Chapter 7: Chasing Shadows

My heart pounds as I race through the castle’s shadowy passages. Footfalls echo off stone walls, a haunting rhythm that matches the distant echo of my mother’s voice as she calls for me. The air carries the scent of hearth fires and pine, mingling with something else – something metallic, unsettling. It’s familiar, unsettling; a shiver runs through me.

Paintings of bloody battles line the ancient stone walls, their dark and ominous scenes heightening my unease. Stern-faced ancestors watch my every move, while landscapes of desolate moors and mist-covered mountains stretch into a dark and murky abyss. Red velvet brocades lend an air of faded grandeur to the castle’s interior.

Stained glass windows allow slivers of bright white starlight to pierce the gloom, casting an array of multi-coloured hues across the stone floor. Each step hastens my heartbeat.

Desperation fuels me with each stride. “Bottom level,” I mutter under my breath, though words feel disjointed. “Ground floor, front door. And then? What’s my plan?” Pushing aside doubt and fear, I keep moving.

How could Mom do this to me, to us, to herself? I think, legs racing as fast as my thoughts. Marrying a monster, convincing herself he’s no such thing – her Romanian Prince Charming. She’s ensnared, and I can’t break her out of it. Not alone, anyway. My only hope is to escape this creepy old castle, find out where the hell I am, and get the authorities involved. Cops, government – whoever. Even if telling them about literal VAMPIRES is a hard sell, I’ll try.

I sprint down endless halls, determined not to falter.

As my legs begin to ache and my breath grows ragged, I sense a presence trailing behind me. A flicker of movement at the edge of my vision, a shadow dancing along the walls. It crawls across the ceiling, then darts through the air like a darting fish, always just out of sight. I turn to catch sight of it, but it’s too quick.

The feeling of being watched, of being pursued by an unseen force, sends shivers down my spine.

Finally, I find a stairwell, and a winding staircase leading down. I run as fast as I can, almost tripping myself up as I hurry.

This is good, I think to myself. I just need to keep moving down, and I’ll eventually find the exit.

But no sooner have I thought this, than the stairs give way to another long, level corridor, this one lit by those strange blue-flamed wall torches and candles. There are even more paintings here, covering every inch of the high stone walls.

I continue running and turn a corner, my eyes scanning for any escape route. The paintings seem to watch my every move, their gazes filled with judgement. But it’s the final painting, at the dead-end of the corridor, that makes me stop in my tracks.

The painting depicts a moonlit forest, its gnarled trees and mist-shrouded hills pulsating with an eerie energy. Shadows seem to move within the painting, shifting beneath the moonlight. There’s a female figure standing under the tree, her long golden hair glowing silver in the moonlight, and dressed in a flowing red dress, as bright as blood. Her face is obscured by her hands – is she crying?

I struggle to tear my eyes away from the strange scene, caught momentarily spellbound in a prison of oil paint and dreams.

What is it about this painting? I wonder, reaching out a trembling finger to touch the paint strokes.

Just then, I see the strange black shadow that’s following me turn a corner at the other end of the passage, still in pursuit.

What the hell am I doing, standing around and staring at a painting? I berate myself. My heart races as I tear my gaze away, a growing sense of dread urging me to keep moving.

The presence that has been chasing me grows closer, and I turn sharply, ready to flee, when a dark shape materialises before me. A shadow, darting and twisting through the air with an unnatural grace. My breath catches in my throat as I watch it approach, my eyes fixed on the enigmatic form.

But as the shadow draws near, it undergoes a startling transformation. The darkness seems to solidify, shifting and writhing like smoke, shaping itself into a small figure. And then, before my eyes, the figure becomes something else entirely.

My shock is replaced by awe as the darkness coalesces into the form of a beautiful little girl around the age of six or seven years old. Her skin is as pale as snow, and her hair as black as night cascades down her back, braided with tiny seed pearls that glimmer in her dark hair like stars shining in the night sky. She wears an old-fashioned white lace dress that seems to shimmer with its own light, and her features are exquisitely delicate. She’s as perfect as a little porcelain doll.

Dark eyes, like pools of obsidian, gaze at me with an otherworldly depth that holds my gaze captive. A silence hangs in the air, broken only by my shallow breaths.

“Who are you?” I finally manage to whisper, my voice tinged with a mixture of fear and fascination.

A small smile curves the girl’s lips as she answers, her voice like a haunting melody. “I am Seraphina,” she says, her words carrying an enchanting cadence.

My heart races, torn between wanting to run from this eerie encounter and the inexplicable pull of the unknown. I want to escape, but something holds me rooted to the spot, like an invisible thread.

With every step she takes closer, I feel a mix of trepidation and curiosity. “You’re lost, Arianna,” she says, as if she knows me better than I know myself. “But I can guide you.”

“Guide me… where?” I ask, dreading the answer.

“To your grave,” she says sweetly.

And with that, she bares her razor sharp, glittering white teeth and leaps towards my throat.