The castle on the hill

1

Dim light filtered through the high windows, casting long shadows across the worn wooden floorboards. The air was thick with the scent of dust and something faintly floral, a lingering ghost from the bouquets that once adorned the grand hall. You knelt amidst the scattered petals, the worn fabric of your maid's dress whispering against the aged floor as you meticulously dusted the intricate carvings of a fallen knight's statue.

Castle Dimitrescu loomed over the village, a solitary giant against the backdrop of rolling green hills. Its imposing silhouette dominated the landscape, a constant reminder of the power and isolation that resided within its ancient walls. You had grown up in its shadow, a child of the village nestled at its base. The villagers spoke of the castle in hushed tones, a mixture of awe and trepidation lacing their voices. Stories of the noble Dimitrescu family, shrouded in mystery, were passed down through generations, each embellishment adding to the castle's mystique.

Your life had taken an unexpected turn when you were barely a woman. A harsh winter had ravaged the village crops, leaving many families on the brink of starvation. Your father, a skilled woodcarver, had been offered a contract to restore some of the castle's aging furniture. It was a lifeline for your family, but a bittersweet one. The castle was known for its reclusiveness, and whispers of strange occurrences within its walls had always sent shivers down your spine.

Your father returned from his first day at the castle pale and shaken. He spoke little of his work, only that the place was vast and strangely silent. He wouldn't let you accompany him, citing the danger of climbing the treacherous path in the winter snow.  But then, a week later, a messenger arrived at your doorstep. The Lady Dimitrescu herself required a personal maid, and you, with your nimble fingers and quiet demeanor, were deemed suitable.

Leaving your family was a wrench to your heart, but the prospect of helping them through the winter outweighed your fear.  The journey to the castle was arduous, the snow-covered path slick and treacherous. The imposing facade of the castle loomed larger with every step, its dark windows like vacant eyes staring down at you.  A tremor of apprehension ran through you as you finally crossed the threshold.

The castle interior was a labyrinth of dusty corridors and dimly lit chambers.  The air hung heavy with the weight of time, the silence broken only by the occasional creak of floorboards or the rustle of unseen things.  An elderly woman, her face etched with a lifetime of service, showed you to your quarters, a small room tucked away in a forgotten corner of the castle.  The furnishings were sparse but functional, a bed with a threadbare blanket, a chest for your belongings, and a chipped washbasin.

Sleep came reluctantly that night. The unfamiliar sounds of the castle – the groan of settling stones, the distant howl of wind – played on your nerves. Yet, amidst the unease, a strange sense of curiosity blossomed within you.  Who were the inhabitants of this vast, silent place? What secrets did its walls hold?

The next morning, you were summoned to the Lady Dimitrescu's chambers.  Trepidation gnawed at you as you climbed the grand staircase, its worn red carpet muffling your footsteps.  The double doors to the Lady's chambers were imposing, ornately carved with scenes of a bygone era.  Taking a deep breath, you knocked hesitantly.

A voice, smooth and cool like velvet, drifted from within. "Enter."

Pushing open the doors, you stepped into a room bathed in the warm glow of a fireplace. The Lady Dimitrescu stood by the window, her back to you.  She was tall and statuesque, her raven hair cascading down her back in a thick braid.  An air of power and mystery emanated from her, a silent command that demanded respect.

"You are the new maid," she spoke, her voice a low contralto that resonated in the stillness of the room.  She turned, her gaze falling upon you.  Her eyes, the color of deep wine, were as captivating as they were unsettling.

"Yes, my Lady," you stammered, overwhelmed by her presence.

She gestured towards a nearby chair. "Sit."

You sat, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, unsure of what to expect.  The Lady Dimitrescu moved with a feline grace, her long black dress swirling around her ankles as she approached a mahogany desk.  She picked up a stack of papers and began to peruse them, her movements efficient and measured.

"Your duties will be simple," she stated, her voice devoid of emotion.  "You will keep my quarters clean, attend to my personal needs, and maintain silence at all times."