Trapped In a World I Created

"This way," Butler Caspian finally commanded, his voice clipped and devoid of warmth.

Elle followed without question, her head bowed and her mind clouded with unease. She didn't dare glance around, the suffocating air of the corridors pressing down on her. Every step felt heavier than the last, her knees still throbbing from her earlier fall.

The hallway was dimly lit, the faint glow of sparse lanterns casting ghostly shadows that flickered along the cold stone walls. The uneven light blurred the edges of everything, leaving an air of uncertainty in its wake. Elle clutched her dress in her fists, lifting the hem slightly to avoid tripping again. Her breaths were shallow, and her heart raced with the weight of unspoken fear.

Butler Caspian came to a halt before a door, its dark wood engraved with ornate designs. Without a word, he opened it, the hinges creaking softly.

"This is where you'll stay until further notice from the crown prince," he said, stepping aside. His tone carried no sympathy, only a detached sense of duty. "I will send maids to assist you in cleaning up."

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and walked away, his footsteps fading into the silence of the corridor.

Elle stepped into the room hesitantly, the door closing behind her with a heavy thud. She felt as though she'd just been sealed inside a cage, the air thick with foreboding.

Elle sat on the edge of the bed, her trembling hands clenching into fists. Her mind raced with a single thought: she needed to leave. Now. The room felt suffocating, the walls pressing in as though alive. Her breathing grew shallow, and her dark blue eyes glinted with a newfound resolve.

"You wouldn't want that," a voice whispered softly, almost tenderly, into her ear.

Her body froze. Every muscle locked in place as a shiver coursed down her spine. The voice was neither near nor far, but she felt it—a warm breath grazing her skin, sending a chill so deep it rooted her to the spot. She tried to turn, to run, to scream, but her body betrayed her. Her legs felt like lead, her arms useless at her sides. Move. MOVE! her mind screamed, but the looming shadow behind her sapped every ounce of strength.

Knock, knock.

The sudden sound of knuckles rapping against wood broke through the paralyzing fear. It echoed through the room like a lifeline, dragging her out of her stupor. Elle gasped, turning sharply toward the source. The door.

Her legs wobbled as she stumbled backward, away from the bed. Her chest heaved with labored breaths. Her eyes darted around the dimly lit room, searching for the shadow that had been there—no, had to be there.

Another knock, louder this time.

"Open the door, miss. I'm here to help you," came a low, old feminine voice, muffled by the thick wood.

Elle didn't think. She lunged for the door, her trembling hands fumbling with the latch. She yanked it open, almost colliding with the mid aged maid standing on the other side. Before the woman could step in, Elle grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the corridor, her grip frantic.

"Someone's there. In the room." Her voice quaked, her words tumbling out in a breathless rush.

The mid aged maid stared at her, startled by the panic in her eyes. "Miss—"

"I'm not imagining it!" Elle insisted, her grip tightening. Her body shook violently, and her face burned with shame. She wasn't the type to scare easily, not the girl who stayed up until dawn without flinching in the dark. Yet here, something about this place—this castle, this wing—was different.

She glanced over her shoulder toward the room, expecting to see it. The shadow. The whisper. But the doorway was empty, dark and still.

The mid aged maid reached for her, trying to calm her down. "It's alright, miss. You're safe here. His Highness ensures—"

His Highness.

The mention of Halcyon sent another wave of unease crashing over her. Somewhere in this wing, he was waiting. Watching, perhaps. Elle's chest tightened at the thought of his piercing, blood-red eyes and the way his touch had stolen her breath earlier.

Her hands fell to her sides, trembling. She had no explanation for what she'd felt in that room, but she knew one thing: whatever it was, it wasn't over. And perhaps no will believe her.

Elle nooded her head, even though her body betrayed. She didn't imagined that, it was real.

The maid smiled warmly, "let's go inside" her voice soft as cotton. She was 47 years old, Agatha, the only human maid in royal palace.

She guided elle inside the room. Urging her to step into the bathroom.

Elle was stripped down, cool brize brushing through her warm body sending Shiver through her body. "Please step in, child" Agatha urged elle to step inside the bath tub.

As elle sat down, her nerves calm down with warm water sending warmth her body. She felt Agatha puring water on her head, and started washing her hair using the soap.

"How did you get hurt?" Agatha voice just above whisper. Her voice toned with concerned, after seeing Elle's left hand full of cut scar and just above her left breast, there were countless of scars as if someone has used blade against her flesh.

"I fell, while coming here" elle replied thinking the old women asked for the wound on her knees and elbows.

"No not that" Agatha didn't said more just enough to hint her, she raised her hands and touched the scar on her chest. "These".

Before Agatha could touch even further, elle raised her hand and grabbed Agatha's hand in tight grip, "don't touch" her voice came out rasped as if controlling her tears.

Elle nodded slowly, her lips pressed tightly together. Her body betrayed her resolve, trembling despite her best efforts to appear composed. She hadn't imagined it—it was real.

The maid offered a gentle smile, her warm demeanor a stark contrast to the cold tension lingering in the room. "Come now, let's get you settled," she said softly, her voice like a soothing lullaby.

The woman was older, perhaps in her late forties, with streaks of silver running through her braided hair. Agatha, as Elle would later learn, was the only human maid in the royal palace—a rarity in a place filled with otherworldly beings.

Agatha guided Elle back into the room, her hands light yet firm on Elle's shoulders. She nudged her gently toward the adjoining bathroom.

Stripped of the heavy, dust-stained dress, Elle shivered as the cool breeze kissed her bare skin. Goosebumps rippled across her arms, and she crossed them over her chest in an instinctive attempt to shield herself.

"Step into the tub, child," Agatha urged kindly, gesturing toward the steaming bath that awaited her.

Elle sank into the warm water, her muscles easing as the heat enveloped her. For the first time since her arrival, the knot of anxiety in her chest began to loosen. Agatha poured warm water over Elle's head, her touch careful and maternal as she worked the soap through Elle's hair.

"How did you get hurt?" Agatha asked, her voice barely above a whisper. The question was tinged with concern, her eyes lingering on the old scrapes along Elle's chest and left arm.

Elle, assuming the maid referred to elbows and knees injuries, replied quietly, "I fell... on the way here."

"No," Agatha murmured, her voice firmer this time. "Not those."

Her hand moved tentatively to Elle's left arm, her weathered fingers brushing against the faint scars crisscrossing the pale skin. She didn't stop there. Her gaze dropped to Elle's chest, to the jagged, almost deliberate scars just above her left breast.

"These," Agatha said softly, her hand reaching out as if to trace the marks.

The atmosphere thickened, the calm of the bath shattered by the weight of the moment. Elle's hand shot up, gripping Agatha's wrist tightly, her knuckles white. "Don't touch," she rasped, her voice raw, trembling.

Agatha froze, her eyes widening in surprise. For a moment, the room was silent but for the faint ripple of water in the tub.

Elle's chest heaved, her breath uneven. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but she willed them away. "Just... don't," she whispered, her voice breaking as she released the maid's wrist.

Sensing Elle's uneasiness, Agatha pulled back, her gaze heavy with unspoken questions. But she said nothing more, resuming her work in silence, allowing Elle the space to gather her shattered composure.