Aria wiped her sleeve across the dusty shelf, sending a small cloud into the air. The candlelight flickered as it settled. She reached for a stack of crumbling books and shifted them aside, one by one, making space.
Something clinked behind the last book.
She paused.
Nestled between the wood and stone was a small silver object, tarnished with age. Carefully, she picked it up. A locket. Oval-shaped and delicate. A faint design of vines curled across the surface. When she pressed the clasp, it clicked open.
Inside was a picture. Faded, but clear enough to see the face.
A woman, young and solemn. Her hair was pulled back and...
Aria drew in a slow breath.
The woman looked like her. Well, the hair was a bit darker. But the eyes, the way they looked back at her, it made something shift in her chest.
Maybe she only looked a little bit like me, Aria told herself. I mean, it's an old picture.
But the feeling would not leave. A strange kind of ache settled in her ribs, like memory brushing past her skin.
Why does it feel so familiar?
She closed the locket and slipped it into her pocket just as soft footsteps echoed in the hall. The door creaked open.
Mira and Liora stepped in, each carrying buckets of warm water and bundles of rags. Mira had her usual braid tied with string, while Liora's scarf trailed from one shoulder.
"You've already started?" Mira asked with a grin.
"I thought I'd make use of the morning," Aria said, brushing her hands against her skirt.
"Well," Liora added, placing her bucket down with care, "we'll make sure the dust doesn't bury you before supper."
Aria smiled, but her fingers stayed in her pocket, gently curled around the locket's cold metal.
She didn't tell them about it.
Not yet.
---
That night, she sat at the edge of her bed, unlacing her sleeves, listening to the gentle clink of metal against fabric. The fire in her room crackled low, casting soft orange light across the stone floor. The wind whispered against the shutters, and beyond it, she could hear distant howls, soft and mournful.
There was a knock.
Mira entered, her cheeks flushed from the cold and her arms full of folded towels.
"Liora is bringing the water," she said with a small smile. "Thought you might want another bath before bed."
Aria nodded, grateful. "That sounds perfect."
Soon, Liora appeared with the first of several buckets, steam curling from the top. Together, the girls worked quickly, filling the wooden tub near the hearth. The scent of herbs drifted from the water, simple, clean, and calming.
When the last of the water was poured, Mira handed Aria a soft robe and stepped back.
"We'll be just down in the kitchen if you need anything," she said, her voice quieter now. "Sleep well, my lady."
They left with the same quiet grace they had come in.
Alone again, Aria slipped into the water. It was blissfully warm, wrapping around her like a blanket of heat. Her muscles loosened. The aches in her shoulders melted. She let her head rest against the edge of the tub, eyes half-closed.
The room was quiet, but not hollow. The fire popped gently. Water lapped softly against wood. Her thoughts drifted, back to the library, the books she had sorted, the locket hidden in her cloak pocket, and the eyes of the Beast King watching her in the music room.
She did not know what he was. Or what she was becoming in his cold, forgotten castle.
But tonight, she felt more like herself than she had in days.
She sank deeper into the warmth, letting the night hold her gently, if only for a little while.
....
Later that night, Aria woke with a shiver.
The fire had died down to a red glow, and the room was cloaked in shadows. The wind whispered low against the stone, but that was not what woke her.
There was a sound. Soft. Slow. A scraping, like claws.
Her eyes flicked to the window and froze.
A wolf stood there. Its paws rested on the narrow ledge outside, steam rising faintly from its breath against the cold glass. Its head was low, its eyes glowing faint and amber in the dark.
Watching her.
It did not move. Did not blink. Just stared, like it had been there a long time.
A breath caught in her throat. She did not know how long they looked at each other, only that the cold inside her now had nothing to do with the wind.
The wolf's gaze was not wild. It was cold. Sharp. Full of hate.
Its upper lip curled slowly, baring long, jagged teeth.
Then it snarled. A deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through the glass and into her bones.
Aria flinched, heart lurching in her chest. Her breath caught, and for a moment she could not move. The sound was not just a warning.
It was a promise.
Then it tilted its head slightly, and without a sound, it dropped from the ledge and vanished into the snow.
She ran to the window, but there was nothing there. Just mist and the faint trail of pawprints already filling with frost.
Then something stirred against her hip. She pressed a hand to her pocket.
The locket.
It was warm.
Not hot, not burning, but warm enough to feel strange in the freezing room. As if it had soaked up sunlight.
A hollow feeling stirred in her chest.
She stood there for a long time, hand pressed against the glass, waiting for something else to move in the mist. But the silence returned, heavy and still.
Her fingers curled tighter around the locket.
Why had it grown warm? What had it sensed?
She pulled it from her pocket and opened it again. The woman inside stared back, unchanged. But this time, Aria noticed a faint crack in the photograph's corner, like a fracture in time. She brushed her thumb across it slowly.
The warmth faded.
She closed the locket and backed away from the window, heart still pounding. Sleep would not come again that night.