Amalia

The silvery moon cast a sheen of light over the dark turrets, black against the velvet veil closing in on the forest. The only crack of light from within came from a tiny window, covered partially by a grey mist. An indistinguishable silhouette passed the window several times, obstructing the light as it paced the room. Amalia.

I imagine her blonde hair, brushing delicately against my skin. Her piercing blue eyes skimming over my slender, cloaked figure, making her feel uncomfortable. The hairs on her arms stand on end. I can almost smell – taste – her perfume. Natural Rose. It suits her perfectly, the sweet scent, red as her lips, luring me in.

Not Love.

Obsession.

I only touched her once. But I left more than that.

Her footsteps echo towards the chamber, ringing out harshly against the marbled floor. It’s completely dark in the underground passage, silence lingering about her. Only a candle lights her way, its dancing flame casting spindly shadows on the walls. In her fragile hand, she grips a parchment, rustling in the impeding wind, strikingly chilly. Black ink, almost illegible, is etched into the creases, running like veins across the tea-stained paper. She freezes at the door, drawing her hand hesitantly to the handle, uncertain whether to go on. If she passes through that door, she won’t return. If she doesn’t… Death.

My heart hammers, a drum in my chest. My breath is heavy. For a moment, she glances around, and I’m almost certain she’s heard me. Seen me. She turns, tentatively, back to the door, reaching out slowly, pushing it open. She steps, a little more confidently this time, across the threshold – into the darkness. Unseen, and staying in her shadow, I follow her. The door clicks behind me and the blackness is shattered with her scream. I feel her body, rigid, as she turns. The flame flickers, and is extinguished, engulfed in the darkness. She sees nothing, but collapses to the stone floor, weeping.

“Amalia, come!” a voice resonates around the space.

I shiver, overwhelmed with guilt as I watch her. Her movement has a delicate gracefulness about it, her figure rising from the ground as if she were an angel. She follows the voice down a spiralling staircase, to the heart of the castle, her footsteps soft, airy. She can’t know how many girls have never returned from there. If she did, she would never have trusted my letter. But she was enticed. Just like all the others.

I feel trapped inside a body. Not mine, it feels too stiff. Yet I walk with the airy lightness of a feather, my candyfloss gown floating elegantly as I proceed, following the voice down a staircase. I can hear other voices too – women’s voices, destressed, some screaming – but this one is louder, more prominent, slicing through my thoughts. A man’s voice. Controlling me.

“It’s ok Amalia, I won’t hurt you. Please, come with me. Don’t be afraid.”

The voice has a mysterious quality about it; my temptation to follow it is overpowering. A voice inside me tells me it’s a trap, but I ignore it out of curiosity. Haunting as it is, there is something strangely intriguing about that voice. A certain familiarity that gives me the courage to believe it.

 As I descend towards the heart of the castle, images of fire flash through my mind, and I’m gripped with terror. I try to run, but I’m faced with a black darkness. Death. I try to run from it, but my body is weighed down, burdened with Death. I feel trapped - surrounded by Death. The staircase gives way suddenly, ending in emptiness, and I’m falling. Falling into a sea of flaring orange, churning in the hidden depths of the castle. My mind is filled with the colour of Death, swallowing me, engulfing me. Not my body, my spirit. I feel empty, Death brushing against my skin.

The last thing I hear is a penetrating scream.

The silence that follows is piercing. She flops against the stone wall, her body rigid against the stone cold floor. Her spirit drowning in an impenetrable heat. I know her pain, but I feel no guilt. No remorse for manipulating her thoughts. She trusted me and I got what I wanted. I got to see her beauty for one last time.

I got her.