Glass Slippers

Chapter 10

Sang's POV:

I'm jolted awake from a deep sleep by a sudden, thunderous bang. My body jerks upright, and it takes a moment for me to register my surroundings. Memories from the day before flood my mind—the weight of my criminal status, the imposing palace, and the enigmatic door.

I remain curled in my bed, straining to hear any trace of where the sound originated. The eerie silence of the night intensifies, and a shiver races down my spine, causing goosebumps to erupt on my skin. Then, it happens again—a quieter bang, but what chills me to the core are the subsequent scratches. They slice through the air, slow and sharp, akin to the grating sound of nails on a chalkboard. It emanates from directly behind the vacant dresser, where the mysterious door hides. The thought of that dark, musty scent and the haunting staircase creeps into my mind, leaving me to ponder what horrors may lie beyond. Frozen in place, sweat dampens my skin, and my hair clings uncomfortably to the nape of my neck. I wait, seemingly trapped in time, until the scratching finally ceases.

Silence descends like a suffocating blanket, and I strain my ears, my heart pounding so loudly in my head that I can practically feel its frantic beats pulsating throughout my entire body. Nothing. No sound. Whatever caused that disturbance has either departed or is biding its time, waiting for... I'm not sure. But I have no intentions of finding out.

I must have remained there for hours, every faint sound, the faintest whisper of movement, holding me hostage. The fear of what lies behind that door, coupled with the labyrinthine halls that stretch beyond my room, keeps me glued to my bed.

My fear-induced trance is abruptly shattered by a knock on my door, followed by the harsh, distinct voice of Mr. Blackbourne.

"It's morning, Miss Sorenson. Please come and collect your breakfast."

I rise carefully, hastily dressing in yesterday's clothes. Fear clings to me like a second skin, especially as I position myself with my back turned to the mysterious door to greet Mr. Blackbourne. It's as if my muscles refuse to relax, fearing that whatever creature lurks there might break free. As I gaze at Mr. Blackbourne, his impeccably tailored gray suit and icy expression, I contemplate revealing what I heard. But the fear of further trouble for meddling with the door deters me. Moreover, as a councilman, disclosing anything remotely connected to magic or ancient creatures would likely land me in even deeper trouble. Although I haven't known him for long, I'd rather face whatever lurks behind that door alone than face Mr. Blackbourne's disapproval.

Taking the tray of breakfast from him, I express my gratitude, terrified at the prospect of being left alone in my room once more. "Is there any chance I could be allowed outside in the gardens?" I venture, hoping to escape or, at the very least, give that unseen entity ample time to leave me be.

"Do I need to remind you, Miss Sorenson, that you are, in fact, a prisoner?" Mr. Blackbourne's voice drips with disdain. "These luxurious rooms may deceive you, but rest assured, you are no different from the other criminals who find themselves here. Your hearing is scheduled for this afternoon, which is the only reason I haven't had you thrown into the dungeons." I'm taken aback by his words—his previous kindness during our lunch together now seems like a distant memory. Does he truly think so little of me?

At least there's one silver lining: my hearing is today, and once it's over, I can leave all this behind. I might have to deal with my stepmother's punishments, but they still seem preferable to this. Perhaps she's even stranded outside the city herself. Either way, her retribution appears more manageable than the trials I face here.

Mr. Blackbourne bids me farewell, and I shut the door behind him, bringing the breakfast into my room. I sit down near the door, as far away from the empty dresser as possible. From this vantage point, I can make a quick escape if something were to enter. I absentmindedly eat the food provided, the flavors blending together until they become unappetizing. I switch to sipping water instead. The idea of taking a shower feels too vulnerable, so alternatively I settle for washing up at the sink. Once I feel refreshed, I return to my room, curiosity burning within me as I stare at the empty dresser, the edge of the mysterious door peeking out. The urge to open it is strong, but fear roots me in place. I need to know what lies beyond that door.