The vine is bleeding.

You see it first in the corner of your eye, a dark weeping from the glass. You are holding the jar. Your hands are shaking. The glass is thick, ancient, heavy as a stone. It is warm. It is alive.

You are in the Hall of Mirrors.

The air smells of ozone and rot. The chandeliers are made of bone. They do not burn. They pulse. A slow, red rhythm. Like a heart failing.

You are not supposed to be here. You are a servant. You are a thief. You are a sinner.

But you needed the food. You needed the warmth. The hunger was a beast in your belly. It ate your thoughts. It ate your fear. It left only the need.

The vine moves. It wraps around your wrist. It is cold. It is tight. It pulls.

You drop the jar.

It does not break. It shatters into light. Into dust. Into sound.

The sound is a scream.

The room changes.

The mirrors show you. Not your face. Not your body. They show your past.

You see the winter. You see the snow. You see the empty pantry. You see the child crying. You see yourself stealing a loaf of bread. You see the whip. You see the blood.

The vine tightens.

You gasp.

The mirrors show the present.

You see the Duke. He stands in the center of the room. He is tall. He is thin. His eyes are closed. He is listening.

He hears the vine.

He hears your breath.

He opens his eyes.

They are black. They are deep. They are wells.

"You have it," he says.

His voice is soft. It is like wind in dead leaves.

You cannot speak. The vine is in your throat now. It is choking you. It is feeding you.

"It is a gift," he says. "A burden. A truth."

He walks toward you. His shoes make no sound. The floor is made of ice. It does not melt. It burns.

You look at the vine. It is green. It is bright. It is beautiful.

It is eating you.

You realize it now. You realize it all at once. The hunger was not for food. The hunger was for knowledge. For power. For the secret of the house.

You wanted to know why the walls wept. You wanted to know why the servants disappeared. You wanted to know the truth.

The truth is the vine.

The vine is the truth.

The truth is a curse.

The Duke stops before you. He looks at your wrist. He looks at your face. He sees the terror. He sees the wonder.

"Did you know?" he asks.

You shake your head. No. You did not know. You thought it was just a plant. You thought it was just a symbol. You thought it was just a thing to hold.

You were wrong.

The vine pulses. You feel a surge of energy. It is hot. It is fast. It fills your veins.

You feel strong. You feel powerful. You feel like you can crush the world.

The Duke smiles. It is a sad smile. It is a tired smile.

"It always feels like power," he says. "At first. It is never power. It is only weight."

The weight of knowing. The weight of seeing. The weight of being seen.

You look at the mirrors again.

They are not showing your past. They are showing your future.

You see yourself in the vine. You are part of it. You are the root. You are the leaf. You are the flower. You are the fruit.

You will never leave this room. You will never leave this house. You will be here until the end. Until the house falls. Until the vine dies.

But the vine does not die. It is eternal. It is constant. It is always growing.

You are always growing.

You are always hungry.

You try to pull your hand away. You try to cut the vine. You have no knife. You have no tool. You have only your hands.

Your hands are soft. Your hands are weak.

The Duke touches your shoulder.

His touch is cold. It is like ice.

"Let go," he says.

You do not want to let go. You want to hold on. You want to keep the power. You want to keep the knowledge.

You are a thief. You take. You do not give. You do not release.

The vine tightens. You scream.

The sound is not human. It is a crack. A snap. A break.

The glass jars on the shelves shatter. One by one. Then all at once.

A storm of dust. A storm of light.

The mirrors crack.

The light floods in.

It is blinding. It is white. It is pure.

You fall to your knees.

The Duke is gone.

You are alone.

The vine is still there. It is on your wrist. It is on your arm. It is on your chest.

It is everywhere.

You try to breathe. You cannot.

You try to think. You cannot.

You only feel.

The feeling is pain. The feeling is joy. The feeling is peace.

It is all the same.

You close your eyes.

You see the community.

You see the other servants. You see the cooks. You see the maids. You see the gardeners.

They are all connected. They are all part of the vine.

They are not prisoners. They are not slaves.

They are the house.

They are the family.

They are the love.

It is a destructive love. It consumes everything. It leaves nothing.

But it is complete.

You are complete.

You are part of the whole.

The vine pulls. It pulls you up. It lifts you off the floor. It lifts you to the ceiling.

The ceiling is made of glass. It is transparent.

You look out.

You see the sky. It is dark. It is full of stars.

The stars are vines. The stars are lights. The stars are eyes.

They are watching you.

You are not afraid anymore.

You are not hungry anymore.

You are not alone anymore.

You are the vine.

You are the light.

You are the truth.

The truth is that you are nothing.

The truth is that you are everything.

The truth is that the door is open.

You do not need to open it.

It is already open.

You step through.

You step into the light.

The light is warm. The light is soft.

The light is home.

You do not look back.

You do not need to.

The house is behind you. The house is within you.

The vine is within you.

The truth is within you.

And it is heavy.

And it is beautiful.

And it is yours.

You walk.

You do not stop.

You do not turn.

You are the wind.

You are the rain.

You are the seed.

You are the bloom.

You are the end.

The end is not a stop.

The end is a start.

The end is a door.

The door is open.

You walk through.

You are free.

You are bound.

You are the vine.

The vine is you.

The story is over.

The story is just beginning.

The vine grows.

The vine bleeds.

The vine lives.

You live.

You are alive.

You are here.

You are now.

The now is enough.

The now is all.

The now is everything.

The now is the vine.

The vine is the now.

You are the now.

The now is you.

The loop is closed.

The loop is open.

The loop is eternal.

The vine is eternal.

You are eternal.

The truth is eternal.

The curse is eternal.

The love is eternal.

The pain is eternal.

The peace is eternal.

The light is eternal.

The dark is eternal.

The space between is eternal.

You are in the space between.

You are in the threshold.

You are at the distant threshold.

You are at the door.

The door is open.

You step through.

You do not look back.

You do not turn.

You walk.

You live.

You are.