The castle on the hill

2

The days settled into a quiet rhythm. You rose with the first light, the pre-dawn hush broken only by the distant cawing of crows. Your mornings were spent cleaning the Lady Dimitrescu's expansive chambers, dusting the ornately carved furniture and polishing the silver candelabras until they gleamed. The silence was punctuated only by the soft swish of your broom and the rhythmic tick of a grandfather clock in the corner.

The Lady was a creature of habit. She emerged from her private quarters shortly after midday, her tall figure gliding down the grand staircase like a phantom. You would catch a glimpse of her as she passed, her dark silhouette framed by the sunlight streaming through the high windows. A curt nod, a murmured instruction, and then she would disappear into another wing of the castle, leaving you with a lingering sense of her unspoken power.

Your duties extended beyond the Lady's private quarters. You were assigned to clean the various guest rooms, their heavy drapes perpetually drawn, casting the interior in a perpetual twilight. The air in these rooms hung heavy with the scent of dust and disuse, a tangible reminder of the castle's seclusion. Sometimes, you would find a single wilted flower on a windowsill, a heartbreaking testament to a vanished visitor.

One afternoon, while cleaning a particularly neglected chamber, you stumbled upon a hidden door tucked away behind a tapestry depicting a hunt. Curiosity tugged at you, but the fear of discovery held you back. You straightened the tapestry, the coarse fabric scratching against your fingertips, and continued your work, the secret passage a silent echo in the back of your mind.

Your evenings were spent with the other maids, a small group of women who shared your secluded existence within the castle walls. You gathered in a sparsely furnished room located near the kitchens, a flickering fire casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. Here, amidst the clatter of dishes and the low murmur of conversation, you found a semblance of companionship.

There was Elena, a woman with a kind smile and hands worn coarse by years of labor. She spoke little, content to listen to the chatter of the younger maids. Maria, with her quick wit and sharp tongue, kept the mood light, her jokes a welcome distraction from the monotony of their lives. And then there was Olive.

Olive was different. Younger than the others, with eyes the color of the summer sky and a shock of fiery red hair, she possessed an infectious energy that brightened even the gloomiest corners of the castle.  Unlike the others, she wasn't burdened by years of service. She had arrived just a few months prior, her youthful exuberance a stark contrast to the castle's somber atmosphere.

Olive, you discovered, was a friend of Daniela. The Lady Dimitrescu's youngest daughter, Daniela, was a whirlwind of energy and mischief.  Rumors swirled amongst the servants about the three Dimitrescu daughters, whispers of their beauty and their reclusiveness. But Olive spoke of Daniela with a genuine fondness, painting a picture of a young woman yearning for a life beyond the castle walls.

"She's lonely," Olive confided in you one evening, her voice barely a whisper. "Stuck in this castle with nothing but her sisters and those creepy dolls."

Dolls. The other maids exchanged nervous glances. The Lady Dimitrescu's collection of porcelain dolls was a source of endless fascination and unease.  They stood eerily still in glass cabinets lining the corridors, their painted faces staring vacantly out into the world.

"They're not creepy," Olive countered, a hint of defiance in her voice.  "They're beautiful. Each one is a perfect replica of someone... or something."

You shivered, a cold sensation creeping down your spine. The dolls were more than unsettling; they were a tangible reminder of the mysteries the castle held close.  You quickly changed the subject, eager to dispel the unsettling atmosphere Olive's words had created.

As the weeks turned into months, you and Olive formed a bond. You shared stories of your lives before the castle, hers filled with tales of a bustling marketplace and a family overflowing with warmth, yours laced with the quiet desperation of a harsh winter.  She confided in you about her dreams of leaving the castle, of returning to the vibrant life she once knew.  You, in turn, shared your anxieties about the enigmatic Lady Dimitrescu and the unsettling silence that permeated the castle.

One evening, as you and Olive sat by the fire, flames casting flickering shadows on your faces, a bloodcurdling scream shattered the night's stillness. You both jumped, hearts pounding in your chests. The scream originated from somewhere deep within the castle, a chilling sound that spoke of terror and pain.

Olive grabbed your arm, her grip tight with fear.  "What was that?" she whispered, her eyes wide with alarm.