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Timeskip to later that night
Y/n let out a frustrated sigh as she looked over at Layla, the youngest of the phantoms in her collection. Layla, who had been a child when she died, clung to a perpetual state of youth and innocence that often led her to worry about the people Y/n cared about, despite her own eternal circumstances.
"I'm worried about Ella, Y/n," Layla's ghostly voice wavered with concern. Her small figure hovered near the edge of the bed, eyes wide and pleading.
"I know you are, Layla," Y/n said, rubbing her temples. "But it's the middle of the night. Ella's probably just asleep."
Layla shook her head vigorously. "No! She usually sleeps with you or Bridget, but she's not there. Y/n, please."
Y/n hesitated, glancing at the clock. It was late, and she had been looking forward to some rest. But Layla's worried expression tugged at her heart. Despite her own exhaustion, Y/n couldn't ignore the possibility that something might be wrong.
"Fine, I'll go check," Y/n grumbled, throwing on a shirt with a resigned sigh. "But if I find her sleeping peacefully, I'm coming right back."
Layla's eyes lit up with silent gratitude as she watched Y/n dress quickly. "Thank you, Y/n."
Y/n moved with purpose through the dimly lit corridors of the mansion, her footsteps echoing softly. Knowing Ella didn't have a dorm and usually bunked with her or Bridget, Y/n headed straight for Lady Tremaine's mansion.
The night air was crisp as she arrived at the large, imposing estate. The mansion's silhouette loomed against the dark sky, and the grounds were eerily quiet. Y/n approached cautiously, hoping not to wake anyone unnecessarily.
She slipped through a side entrance and made her way through the dimly lit halls of the mansion, navigating with practiced ease despite the unfamiliar surroundings. The mansion was eerily quiet, the grandeur of its architecture casting long shadows in the dim light. Her first stop was Ella's room.
Y/n hesitated before pushing the door open. She had known it would be bare—Ella had mentioned in passing that her stepmother didn't allow her to have much—but Y/n wasn't prepared for how stark and desolate the space truly was. The room was a cold, empty shell, devoid of any warmth or personal touch. It felt less like a bedroom and more like a prison cell.
The walls were cracked and peeling, the floor covered in dust, and the single window was barred, letting in only a faint, miserable light that did nothing to lift the gloom. There was no bed, no dresser, no mirror—nothing that suggested this room belonged to someone, especially not someone as kind and gentle as Ella. It was as if Lady Tremaine had gone out of her way to strip the room of anything that might give Ella a sense of belonging or comfort.
A lump formed in Y/n's throat as she stepped inside, her heart breaking at the sight. She had known Ella's life wasn't easy, but this—this was something else entirely. The cruelty on display here went beyond mere neglect; it was calculated, designed to break Ella's spirit. It was a place meant to remind her every day of her supposed insignificance.
