The hall smells of wet wool and old blood. You stand in the corner. Your coat is damp. It clings to your shoulders like a second skin. You are not invited. You are here because you must be. The chandeliers hang low. They drip wax. The light is yellow. It is sick.

Sir Aldric stands at the head of the table. He wears velvet. It is black. It absorbs the light. He does not look at you. He never looks at you. He looks at the glass. He swirls the wine. It is red. It is thick.

"Another cup," he says. His voice is soft. It cuts through the air. It is a blade wrapped in silk.

The butler, Thomas, moves. He is a shadow. He places the glass. His hand trembles. You see it. A tiny shake. He is afraid. He is always afraid.

You do not drink. You hold the glass. It is cold. The condensation runs down. It stings your fingers. You look at the liquid. It reflects your face. The face is wrong. The eyes are too wide. The mouth is too thin. You are a stranger in your own reflection.

"Drink," Aldric says. It is not a request. It is a command. It is a law.

You lift the glass. You touch your lips. You do not swallow. You let the wine slide down your chin. It is warm. It is bitter. It tastes of iron.

Aldric smiles. It is a thin smile. It does not reach his eyes. "You have spirit," he says. "It is a waste. It is a tragedy."

You put the glass down. The crystal hits the wood. It makes a sharp sound. A crack. A fracture.

The room goes quiet. The music stops. The violins hang in the air. They are frozen.

"Pick it up," Aldric says.

You do not move. Your hands are at your sides. They are clenched. The nails dig into the palms. You feel the pain. It is good. It is real.

"You will pick it up," he says. His voice is lower now. It is cold. It is the cold of deep water. It is the cold of the grave.

You look at the glass. It is broken. Shards of crystal lie on the table. They catch the light. They sparkle. They are beautiful. They are dangerous.

"I will not," you say.

The sound is small. It is barely a whisper. But it fills the room. It echoes. It bounces off the walls. It hits the mirrors. It multiplies.

Aldric stands. He moves toward you. He is tall. He is long. He is a tower. He blocks the light. You are in shadow. You are in darkness.

He stops. He is close. You can smell him. He smells of lavender. He smells of rot. It is a sweet smell. It is a heavy smell. It presses on your chest.

"Who do you think you are?" he asks.

You do not answer. You look at his face. You look for the man. You look for the friend. You look for the boy who shared bread with you in the cellar. You look for the one who whispered secrets in the dark.

You find nothing. You find only the mask. You find the void.

"I am you," you say.

It is a mistake. It is a lie. It is the truth.

Aldric laughs. It is a dry sound. It is like leaves scraping on stone. He leans in. His eyes are black. They are deep. They are wells.

"You are not," he says. "You are a ghost. You are a memory. You are a stain on my life. You will be erased."

He raises his hand. He points at you. His finger is long. It is pale. It is a bone.

"Take him away," he says to the guards.

The guards move. They are large. They are silent. They surround you. Their hands are on your arms. They are iron. They are cold.

You do not fight. You do not scream. You let them take you. You walk. Your feet are heavy. The floor is smooth. It is cold. It is stone.

You pass the mirrors. You see yourself. You see the others. They are watching. They are silent. They are afraid. They do not look away. They want to see. They want to know.

Thomas watches. He stands by the wall. He is still. His face is pale. His eyes are wet. He does not look at Aldric. He looks at you. He looks at your face. He sees the pain. He sees the anger. He sees the love.

He sees the truth.

You are led down the stairs. The stairs are long. They spiral. They go down. The air is damp. It is thick. It smells of mold. It smells of earth.

The doors open. They are heavy. They are iron. They groan as they open. The sound is loud. It is deep. It is a moan.

You step out. The night is cold. The wind is sharp. It cuts your face. It cuts your skin. You shiver. You do not stop.

The garden is dark. The hedges are high. They are black. They are walls. They trap you. They hold you.

You walk. You walk fast. Your breath is short. It is white in the air. It disappears.

You find the gate. It is open. It is ajar. A sliver of moonlight cuts through. It is silver. It is cold.

