I turned the corner and approached a door beneath the spiral staircase. I stepped inside and thought my knees might buckle. The library. It had to have been two stories tall. Shelves lined the walls and each had a robust collection of books. Books I'd never seen before, never heard of, beckoned to be read. Rolling ladders leaned against each wall so that a person could reach any book in the room. A large desk stood at one end of the room. Across from it, a couch and two chaise lounges had been staged in front of the stone fireplace. This room would be my escape from reality. This room would help me survive each day. This room would be my cave.
Thick layers of dust covered every inch of the home. Dust webs were strewn across mostly everything. Cleaning was going to be a laborious task. I couldn't guess how long it would take to even make the library look presentable, but it would give me something to do, and I was eager to stay busy and keep my mind off the pain. More often than not, when I started thinking of Henry and that awful night, I would pick up a rag and start cleaning. I used to hum one of mother's favorite tunes to help get me through.
I found my way to the master suite where Father had insisted I make my home. He preferred the room he’d loved as a small boy, and he wanted me to have the best the castle had to offer. It was an impressive room. A massive four-poster bed with intricate designs carved into the mahogany filled the center of the space. I folded back the fabric covering the beautiful furniture, and wondered how long it had been since it was last used.
I should have felt giddy sizing up this home, but I didn't feel a thing. I stood there in a beautiful castle, a treasure I’d be unveiling for years to come, yet I was becoming bitter. I felt that bitterness creep its way into my thoughts more and more each day. Would it ever end? I didn't want to become an angry person, but I had no happiness to look forward to, no family, no friends and nobody who loved me except Father, and he would soon be gone. I already felt alone and feared I always would.
I wandered from my suite of rooms into a hallway of eyes—a hallway with no doors, nothing but paintings; women on one side, men on the other. I stared into the unseeing, yet all-knowing, eyes of my ancestors. Who were they? What story would each of them tell me? I couldn't wait to uncover their secrets somehow. If I couldn’t find out the truth about them, maybe I’d make up stories. I could write that book I’d always imagined writing. A book about the wealthy men and women who were eternally enshrined within a gilded frame in what I would call the Hall of Horrors.
I followed the progression of years through the dates on the paintings. As I moved through the hallway, the paintings grew more and more current, ending with the most recent. My grandmother. That settled it. My first order of business would be to add my mother to the wall, right next to father, even if I had to paint her myself.
Finally, at the end of the hallway, I turned and looked back. What was the point of this space? What did it lead to? Not a single doorway except for this small arched one here at the end. I placed my palm on the stone wall on either side of the door, feeling for some kind of clue of what lay beyond.
I guessed I’d just have to look for myself. I pulled it open and peered into the darkness beyond the threshold. A dark, stone staircase descended straight down. If I were smart, I’d close the door and turn away. But I had nothing to lose and I had to know. I placed one foot on the top stair and followed with another. I spiraled downward, step after step. Would it ever end? Better question: why hadn't I grabbed a candle to light my way?
I dragged my hands along the wall as I descended. At least I could get back up with little trouble if I couldn't see when I made it to the bottom.
I reached out a hand and felt in front of me until I hit resistance—a solid surface. Was it a door? I felt along the flat wall until my hand grasped something. I felt with my fingertips. It was a doorknocker. Dare I knock? What if some goblin opened the door?
Hey. Don’t laugh. Years ago I’d have laughed too. But, after I’d come face to face with a witch and lived with a dragon nearby for years, a goblin wasn’t so farfetched.
I pressed gently and the door gave way. I inched it open and streaks of light flooded the landing where I stood. I stepped through the doorway into a magical place.
I was outdoors. Or was I? I spun in a complete circle. It was a garden like none I'd seen before. Brilliant flowers and rows of shrubs were positioned in a maze of sorts. Low hanging baskets of cascades of flowers pink, red, yellow, purple. Some were the most vibrant orange that looked like little licks of flames throughout the garden. Overhead ivy and branches were intertwined in such a way to give the feel of a complete covering, yet plenty of sunlight poked through.