Asros wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve and raced up the stone staircase in a single sprint before grabbing the handle of the firmly shut door.
As the door opened, a sliver of the Great Hall revealed itself.
The place was so silent it felt as though even a mouse would be afraid to make a sound.
There was not a single guard in sight.
Not even a maid.
Asros cautiously stepped inside, glancing around the dim hall before making his way toward the stairs.
He did not know why he was trying so hard to silence his footsteps.
He had felt the same thing the last time he came here.
This castle really feels like a graveyard.
The eerie atmosphere made him lower his voice and hold his breath without even realizing it.
Casting nervous glances toward the curtained windows, Asros bounded up the stairs two steps at a time and soon reached the third floor.
At last, his sister's bedroom door came into view.
Stopping before the large mahogany door, he took a moment to catch his breath before carefully knocking.
No answer came.
No one asked who was there.
No one invited him inside.
'Is she asleep?'
Pressing his ear against the door, Asros listened for a moment before knocking harder.
Thunk.
A sound came from inside.
After hesitating briefly, he grasped the handle and cautiously opened the door.
A hazy white smoke drifted through the disordered bedroom.
The stale air made him cough lightly.
Then his eyes widened.
The room looked as though a storm had swept through it.
He stood frozen, blinking in disbelief.
Then, as though drawn forward by something unseen, he stepped into the wreckage.
Shards of broken glass littered the floor.
A heavy scent of wine hung over the carpet, as though bottles had been hurled across the room.
Strips of torn fabric and feathers that appeared to have burst from pillows lay scattered everywhere.
Asros stared blankly at the destruction.
Then he suddenly noticed a full-length mirror shattered into countless pieces.
He flinched.
Dozens of fragments reflected dozens of versions of himself from the spiderweb of cracks.
A chill crept down his spine.
As he slowly backed away, a rustling sound came from behind him.
Startled, Asros spun around.
Then he froze.
Talia lay sprawled carelessly across the carpet.
His breath caught in his throat.
Wearing only a thin nightgown, she stared up at the ceiling with empty eyes.
The sight of a face that seemed utterly drained of life sent a shiver through him.
She slowly raised an arm as thin as a birch branch, gathered a handful of feathers from the floor, and tossed them into the air.
White feathers drifted through the smoky room like dust.
She stared at them with unfocused eyes for a long moment.
Then her gaze slowly shifted toward him.
Without realizing it, Asros took a step backward.
Her lips, crusted with dried blood, parted.
A rough, brittle voice emerged.
“...Did you come to watch?”