You step out. The grass is wet. It is cold. It soaks your shoes. It soaks your legs.

You run. You run through the fields. The wind is in your hair. It tangles. It pulls.

You do not stop. You do not look back. You know what is behind you. You know what is waiting. You know the price.

You reach the road. The road is empty. It is dark. It is long.

You see a light. It is far away. It is a window. It is warm. It is yellow.

You run toward it. Your legs burn. Your lungs burn. Your heart burns.

You stop. You are tired. You are broken. You are alive.

You look at the light. It is small. It is fragile. It is a promise.

You step forward. The light is closer. The door is open.

You enter. The room is warm. The air is soft. It smells of bread. It smells of soap.

A woman sits by the fire. She is old. Her face is lined. Her eyes are kind. She is knitting. The wool is red. It is bright.

"Sit," she says. Her voice is low. It is gentle.

You sit. You are shaking. You are cold. You are empty.

She looks at you. She sees the dust. She sees the blood. She sees the fear.

"Who are you?" she asks.

You do not answer. You look at her hands. They are rough. They are strong. They are real.

"I am no one," you say.

She nods. She does not ask. She pours a cup. It is tea. It is hot. It is steamy.

You take it. You drink. It is warm. It is sweet. It burns your throat.

You feel the heat. It spreads. It moves. It goes to your hands. It goes to your feet.

You close your eyes. You see the hall. You see the glass. You see the shards.

You see Thomas. He is standing in the corner. He is watching. He is not afraid. He is sad. He is proud.

You see Aldric. He is sitting at the table. He is drinking. He is alone. He is trapped. He is the ghost.

You open your eyes. The room is still. The fire crackles. The light is warm.

You are here. You are free.

You look at the woman. She is smiling. It is a small smile. It is a sad smile.

"Stay," she says. "For a night. For a day. For a life."

You do not answer. You do not need to.

You take the cup. You hold it tight. The heat is in your hands. The heat is in your heart.

You are not alone. You are not lost. You are found.

The wind stops. The night is quiet. The stars are out. They are bright. They are cold. They are far.

You are close. You are here. You are now.

The promise is not in the distance. The promise is in the cup. The promise is in the heat. The promise is in the breath.

You breathe. The air is clean. The air is free.

You are free.

The cost is high. The price is paid. The debt is cleared.

You are you.

The story ends. The silence begins. The silence is loud. The silence is full.

You are in the silence. You are in the light. You are in the dark.

You are in the now.

The cup is empty. The tea is gone. The warmth remains.

You put the cup down. The sound is soft. It is a whisper. It is a sigh.

The woman looks at you. She sees the change. She sees the peace. She sees the end.

"Go," she says. "If you must go."

You stand. Your legs are steady. Your heart is still.

You walk to the door. The door is open. The night is waiting.

You step out. The air is cold. The air is sharp.

You do not shiver. You do not fear.

You walk. You walk into the night. You walk into the dark. You walk into the light.

You are the walker. You are the path. You are the journey.

The night is long. The road is empty.

You are not alone. You are never alone.

The silence follows you. It is a companion. It is a friend. It is a mirror.

You look back. The house is a dot. The light is a spark.

It fades. It disappears.

You are alone.

You are free.

The wind rises. It howls. It sings. It dances.

You walk. You walk. You walk.

The stars are bright. The moon is full. The night is eternal.

You are eternal.

You are free.

The end is the beginning. The beginning is the end.

You are here. You are now. You are free.

The story is over. The silence is the story. The silence is the truth.

You hear the wind. You hear your breath. You hear your heart.

It beats. It beats. It beats.

It is strong. It is true. It is yours.

You are alive.

You are free.

The dark is light. The light is dark.

You are the bridge. You are the gap. You are the space.

You are the promise.

The promise is kept. The promise is broken. The promise is made.

You are the promise.

You are the end.

You are the beginning.

You are the silence.

You are the song.

You are the light.

You are the dark.

You are you.

The story ends.

The silence remains.

The wind continues.

The night goes on.

You go on.

You are free.

You are free.

You are free.