The secret door groaned open like it had not been touched for centuries, though its surface gleamed faintly with magic. Suzan, nose still red from her earlier nosebleed, leaned half inside, half outside, looking as though she'd just discovered a candy shop that promised both sugar and danger.
"Come on," she whispered with that reckless grin of hers, tugging Lily's sleeve.
Lily hesitated, tightening her grip on Suzan's wrist. "You know… the last time someone said 'come on' before stepping into a dark, mysterious door, they never came back."
"Which story was that?" Suzan tilted her head innocently.
"All of them," Lily muttered.
But Suzan, being Suzan, only tugged harder until Lily walked inside after her.
The girls stumbled into what looked like just another library, except this one hadn't seen a broom in about ten centuries.
At first glance, the place looked disappointingly ordinary. Rows of shelves stretched out before them, the air heavy with dust and neglect. Books leaned tiredly against one another, tables placed neatly, but with wood too brittle to sit on, parchment curled at the edges, cobwebs hung like draped curtains, and lamps that gave no light at all. It was like stepping into the library's forgotten attic.
"Ah," Susan announced, waving her arm dramatically at the rows of cobweb-draped shelves. "Behold! The grand hidden treasure of the ages… dust."
A thick sneeze burst out of her before she could finish, echoing off the stone. Suzan sneezed loudly. "Pfft! This isn't a secret vault. This is where books go to die."
Lily swatted at her shoulder. "Suzan, don't you dare breathe in too much of this. You'll catch something."
"I already did," Suzan croaked between coughs, fanning the dust with both hands. "It's called regret."
As they walked further, the floorboards creaked faintly beneath their steps.
And then—just as they took another step—something shifted.
It was subtle, like stepping through a curtain of water. A ripple passed over them, distorting the world. The shelves, the cobwebs, the air itself shimmered… and then the illusion was gone.
The dusty fake library melted away, leaving behind something breathtaking.
They now stood in a vast hall, stretching far beyond what the outside world could have contained. Arched ceilings gleamed with runes faintly glowing. The walls were lined with columns that divided the vault into grand sections, each dedicated to something different: weapons arranged in meticulous rows, relics displayed in glass cases, scrolls sealed in crystal tubes, jewels that shone with an inner light.
The air felt alive, humming, heavy with age and power.
Lily froze. "Suzan…"
"Whoa." Suzan's voice cracked with awe. She turned in a slow circle, arms thrown wide. "This is… this is…"
"A very bad idea," Lily finished flatly, eyes darting from normal treasure to glowing treasures.
"No, Lily! This is like… like…" Suzan tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Like every bedtime story mashed together and stuffed in one room."
"Exactly. And you know what happens in those stories? Someone touches the shiny thing and dies horribly."
They stepped carefully into the vault, as though expecting the floor to vanish beneath them. Every object was arranged with deliberate care, as if the vault itself were a museum.
Suzan muttered, "It's like a treasure zoo. Do we get to feed them snacks? Toss a gem a peanut?" A thin line of red smeared against her wrist as she wiped her nose which was bleeding again.
"This is serious," Lily hissed, clutching her arm tighter. "There could be traps. Deadly ones. You don't just… stroll around in a place like this."
But as they wandered deeper, no traps snapped at their feet. No hidden darts flew from the walls. No skeletons leapt out with swords raised. Instead, the vault was eerily still, as though time itself held its breath within these walls.
Suzan squinted. "That's suspicious."
"What is?"
"The fact that nothing's tried to kill us yet. It's too polite."
Lily buried her face in her hands. "You're impossible."
"Correction: I'm Suzan, certified chaos expert."
And just like she said the treasures only sat there, silent and watchful, as if waiting. The whole place felt ancient, yes—but also carefully kept, like a hall that belonged to someone who wanted their legacy remembered.
"See?" Suzan announced smugly, picking up a glittering goblet and balancing it on her palm. "Not cursed, not trapped, not—"
"Put that back!" Lily squeaked, nearly fainting as she snatched it from her. "What if it bites?"
"It's a cup," Suzan replied flatly. "If it bites, then we've both got bigger problems."
Still, she returned it, and the two walked further, each step sending echoes dancing across the vast chamber.
The deeper they went, the more pain she felt, as though something invisible inside her chest was being slowly crushed. Every step pulled heavier at her bones. But Suzan curious as ever didn't let that stop her.
They moved here and there together exploring curiously, Lily moved carefully toward the preserved scrolls and strange trinkets that hummed faintly. Suzan, naturally, made a beeline for the places where trouble lurked—weapon racks, mysterious jars that rattled when she tapped them, glittering crowns just begging to be tried on.
Every step deeper seemed to hum louder. The columns rose like silent guardians, and between them shadows lingered, thick and still.
