Audrey & Aislinn: Reset [EDITING]

Chapter 23-Audrey

Aislinn wasn't wrong about this mansion after all.

Jake and I stroll down the long hallway towards the west wing of the grand building. Side by side, arms outstretched, we trace our fingers along the carefully curated walls. Underneath a thick film of dust, floral wallpaper lines the upper walls, whilst the bottom half continues with the wood-stained wainscotting.

With each passing door, we pause, peering into rooms. We make a game of guessing what each room could have been. Some are easier to determine than others, with furniture remaining, while others lay bare.

Aislinn's intuition proves sharper than we'd imagined. The mansion, despite its forgotten facade, harbours a wealth of history that begs to be unearthed.

"Imagine the stories these walls could tell," Jake muses, his eyes scanning the grandeur of the hall.

"I bet there were grand parties, filled with laughter and music," I reply, my gaze lingering on the remnants of a once-elaborate chandelier.

As we reach the end of the hallway, a set of grand double doors stands tall and imposing. The heavy handles yield reluctantly to our touch, groaning awake after a lifetime of rest.

Beyond the doors, a vast ballroom unfolds, frozen in time. Dust particles float in the air like memories, catching the soft glow of our flashlights. The grandeur of the space strikes us into silence. A chandelier, draped in cobwebs, hangs from the centre of the ornate ceiling. The room echoes with a haunting stillness as we speak.

"Wow," Jake mutters in awe. Exchanging glances, we both realise that this discovery is more significant than any other room we've encountered.

The dance floor stretches expansively, the polished wood marred only by the passing of time. Faded tapestries cover the walls. I envision them being admired at lavish events, maybe as a conversation starter. As we venture further, the distant strains of a long-forgotten melody seem to resonate through the vast chamber.

Without a word, I hum the tune, recognizing it as a melancholic waltz. The sound vibrates through the emptiness, and Jake, catching on, joins in with a soft hum. The atmosphere shifts, as if the room itself embraces the music, filling the void with a strange energy.

As we twirl and sway, the mansion comes alive. It's almost as if the dance communes us with the spirits of those who once graced this ballroom. And for a moment, it feels like time itself witnesses our dance.

As we dance, Jake and I share an unspoken understanding. Our connection deepens with each step. The mystery of the mansion intertwines with the mystery of us, and as the last notes of the waltz fade into the shadows, we stand in the ballroom, breathless yet connected, transcending the layers of dust and decay that surround us.

"Imagine how wonderful it would have been to live here," I whisper, my eyes sweeping over the faded grandeur.

Jake grins, his eyes sparkling. "I can picture it. Ballroom filled with people, music floating in the air. And you, the belle of the ball, dancing under the chandelier."

I laugh. "And you, the dashing gentleman, sweeping me off my feet."

"Well, why not continue the fantasy?" Jake asks, extending his hand. "May I have this dance, my lady?"

I chuckle, placing my hand on his. "Certainly, kind sir."

As we waltz across the ballroom floor, creating a memory that, perhaps, the mansion itself will carry on in its silent walls. My heart flutters with each sweep across the floor, bathing in Jake's touch that sends electricity running through my body. As we dance, we laugh, and I catch him looking at me occasionally. I'm unsure whether he's caught me doing the same. Yet each time our eyes meet, there's a burning within me, and I wonder if he reads my mind. Oh, if only he could read my mind.