Page 58 of Whisper of Nightmares

As she’s about to turn her attention to the third and fourth rings, she hears the front doors creak open downstairs.

Muffled voices echo throughout the mostly abandoned manor. Though she cannot hear them clearly, she recognizes Kelda’s and Asvald’s voices already.

The sconce beside her snuffs out.

Euphemia’s hands drop from the mechanism.

She looks down at the rug, swallowed by darkness. Though she cannot see them, she knows her footprints are pressed into the dust. Proof of her trespass. Proof that she has wandered somewhere she innately knows she was never meant to be.

From the looks of it, no one else has walked down this hall in a very a long time. And perhaps that is not so strange. Now that the thrill of the curious door has partially subsided, Euphemia realizes these quarters likely belonged to the late Lord Otho.

Euphemia imagines Kelda, a grieving widow, might avoid them entirely. They might not even be fully off-limits, but she also doesn’t think it would be wise to be caught near them.

Mustering a tremendous amount of willpower, Euphemia pulls herself away from the door.

As she retreats from the corridor, heading downstairs to greet her mother-in-law and ask about her ride, Euphemia cannot pull her thoughts from drifting to the strange mechanism, and what mysteries might lie beyond it once she can crack the lock.

Chapter 13

Shattering Dreamscape

Even drenched to the bone, Kelda insists on dining together that evening. She asks Euphemia how she spent her day, and Euphemia limits her excited recounting to the rooms she discovered—all except for one.

There is no mention of the self-igniting sconce.

No mention of the door with the strange locking mechanism.

Once Euphemia’s tongue has run dry of anything else to share, the conversation becomes minimal. Not uncomfortable. Just light, in a way Euphemia appreciates. There is no pressure to fill the silence, nor to maintain a perfect bow-shaped smile throughout the conversation.

In fact, Kelda gives off the impression that she might actually prefer the ebb and flow of silence. After spending the past year without her husband and the months since without her son, even the simplest conversation seems to drain her as much as it does Euphemia.

After the meal, when Kelda excuses herself and bids Euphemia a night’s well rest, part of Euphemia considers revisiting the locked door while the manor is asleep.

But as she stands from the table, every bone in her body groans.

She has no right to be so tired. All she did today was sleep until lunch and wander the grounds. It was nothing at all like the constant labor she’s used to. No cooking over an open flame. No kneading dough and baking bread. No wiping down table after table.

And yet, Euphemia finds herself turning in for the night as well.

Surely, she’ll find another opportunity to investigate the door later.

Grabbing a candelabrum from the long table, Euphemia uses the flame to find her way back to her bedchamber.

She makes quick work of dressing down and brushing the long length of her hair before nestling into bed. But the moment she lies down, fear grips her. She does not wish to dream tonight. All day, she’s managed to evade the nightmare and its keeper, but how can she evade them in sleep when she has no control over where her dreams take her?

But the week has been long. All Euphemia wants is one night of rest. One night that is actually peaceful for once.

But rest does not come easy this night.

It does not lull her like the gentle swaying of the breeze.

Tonight, it seizes her hungrily.

As Euphemia’s eyes finally fall shut, black jaws snap around her, wrenching her into oblivion. It’s the sort of unconsciousness that is painful. The kind of darkness that is frightening.

When Euphemia comes to on the other side of it, she finds herself falling into the same ethereal sunset landscape from last night. The same unnaturally violet skies. The same arctic chill that makes it difficult to breathe. The same fiery horse by the stream.

It’s strange, she thinks. In all her nineteen years, Euphemia has only ever had one repeating dream, and that was more of a memory that haunted her.