Then it happened.
A voice brushed against her ears. So soft it might have been mistaken for thought.
"Come..."
Suzan froze mid-step. The voice was old, low. Ancient. It echoed through the vault like it came from everywhere and nowhere all at once. It wasn't loud, but it burrowed into her bones, vibrating in her chest. She jerked her chin up, eyes wide.
Her chest constricted. The ache that had kept hitting her insides which started when she entered the library vanished in an instant, replaced by a hollow stillness. The pain was gone—just gone—like someone had plucked it straight out of her. But the absence of pain didn't comfort her. It unsettled her more than bleeding ever could.
"Did you hear that?" she hissed.
Lily, who was admiring a golden bracelet, looked at her blankly. "Hear what?"
"That—!" Suzan rubbed her ears, frowning. "Like someone calling. It was… weird."
"Don't do that," Lily begged, voice rising nervously. "Don't start hearing voices in a creepy vault full of cursed objects. You'll make me—"
"Scared?" Suzan grinned mischievously. "Already done."
Lily smacked her arm.
Suzan forced a grin, though her hand still trembled against her friend's. "Maybe it's just the… vault acoustics. Fancy rooms like this always whisper things."
"Fancy rooms don't whisper things," Lily muttered darkly. "They murder people who don't listen."
Suzan looked back into the vault's depths. The silence pressed on her, heavy and waiting. But her curiosity won over her doubts and fear.
Soon, they were back to their exploring, curiosity tugging them in different directions. Not far, but far enough that each could indulge in their own "tour." Lily traced her fingers along a crystal orb of magic that shifted when she touched the glass, while Suzan ducked behind a column, pretending to stalk a floating scroll like a hunter. Her fingertips brushed against glass cases and shelves as though she were strolling through a marketplace she had no coin for, poking here, peering there.
It was almost… fun.
Until it happened again.
The voice.
Soft. Old. Loud. It rippled through her skull like an echo inside her bones.
"Elisa…"
Her heart thudded hard. She froze, her breath caught. That name. The one no one called her anymore.
The sound wasn't loud—it didn't need to be. It was a murmur threaded with something that felt like both longing and command. She darted a glance over her shoulder, but no one was there. The voice didn't seem to come from a direction at all. It came from everywhere.
"...Elisa."
Her lips pressed tight. Lily would lose her head if Suzan told her what she was hearing. So she didn't. She just swallowed hard, rubbed her nose with the back of her wrist, and marched forward with a false confidence. She swallowed, forcing her voice light. "Nice try, vault. Not creepy at all."
The voice didn't reply this time, but it lingered in her mind, pressing against her thoughts. She rubbed her arms, shivering.
Somehow, she knew Lily hadn't heard it. And somehow, she knew she wasn't supposed to talk about it.
So she kept moving.
She wasn't even following the call this time—at least not on purpose. She was only wandering. Her steps led her toward a tall wall tucked behind two heavy stone columns. Something there shimmered faintly beneath the dust, catching her attention like a mischievous glint in the corner of her eye.
A drape hung over it with a heavy veil of deep red fabric, heavy with years but strangely clean—as if it had been placed to protect, not to forget. Suzan tilted her head. Her heart began to thump with curiosity, slow and deep, against her ribs.
Her fingers—hesitant, trembling more than she'd admit because of the voice—rose to the cloth. She pulled it down with a careful sweep.
And then she froze like the world stopped.
It wasn't a weapon. It wasn't a relic. It was a painting.
A family portrait.
Suzan's breath hitched so sharply it almost hurt.
The canvas was large, nearly the size of a door, its colors stubbornly bright despite the centuries. Two figures stood tall at the center—a man and a woman, draped in royal grace yet softened by pride and kindness. The King. The Queen. Their hands rested gently on the shoulders of two small children. Love glowed in their eyes, captured forever in paint. Behind them stood a man—broad-shouldered, handsome, crimson-haired catching the light with piercing blue eyes. His hand rested on the king's shoulder like a friend, his grin wide that lit the whole picture. The children were dressed not in gold, but in simple white trimmed frock with ribbons, and their faces—
Suzan's knees weakened.
One child was bright-haired, golden-blonde, with wide green eyes full of innocence and mischief. Her little hand clutched a flower she must have just picked, thrusting it eagerly toward the painter. Her cheeks dimpled with joy.
Jane.
The other child—chubbier, younger, almost restless even in a still frame—stood at her side. White-blonde hair shimmered like starlight. Green eyes, even brighter than the first's, stared out at the world with a mixture of boldness and nervousness, like she wanted to run and stay at the same time and was about to wriggle out of her parents' hold just to start trouble. A faint mark glowed faintly upon her forehead, emerald and soft, a symbol that spoke of old magic, divine and healing.
