Chapter IV

Through a small crack in the closet, she looked at who entered the room. Her heart was pounding like a war drum as the figure became more visible as the door closed. 

To her relief, it was only Emile, and judging from the bucket and broom he carried, it was time to clean yet again. She was hesitant whether to come out of the closet or not, and just chose to observe his actions. 

- - -

"The master has left this room in such disarray again..." he mumbled as he began sweeping away the cobwebs. "Unbelievable... and that smell..." As he swept and swatted the webs away, he heard a knock coming from one of the closets. This immediately made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Clutching his broom tightly, he cautiously made his way towards the old closet, and wrenching the door open, he was surprised to see the lady in there. 

"W-what are you still doing here? Especially here of all places?!" he whispered frantically. "The Master might return at any minute!"

"I-I know that... b-but I don't know where to go..."

"Anywhere but here!" the servant insisted, helping her out of the closet. "Please, make haste, he might return, and things will not get any better for us." He pointed towards the old wooden door near the bookshelf. "There's no other way except through that door I'm afraid." he said. 

"But where does it go?" she asked.

"I am uncertain." he answered sadly. "However, you must leave through there. Going back the way you came will be riskier."

"Thanks..." she said, her eyes landing on the yellowed parchment on the writing desk. "I wonder... what did Michael do here, exactly?" The question stunned Emile. 

"Like I said before..." he said. "You must find out for yourself. I suggest not touching those papers. The Master keeps a detailed record of his... day to day events there." She nodded, and chose to leave the papers there and headed for the door. She tried to open it but it was locked. 

"Damn it..." she muttered. "It's locked..." She looked around trying to find a key. Then, it hit her. She found a key in the hidden bedroom earlier, and thankfully it was still intact in her pocket. She pulled it out and tried to open the door with it but it won't budge. With a disappointed huff, she pocketed it again. 

"Emile..." she said, but the servant was long gone. It puzzled her how he disappeared so quickly, and she didn't even hear the main door open. Going back to Michael's writing desk, she quickly went through each drawer.  She found mostly nothing of note, such as old pen nibs and scrap paper, and eventually she found an old rusty key in the final drawer. She grabbed it and hurriedly opened the wooden door and ran inside, closing it with a bit of a thud. 

- - -

It feels like I've arrived in a different place altogether, she thought as she found herself in a dark hallway. It had very little semblance to the luxurious corridors from before, judging from the ages of dust covering the walls and the moth-eaten carpets. Maybe it was an older part of the mansion? A wing that was neglected? At that point it didn't matter since escape was the top priority. 

As she made her way across the hallway and past an old door, she found herself in what seemed to be a dilapidated version of the dining room she was in after escaping her cell. The placement of the high-backed chairs on either side of the long table was the same but everything seemed so old and broken. The ruined fireplace was there but the large painting of Michael Royston was but an empty frame. She coughed, the dust getting into her eyes and nose. I gotta get out of here, she thought. 

Her eyes then fell on another tarot card, that of a young man standing over the edge of a cliff with a dog in tow. The number "0" on the bottom indicated that it was "The Fool". She took the card and on the back was yet the familiar note written in red, but this time, it was a bit more faded. It read:

It was naught but a fool's errand to try and bring back someone who had already crossed the path of madness. I have tried so many times yet... yet I've failed. Am I still in love truly, or just a lovestruck fool in a gilded cage?

Taking the card and pocketing it once more, she made her way out of the dining room and back into the foyer with the corridors going left and right. It was the exact same one as she was in earlier in the day, but this was a dirtier, darker version of it. She turned back to check the balcony and no one was there, save for a tapestry that was there, which depicted the image of a man giving something to what seemed to be the Devil. 

Then she remembered the words that Michael wrote. 

"If He will not answer his faithful child, then perhaps his wayward son will hear my pleas." 

Did he make some sort of deal...with the Devil, she thought to herself. That's impossible! Stuff like that can't be real!

Whatever the case was, she was not sticking around long enough to find out, so she made her way through the same corridor she did before, past the rows of knights' armor that was now eaten by rust and were missing some parts. She found the door which was supposed to lead to Dorothy's study and bedroom but upon opening it, she was surprised to see that it was a small chapel. 

The wooden pews were mostly intact, save for some along the front row which was broken in half. The pulpit was dust-covered much like everything else and, judging from the wilted lilies and the circular wreath of flowers, a funeral had taken place here. On one of the pews was another tarot card depicting a tall tower being struck by lightning. It said "The Tower". It seemed sinister, and on the back, the note written on it had been cut off, but it was enough to make her skin crawl. 

The change in the air is unmistakable. You must flee! You must ---

She didn't need to think twice as she just grabbed the card and made her way to the other door on the left, but before she could open it, she felt an unearthly chill run down her spine, rooting her in place. What's wrong with me, she thought frantically as she tried to turn the knob on the door. For some reason, her feet were rooted onto the floor and her hands refused to move as the temperature in the room dropped to the point that her breath fogged. 

Slowly, she turned her head and to her surprise and horror, she saw that the chapel that had been ruined was somehow restored in its former glory. All the pews were intact, the floors, walls, and ceilings were clearly dust-free and gilded, but near the pulpit was a coffin. The chapel doors opened, and a crowd of people in black came in. 

"She was so young..."

"What illness took her?"

"What of Michael?"

It seemed that, despite some people passing her by, no one seemed to notice her. Or at least, they couldn't see her. Finally, she was able to move, and out of curiosity, she approached the coffin. The lid was open, allowing her to see who was inside.

She saw herself, wearing a white dress, her hands clasped on her chest. Her face was pale and ashen, and on the coffin was written: 

"DOROTHY STEIN - ROYSTON. A DEAR FRIEND, A LOVING WIFE. TAKEN TOO SOON". 

She stumbled back, horrified. It seemed as if the chapel was replaying some sort of echo of a memory, and it was the funeral of Dorothy, Michael's wife. From somewhere outside, she could hear a man sobbing, his pain echoing with each and every cry. 

"HE TOOK HER FROM ME! HE TOOK HER!!"