A Tale of Two Doors

 Moonlight crept between the cracks of my curtains. Within the last hour, even the busiest of our maids had retired for the night, leaving the manor quiet. A faint smell of a distant fire wafted through the open window along with the night breeze.

I sat against the cool-painted wall of my room—a pale blue. There was something normally so relaxing about the dark sky, but these effects were long gone. My bed shuffled in the breeze.

And in my arms held tight was an old commemorative sword, a gift from Emma back during my thirteenth birthday.

Alfie’s words kept racing through my mind. In just a few, I’d have to descend back down those stairs, enter that horrid maze, and face that door that was forever alight in flames.

“What to do,” I muttered, holding my sword at arm's length. Over the years, its sharpness had slowly been softened, yet I wouldn't replace it for the world.

Father loved to roam the halls at night like some kind of vampire, striking at whatever maid decided to work late into the night. Just sneaking down for any reason was normally enough for him to fly into a quiet rage. His punch from yesterday would look like a scratch in comparison. But tonight, I had a strong feeling there was nothing to worry about.

My bed frame squeaked as my feet touched the ground. From the gentle breeze outside, my blue top—adorned with a white, loose pair of shorts that would make half those nobles from Emma’s party gag—fluttered about.

If Alfie’s words were even half true, a suit would only serve to get me killed.

I had permanently borrowed a pair of Edmund’s old hunting shoes from storage earlier, and to top everything off, a small silver dagger hung at my side—a birthday present from Alfie years ago.

The aged oak of my bedroom door beckoned. Outside, the upper halls were quiet, only the open windows guiding my way.

I passed by Father's room, then Edmunds, without a sound. Even with the moon in full bloom, everyone’s rooms felt too quiet. Even Edmund couldn't help but move around a bit in his sleep. Well, a bit was putting it lightly. I could bind him in ropes and he would still find a way to sprawl out.

Nevertheless, next came the main floor, quiet as could be.

On a normal day, either Father or some maid would be wandering the halls for intruders, yet I couldn’t hear a single footstep.

What the hell?

I passed by the dining hall. Normally, I couldn't move an inch in here without bumping into some pompous moron. But now even the whistle of the wind outside was deafening.

Next came the entrance hall, then down the basement stairs. Nervousness had slowly crept up my spine.

This was a noble mansion; seeing people around every corner was part of the charm. Not this barren emptiness. Even the torches outside, usually lit throughout the night, were now barely smoking.

I grabbed a torch from just outside the kitchens, the only one lit up, and just barely at that.

Inside, the kitchens were still well alive. Pots and pans bubbled with a delicious simmer while piles of ingredients were laid out on the tables. But all the chefs had disappeared, and judging by how active the kitchen looked, they hadn’t evacuated that long ago.

Just beyond, the maze was the same as before, the lights still flickering with uncertainty.

I slowly crept my way through, taking turn after turn. Amidst the dark stone, I wracked my brain to remember the path from yesterday. Not like I had taken any care to mark my path while I ran through here crying, shockingly.

In my pocket, Alfie’s key was still cool to the touch. Its shiny black exterior reflected the light over its simple design.

It reminded me of a child's drawing of a key over the actual thing. Anything resembling the ridges and bumps to fit through a lock was missing. Instead, it just contained two small cylindrical pegs around the width of a fingernail. Surely any door this thing could unlock would be the most pickable thing of all time.

Then again, from Alfie’s words, the door was constantly on fire. That small detail may be a bit of a hindrance to any potential lockpicker.

A few minutes later, I stood in front of those two ginormous doors again. The burning flames from the leftmost one bathed the room in a vibrant orange hue, while the door of ash stood tall, as if it’d never even considered the possibility that something could knock it down.

I set down the torch. “Now what did Alfie say…” I muttered, the key reflecting the burning door. “Surely it can't be this simple...”

As if on cue, a small hole appeared in the flames—a charred hole just wide enough for a single key.

My chest rose and fell as I approached the flames. The key shuddered, flying off straight into the hole. Its sleek metal started to melt, slowly but surely, until a liquid pile of what used to be a key sucked itself through the hole.

With a shudder, the forever-burning door of flame put itself out.

“Here we go, Clair! You can do this.”

A groan followed as the resulting smoke cleared out, revealing a brightly lit room just beyond.

Scattered papers littered the desks of the workshop, with tools shiny and dull alike hanging from the walls. A door just near the back corner caught my eye. Yet that wasn’t what currently had my attention.

Instead, my eyes couldn't look away from the girl around my age, sat in the middle of the room, staring me down with bright red eyes and hair whiter than snow.

Her expression mirrored the somber tone that emanated from her lips. “So you came after all, Clair Galinding.”