Her.
Elisa.
Suzan's throat closed. Her eyes stung.
Her hand lifted without permission, brushing the air just short of the painting as though afraid touching it would shatter the illusion.
And then the tears came. Slowly at first, then spilling before she could stop them.
Her shoulders shook. Her chest burned. She had forgotten what it felt like to truly cry.
Suzan pressed her palm flat to the frame, leaning her forehead against the cool glass. The vault was silent except for the wet, broken sound of her sobbing. She tried to breathe, but it came out as gasps, as if the painting itself had ripped her open.
Her memory pulled her back, unbidden.
That day. The day the portrait was taken.
She had been small, fidgeting, nervous in her stiff dress. The painter had told her to hold still. She hadn't known how or why. Her hands had itched, her feet had wanted to run. But then Jane—sweet, flower-giving Jane—had plucked a bloom from the palace garden and handed it to the painter with a shy grin. The King had laughed, the Queen had smiled, and suddenly Suzan hadn't felt so afraid. They had all laughed, together, their joy immortalized in the canvas.
Suzan's eyes stung. She rarely cried. But now here the tears came fast, hot, unstoppable.
Suzan's nails scraped against the glass as she dragged her hand down the surface. The tears blurred her vision until the faces smeared into light and colour.
"I… I want it back," she whispered. "All of it. Just one more day. Please. I want them to know I'm still here."
Her knees buckled, and she sank down, hugging herself. The ache in her chest felt like it could split her open.
Slowly with shaking fingers she reached inside her frock. Tugged at the string around her neck. And pulled out the tiny silver locket she never took off.
Her shaking thumbs flipped it open.
Inside—her parents. Clear, smiling, young. And beside them… a space. Torn, ripped, violently erased. The spot where the chubby white-haired child was suppose to be.
Her.
Her vision darkened.
"I..." she whispered between sobs. She bend down crying harder, and she sank to the cold stone, hugging the necklace to her chest. "I miss you," she choked. "I miss you so much."
The sobs came again, harder, raw. Her small frame curled as if to shield herself from a blow no one else could see. "I'm still here. I'm still here…" she choked, words tumbling into the silence.
It hurt so much her ribs felt like they'd crack. She missed them so fiercely it carved her hollow. Yes, Jane was still here. Jane was her light. But her parents—she wanted her parents too. Their voices, their touch, their love, their embrace that had once filled every corner of her little world.
She clutched the locket tighter, knuckles white, trembling. The vault seemed to breathe with her grief, the air heavier, denser, as though the very stones mourned with her, sad but warm as if trying to comfort her.
Then—like a tide washing in—the voice returned.
But different now. this time, almost like a lullaby
"Elisa…"
It didn't command. It soothed. It wrapped around her like a gentle hand brushing away her tears.
Suzan gasped and straightened, wiping her wet cheeks furiously with her sleeve. "N-no… Lily will freak out if she sees me like this," she muttered, sniffling, trying to stitch herself back together.
Her gaze lifted once more to the painting. To them. She pressed her lips to her fingers and touched the glass softly, a kiss through her hand.
"You'll always stay in my heart," she whispered.
And with careful hands, she pulled the veil back over the portrait. Hiding it, protecting it. Just as it had always been.
Then she rose, necklace clutched tight against her chest, and walked away.
But something inside her remained cracked, raw.
She wandered back slowly, her steps no longer playful. The vault seemed different now. Quieter. Creepier.
Every shadow felt closer. Every corner whispered.
She thought she heard things in the shadows footsteps that weren't hers, whispers that weren't her thoughts. But each time she turned, nothing was there. The vault's atmosphere colder now, heavier, like it was holding its breath.
Her chest tightened. She started walking faster.
By the time she found Lily again, Suzan's smile was forced, her eyes still rimmed with red.
Lily immediately grabbed her hand, squeezing it. "Where were you? Don't run off like that—this place is awful."
Suzan squeezed back, harder than usual. "I know," she said quietly her excitement now died down.
Together, they walked toward the way out. The golden light dimmed behind them, shadows stretching longer, darker. The silence pressed closer, until even Suzan didn't dare make a joke. The further they walked, the less heavy the air felt, until finally they passed the ripple in the air, like the skin of water breaking again, the faint illusion of the library returned—the dust, the old shelves, the harmless oddity of it all.
And once they were gone, silence settled again.
Until the air shivered causing a distortion.
At the far end of the vault, shadows lengthened, twisting unnaturally against the walls. Five cloaked men stepped through boots echoing softly against the marble floor.
They moved without hesitation, as if they had been waiting for this precise moment