Under The Surface

Lyra's feet carried her down darkened halls in the mansion, fingers tightening around a key she had discovered in the secret room. Every step pounded in her ears louder than her racing heart, and with each step, the weight of the unknown grew heavier. She could still hear Dante's words driving around in her head, the stranger's cryptic warning like an ever-present shadow: "You're the key to it all.".

The cold metal pressed against her palm, a reminder of secrets yet to be excavated.

She slowed as she walked into the appropriate grand staircase, her shallow breaths attempting to ground her in the house's opulence. For so very long, this mansion had been her prison and her sanctuary, gilding on a cage of steel that hid so much more than she'd ever realized. Now, with every secret she unearthed, it became more claustrophobic.

Dante was not far off. His voice had been low, yet undeniable, speaking about her fate only moments before. But despite his love, his promises, she couldn't face him-not until she knew exactly what she was holding. This stranger's presence had cast her world off kilter, but her instincts whispered this key would unlock more than a door.

Lyra's gaze drifted to the windows lining the corridor, the night outside an endless sea of black. He had never, she thought with growing unease, lived outside Dante's cosmically contrived whims for him.

She stepped down the stairs, her steps calculated and confident as she made her way to that part of her house she had never been to the west wing. The one Dante called forbidden because, apparently, it was old, rotten, and uninhabitable. Tonight, she feels herself swayed toward that part of the house like the key in her hand was whispering strongly in her ear, beckoning her to move toward the direction of its voice.

As she walked deeper into the mansion, the air turned colder, the shadows seeming to grow longer as if to swallow the flickering light of the chandeliers above her. She stopped in front of a heavy wooden door, its surface etched with carvings worn smooth over time. Lyra's heart was pounding. This simply had to be it.

She took a deep breath, slipping the silver key into the lock. It turned out to be just the right one.

It was a soft click of the mechanism, echoing in the hallway, and with trembling fingers, she pushed it open. It groaned in protest-it hadn't been used in years, it seemed-but when it swung wide, Lyra stepped into the darkened room beyond.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The room was immense to her, lined with bookcases to the high ceiling, like some abandoned college library, shut away from the world. Dust motes swam already in the faint moonlight entering through the tall, narrow windows, giving a ghostly sheen to everything. But it wasn't books which held Lyra's gaze; instead, it was the immense, ornate desk posted at the room's heart.

On top of it lay a heap of yellowed, ancient papers-all over-scribbled with writing. But what really set her eyes wide was the picture lying at the desk center, frayed by age.

Lyra crept closer; she could feel her fingers hovering over the photograph before finally bringing it to her eyes. It was grainy, but she immediately knew the face-it was Dante. Younger, but unmistakable. Standing with a woman she had never seen, dark-haired and strikingly featured, with a soft but guarded smile. And looming behind them, looming like a spectre, was the house, large and imposing.

Lyra's heart was racing while her eyes examined the image before them. Who was this woman? Why had Dante kept this room locked away from her? And more importantly, what was this photograph doing here, hidden in a part of the house that was forgotten?

Her fingers strayed to the old papers on the desk, lifting one of them to read. The handwriting was neat, but unfamiliar. It looked like notes—entries about places, names, and dates. But one name stood out among the rest.

Lyra.

Her own name was scrawled as if it was part of some greater plan.

Her stomach lurched. Clearly, this wasn't just a forgotten room but a map to the life she thought she'd chosen. Everything was interlinked, and somehow, she was at the center of it.

Before she could even be able to fathom the scale of what she had found, there was a soft creak behind her. Lyra stiffened; her breath all held hard in her throat. She wasn't alone.

Slowly, she turned, her pulse racing as she prepared to confront whoever had followed her. But the figure standing in the doorway wasn't Dante.

It was the stranger.

His eyes shone in the moonlight, in a presence that was both peculiar and unsettlingly familiar. He took another step inside the room, his voice low but with unmistakable satisfaction. "I see you've been finding what you're looking for."

Lyra swallowed hard, her hand closing tighter over the photograph. "What is this place? Who are you?

The stranger's eyes flicked to the desk, a soft play of a smile dancing on his lips. "This is where it all began. And as to who I am." He stepped closer, his eyes locking with hers. "You already know, Lyra. You've always known.".

She shook her head and hobbled backward, away from him. "You're lying. I don't know anything about you."

"Don't you?" His voice was low, almost mocking. "You've felt it-ever since the moment we met. A part of you recognizes me, even if you wish to deny it."

Memories flashed right before Lyra's eyes as her mind overworked; indeed, there was something about him deep in the subconscious of her encephalon, which she couldn't seem to place. "What do you want from me?" she asked, shaking.

The stranger ceased, his eyes softening, just a little. "It's not about what I want, Lyra, it's about what you are.

She frowned, confusion and fear swirling in her stomach. "What am I?

"You're the key," he whispered, his eyes never leaving. "The key to all.".

Before she could respond, the creak of footsteps echoed down the hallway. Dante was coming.

It was then that the stranger's eyes darted to the door, and his face clouded over. "We are running out of time. You must decide, Lyra. Trust Dante and you will be kept in the dark. Or trust me, and I'll take you deep inside the truth.

The footsteps grew louder, and Lyra felt a panic course through her veins. She didn't know whom to trust anymore. Dante had lied to her, but this man was a mystery-one far more dangerous. And yet, something in him spoke to her-a thing instinctively tugged at her memory, waiting to be unlocked.

The door would swing open and Dante would storm in, his eyes on fire with anger. "What are you doing here?" he snarled, scanning between Lyra and the stranger standing beside her.

A cold smile curled the lip of the stranger. "Just giving her a glimpse of the truth-something you've failed to do.". Dante's fists curled, and Lyra saw the tightly leashed fury brewing behind his polished facade. "Leave now," he growled. "This doesn't concern you. But the stranger didn't budge. He turned to Lyra instead, his tone soft, yet urgent. "You know where to find me whenever you're ready.". With that, he dodged around Dante and disappeared into darkness down the hall, leaving Lyra alone in a room with the only man she had ever trusted more than anything else in this world. Dante's eyes gentled as he turned to her; his voice was low, taut with restraint. "Lyra, I can explain. But she raised a hand to forestall him, her mind reeling with all she had uncovered. "Not now, Dante. Not yet." She had to take her time to process everything: the photograph, the secret room, the key; everything was just too much to handle. And deep inside, she just knew this was only just the start.