A woman stepped out. Tall. Stern. Dressed all in black. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun, silver streaking the dark strands. Glasses sat perfectly on her nose. She held herself with rigid posture, every move exact and controlled.
"Cosette Zedler," she said, her tone flat and sure.
I swallowed hard.
"Y-Yes."
"I'm Neela Winslow. Get in."
Her sharp eyes scanned me once. Not a smile. Not a trace of welcome. But she was family. The only family I had left.
I lifted my suitcase and climbed into the car. The door closed with a hard click. We drove in silence at first. The countryside slid by, painted in gray and green. The air inside smelled faintly of lavender polish.
"This is your first time in Elwood, right?" Aunt Neela asked suddenly.
"Yes," I answered, my voice small.
"This is the smallest town in the Azura district," she said. "Far from the city you grew up in."
I nodded.
"Your mother left you with Lethia," she continued without pause. "Now Lethia is gone. And you are left with me."
The words landed like stones in my stomach. My throat tightened, but I said nothing.
"I am caretaker of the Crimson mansion," Aunt Neela went on. "My master does not welcome outsiders. But we have no choice. Your stay, along with your schooling, will cost you nothing. In return, you will help me with the house."
"I understand," I whispered.
We had spoken about this before, but hearing it again now—so firm, so final—made my stomach twist.
I turned to the window, trying to hide the flicker of nerves in my eyes.
The town appeared slowly. Houses lined the streets, many hidden behind tall hedges and iron gates. Their windows shone clean. Their gardens were trimmed neat.
Soon we reached the downtown. Shops stood side by side, displays neat and tidy. Old-fashioned streetlamps stood tall, their iron polished. Flowers bloomed on windowsills, bright against the gray sky.
It should have been charming. But something was wrong. The silence. No laughter spilled from the shops. No chatter filled the air. No horns, no calls, no noise.
Cars moved quietly down the road. People passed in pairs or small groups, but they did not linger. Their eyes flicked to the car for a second, sharp and curious, then turned away quickly.
The back of my neck prickled. Maybe I was imagining it. Maybe I had just grown used to Arandelle's noise. But deep in my chest, something whispered otherwise.
We passed a roadside sign. Elwood. District of Azura. Population: 1,566. So small. Arandelle had over ten thousand.
The downtown slipped away. The road curved upward, winding through thickening trees. And then I saw it.
The mansion.
It loomed on the hill, its dark roof cutting against the gray sky. Black gates stretched wide, swallowing the road. Vines climbed the stone walls. Tall trees rose like guards behind them.
My breath caught.
The car rolled inside, gravel crunching beneath the wheels. The mansion rose higher and higher, blocking out the light. It was enormous. Old. Heavy with shadow.
We circled the drive and stopped before double doors of dark wood. Aunt Neela stepped out first, her movements sharp and sure. I followed, my legs trembling.
The walls were thick with vines. Grass grew tall along the driveway. The garden was no garden at all, but a wild forest, choking and untrimmed. The urge to run pressed hard against my ribs. But my feet stayed planted.
We entered the mansion. The air inside was colder, heavier. Curtains covered the tall windows, keeping the hall dim. Dust clung to the floor's edges. A grand staircase curled upward, its banisters faintly shining in the weak light. White sheets draped over most of the furniture, like ghosts frozen in place.
"This is the Crimson mansion," Aunt Neela said. "You know the basics already. I'll explain more soon. For now, rest. Your room is upstairs. Lunch at twelve sharp."
Her heels clicked against the floor as she vanished into the kitchen, leaving me alone. The silence pressed close again.
I looked up the staircase, shadows stretching wide. This was my home now. A home that felt less like safety and more like a secret.
I climbed slowly, my hand brushing the rail. The second floor spread out, lined with closed doors. Only one stood open.
Inside, the room was bright. Clean. Carefully furnished. The difference from the rest of the house was shocking.
I closed the door and sank onto the bed.
The sheets were soft. The air smelled faintly of lavender. It should have comforted me. But unease pressed against me, cold and steady.
Something about this place—about Elwood, about the mansion—was not right.
It felt hidden.
Guarded.
As if the house itself was keeping secrets from me.