Darkness swallowed Yeara. She could not see anything at all. Her eyes looked around as if to check if anybody was there, even though she could not see. Fear stung through her bones as her veins trembled, her pulse beating inaccurately.
"Oh heavens, Yeara, what have you done?"
At this point, it was no longer curiosity killing the cat, but the curiosity right now was about to kill her.
"Maybe I should open the down door," she said to herself as she pressed the torch button again, hoping that this time it would not behave this way—but it did not turn on.
She moved her hands in the air, careful not to fall or miss her footing as she climbed down.
Maybe she could open the down door to create light that would help her go up again, knowing if she climbed up with no sight of what was ahead. She might be taking a huge risk.
She finally reached the ground slowly. Her hands rested on the wooden door frame. She squinted her eyes as if trying to see the knob, but she could not.
But was she really doing this for the light, or was it just the curiosity of what lay behind the door?
The door was slightly rusty, a little bit sandy like an ancient place. She moved her hands downwards to the side, trying to make out where the handle was.
'Leave now, Yeara.' Her inner thought kept screaming.
Yeara's body shook slightly. The place was dark; she would not even be able to see if she ever did try to go back, not to mention that the upper door was now locked shut so it would be harder…
She gasped softly.
Her hands finally touched the knob — the slightly rough yet cold metallic surface. A small smile and sense of relief hit her as she slowly turned it. Finally, she pushed it open. Her lips parted as soft air brushed her, she stared ahead at the view.
There were rows of bookshelves with a lot of books. It looked like an underground ancient library. Even the books looked ancient, but they were arranged neatly in rows.
Candle lantern lights hung on each side of the wall, creating a bright glow. The room was warm and cozy and, surprisingly, smelled great…unlike the old rusty book smell she was expecting.
"Why would such a place be here?"
She had originally wanted to open this door hoping there would be light that might help her see and leave, but now she felt the urge to explore this library, failing to realize how much time had passed.
She took a step inside. As she walked through the shelf, her eyes looking around, this place felt peaceful — like somewhere perfect for reading with no care in the world.
Her hands moved along the trail of books in the row she walked through. The books were thick and looked heavy as well. Her hands slid through the wood as she removed one, rubbing it together—but there was no dust. The place looked clean. So clean.
Yeara did not even realize that so much had happened today alone.
She moved placing the book, curious about what was on the other side, but just as she stepped out of the bookshelf to the otherside, her body froze. She immediately moved back to the shelf, almost as if hiding there.
What did she just see?
Her heart skipped a beat in surprise.
A man.
Her lips parted. She slowly moved her head to peek once more, to see if her eyes had been playing tricks on her. Her chest heaved up and down as she tried to steady her breathing.
Her eyes rested on him.
A man sat there. His hands moved slowly across the board as he seemed to be painting. Yeara could not see his face since his back was facing her.
His black hair was disheveled, a testament to his hands running through it.
His bare back now completely in her view. He seemed to be sitting on a stool. The way his hands moved… heavens, it was glorious. The man looked ethereal, and just like Zalthor, he looked inhumanly perfect.
But who could this be?
Why would a man be here in such a creepy-looking building? Even though this place was cozy, the stairs alone would make people leave before they even reached the end. In fact, from the door, Yeara did not even know how she managed to stay here. Her eyes looked forward and she saw other painting frames hanging there. By the side was a bed.
'Does he live here?' she thought to herself.
'Is he a servant?' she wondered again.
In front, anyone would think this is a library, but walking to the end revealed a different place. But why would he stay here? Her eyes moved to his well-sculptured back.
She immediately pulled her head back to where she stood as it began hurting from straining her neck. Her hands moved to the edge of the wood to support herself as she pressed her body to the shelf.
Heart beating hard, her hands moved to her chest as she slowly rested it there to calm herself.
Her scarf loosened slowly around her. She moved her other hand and dropped the small torch on a shelf near the books, slowly wrapping the loosened scarf carefully, trying not to make any noise—not to get caught by the man.
'What are you doing, Yeara?'
She said to herself, her eyes widening slowly as she realized what she was doing. She was staring at another man's bare back when she was about to marry… this was an abomination.
Why was she even here?
She moved again, her head peeping. She was still curious why he was here.
But why?
He stroked the paintbrush before moving it to the board.
Yeara craned her neck to see more, curious about what he was drawing.
CREAK
The old wooden shelf creaked.
Yeara gasped, her eyes widening. She moved quickly dragging her legs as she began to run to the door, her legs parting softly.
She could not be caught. What was even wrong with her? She opened the door and began climbing the stairs, not caring about the low light. She climbed faster. With every step she took, the dread hit her harder.
Was she really okay? Why was she even like this? The same person who was against this was now doing it. Was this how a queen should act?
She finally reached the top. Her hands moved to the door as she pushed it open — but it did not budge. Terror swallowed her. She moved her hands to the knob and with her strength, she pushed again, but it did not budge. Fear crept more within her.
"What is wrong with me? What is really wrong with me?"
She took a few deep breaths, then slowly pushed it open.
Finally, it opened. The wind came, almost reminding her she was free.
She ran out fast as if that place was now enemy territory. She reached the garden. Slowly, she walked toward the garden door area, pushing it open… then she ran. She was no longer holding the torch, but at this point she did not care. What mattered was that she was out and had not been caught by that stranger.
She ran, climbing the stairs, her heart still racing. Her legs patted softly against the marble ground. Finally, she pushed the door to her room and entered, shutting it behind her.
She turned.
Her body froze.
In front of her stood a figure.
Z..Zalthor.
Her head rose, her gaze now locking into his deadly one.