Chapter 04 – Things That Do Not Sleep

Elara did not remember falling asleep.

She only remembered waking — twice.

The first time, her eyes opened to a room that was not her own. The bed felt too high, too soft, as if it were swallowing her whole. A fireplace glowed in the corner, though she hadn't lit one.

A shadow moved across the walls — slow, deliberate, like a cautious predator at the edge of light.

She tried to speak, but her lips were locked by an icy pressure. Her breath caught in her chest, fluttering like a dying bird.

The second time, she awoke sitting upright in bed. Her hands trembled in her lap. The candles had melted into puddles of wax, dripping like pale tears. The room was hers again — yet somehow different, as if it had been watched and touched while she slept.

She pressed her palms against her face. Her skin was damp. Cold. Her hair clung to her neck as if she had been drenched in a dream.

Had she walked? Had she followed the shadow? She couldn't tell.

===

Morning crawled in like a weak sigh through a cracked door.

A knock shattered the hush.

The maid entered with a tray of untouched breakfast. Her eyes were too weary for her age, dark hollows echoing sleepless nights. A pale, faded blue shawl — frayed at the edges — hung around her shoulders like a promise she had long stopped believing in.

"Did you sleep well, Your Grace?" she asked, her voice catching for a split second as though she might say more — then fear silenced her.

Elara hesitated. "I... I think so."

The maid shifted, her eyes darting once to a candlestick on the dresser, which she quickly straightened with a trembling hand.

As she set the tray down, she slipped a tiny folded note beneath the corner of the plate. Without meeting Elara's gaze, she gave a curt bow and retreated down the corridor, her steps echoing like a retreating heartbeat.

Once alone, Elara hesitated. Then, she pulled the note free.

"The eastern window must be shut at midnight."

She looked at the eastern window — its latch was unhooked.

===

The day limped forward in uneasy silence.

Elara drifted between the cold fireplace and the frost-kissed window, between the mirror's black stare and the drawer that hid the box.

She dared not open it.

She whispered reassurances to herself:

I imagined it. The house is old. The wood moves. The wind speaks through the cracks.

But as dusk painted the walls in bruised purple and deep indigo, she felt the breath of the house on her neck.

It was not merely watching.

It was learning her.

Testing her resolve.

=== 

Before the candles surrendered entirely to the dark, she crawled into bed — fully clothed. Her gaze locked on the mirror across the room.

She watched herself... and her reflection watched back.

Then, just before her eyes closed, she saw it:

Her mirrored self — raising a hand, pointing toward the eastern window.

Elara's real hand never moved.

Her breath hitched, and she knew:

Tonight, something inside the walls was waiting for her to slip.

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See you in the shadows…

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