finished their work, the room looked like a shadow of its former self. The luxurious drapes, plush rugs, and ornate furniture were gone, leaving behind a barren space. A small, rickety bed with a threadbare sheet and a pillow that looked as though it had survived a century of mistreatment sat in the corner. The dressing table remained, but its contents had vanished, leaving only a dull, cracked mirror behind.

Elle stood rooted in the middle of the room, her fingers brushing the collar of her dress, a reflex she had developed over the years whenever anger simmered beneath her surface. What the heck are you planning, Cyon? she thought, her jaw tightening. You can't just be this cruel to me, even if you are nothing more than a figment of ink and paper.

Her heart burned—not with pain this time, but with anger. She wanted to scream, to let her fury echo through the empty corridors. But she swallowed it down. She couldn't afford to lose control, not here, not now.

A sharp knock at the door broke through her thoughts. Her head snapped toward the sound, her fingers twitching with the urge to fling the door open and drag whoever it was into this desolate room to witness their handiwork.

Instead, Elle drew in a deep breath and composed herself. Her lips curved into a neutral line, masking the storm swirling within.

The door creaked open, and one of the maids stepped in, her face alight with what could only be described as glee. It was the same one who had sneered at her earlier.

"You're finally being thrown into your real place. A slave," the maid said, her tone as sharp as shattered glass, each word soaked in venom.

What is wrong with this woman? Elle wondered, tilting her head slightly as if the maid's words were a foreign language she couldn't quite parse. How can someone find this much joy in another's misfortune?

Instead of responding with anger, Elle let her lips curl into a polite smile. "Glad to hear that," she replied evenly, her voice calm and measured. "Would you like to join me?"

The maid's expression faltered for a moment, her glee flickering into confusion before her brows furrowed in anger.

"I—"

"Because," Elle interrupted smoothly, stepping closer to the maid with slow, deliberate steps, "if you're so happy about it, you must think it's a wonderful place to be." She kept her tone light, almost amused, but there was an edge to her words that couldn't be ignored.

The maid took an involuntary step back, her momentary hesitation like a small victory for Elle.

Elle's heart was pounding, her fear clawing at the edges of her composure, but she kept it buried deep. She couldn't let them see her weakness. Not when every action seemed to be aimed at breaking her.

The maid recovered quickly, her lips curling back into a sneer. "Enjoy your time," she spat before turning on her heel and slamming the door shut behind her.

The room fell silent again, save for Elle's steady breaths. She ran a hand through her hair, her fingers trembling just slightly. They're trying to break you, she reminded herself. But you're not going to let them.

Walking over to the bed, Elle sat down, the springs creaking under her weight. Her hands clenched into fists as she stared at the cracked mirror across the room. Her reflection was blurry, distorted, but it didn't matter.

This world may be different, but I'm still Elle, she thought, her resolve hardening. And I won't let them destroy me.

Elle sat on the edge of the rickety bed, the springs creaking beneath her weight. Her elbows dug into her thighs as she buried her face in her hands, her thoughts spiraling into frustration. Her palms pressed hard against her temples as if trying to physically contain the mess unraveling in her head.

How the hell do I proceed? she thought, biting down on her lip until it stung. The situation felt like a tangled knot—every potential solution led to another impossibility.

She exhaled sharply, her breath warm against her palms. Crossing the crystal corridor during the day was out of the question. The guards stationed there weren't the kind to overlook her presence, and her current status as a "slave" wouldn't grant her any excuses. But the thought of crossing it at night sent a chill crawling up her spine.

She leaned back, her fingers gripping the edge of the mattress, her knuckles white. You really outdid yourself, Elle, she thought bitterly. You created that damn corridor to scare characters, and now you're stuck in it.

The memory of the corridor came rushing back—its gleaming pillars during the day, all ethereal and inviting, only to twist into shadows and blood-red hues by night. The faint, eerie hum she had written into the air, the whispers of unknown origins meant to disorient trespassers... It had been a clever plot device in her book, a challenge for her characters to overcome. Now, it was her reality, and the irony wasn't lost on her.

Her hands dropped to her lap as she stared blankly at the cracked mirror across the room. Her reflection was warped, split into jagged fragments. She looked as broken as the room around her.

And even if I get to Halcyon's chamber, she mused, rubbing her temples, how do I get inside? It's not like he'll invite me in for tea. She let out a humorless laugh, the sound dry and bitter in the silence.

Then it hit her—a glimmer of hope that lit up her thoughts. The secret door.

Her head snapped up as she recalled the hidden passage she had written into Halcyon's chambers. It was a detail she had added on a whim, a convenient escape route for moments of intrigue. How could I forget? she chided herself, shaking her head.

But that hope was short-lived. To reach that secret door, she needed to get to her original chamber first— the one she'd designed to be adjacent to Halcyon's. She clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms as she stared down at the worn floorboards.

The secret door wasn't some magical fix. It was still on the other side of that cursed crystal corridor. And even if she managed to cross it, her status as a slave meant she'd likely face questions—or worse, punishment—if caught anywhere near the prince's chambers.

Her jaw tightened. You've been thrown to the wolves, Elle, she thought grimly. But then again, wolves could be outsmarted.

She pushed herself to her feet, pacing the small room as her thoughts churned. Her frustration was palpable, her movements sharp and restless.

Her gaze fell to the edges of the room, scanning the bare walls. I created this world. There has to be a way, she thought, the stubbornness in her chest rising to the surface.

She paused by the window, looking out into the sprawling palace grounds. The faint glow of the setting sun painted the horizon in streaks of gold and orange, but the beauty was lost on her. Her mind was racing, turning over every possible move.

Alright, fine, she resolved, exhaling through gritted teeth. I'll go for his chamber at night. If the corridor wants to scare me, let it. I'm not backing down.

Her fingers curled into fists, her nails digging crescents into her skin. She had to remind herself—this was her world. And no matter how much it tried to fight her, she wasn't going to let it win. Not yet.