I woke to the sound of soft footsteps and the weight of a heavy blanket draped over me. Blinking, I tried to shake off the disorientation, the events of the past day rushing back like a flood. The dim light filtering through the torn curtains illuminated the grand but decaying room around me. I was back in the mansion, this unsettling place that felt like a mausoleum of the past.
Where am I exactly? I pushed myself up, feeling the remnants of fatigue in my bones. The bed beneath me was old, its wooden frame sturdy but covered in dust. It must have been beautiful once, like everything else in this place.
Turning my head, I noticed Calix standing by the window, his silhouette framed against the weak morning light. His back was to me, posture straight, hands clasped behind him as he looked out over the grounds. He seemed lost in thought, a statue of quiet tension.
"You're awake," he said without turning around, his voice cutting through the silence. "You’ve slept longer than I expected."
I rubbed my eyes, trying to shake off the last of my drowsiness. "I guess exhaustion does that to you," I replied, sharper than I intended. Being here, being with him, still set me on edge.
Calix finally turned, his gaze sweeping over me like he was assessing my condition. His eyes, usually guarded, held a flicker of something else—concern? But it was gone before I could be sure, replaced by his usual mask of detachment. "We need to establish a routine," he said, stepping closer.
He moved with the kind of grace that reminded me of a predator, and it was unsettling how quietly he crossed the room. His presence seemed to fill the space, even when he was silent. I watched him warily, the memory of Venus and her desperate words still echoing in my mind.
Calix sat on the edge of a chair opposite the bed, looking both relaxed and alert. "Your blood," he began, his voice calm. "Each night, I will take what I need. The method will be more direct than before."
My heart skipped a beat. "Direct?" I echoed, feeling a chill run down my spine.
He nodded, eyes locked on mine. "A cut on your wrist, and I will drink from it. It’s efficient, and less painful than before."
Less painful. I almost scoffed. There was nothing about this that wasn’t painful. But I swallowed my retort, knowing it wouldn’t make a difference. He had made up his mind. Fighting him on this would only make things worse.
"Fine," I said, my voice tight. "If it's what you need."
His lips barely moved, but there was a ghost of a smile that disappeared before I could be sure it was there. "Tonight, after sundown," he said, standing up, signaling that the conversation was over.
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I spent the morning exploring the mansion. Its vast, empty halls echoed with my footsteps, the silence pressing down on me like a weight. The more I saw, the more I understood that this place was a relic of another time. The grand rooms, the faded paintings, the forgotten treasures—all spoke of a life long past.
My stomach growled, a sharp reminder that I hadn't eaten since yesterday. My hunger felt more acute in this place, each pang a reminder of how different I was from Calix, how human I was.
As I wandered, I turned a corner and found myself in a long corridor lined with doors. Most were closed, but one stood slightly ajar, a sliver of light spilling into the hallway. Curious, I pushed it open, stepping into a small, intimate room.
The room was beautifully preserved compared to the rest of the mansion. Soft, golden light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the delicate furnishings. A large window overlooked a garden that had long since grown wild. A vanity held bottles of perfume, a hairbrush with strands of golden hair still tangled in its bristles. Everything was so perfectly arranged that it felt like the occupant might return at any moment.
This must have been Psyche's room. The thought was immediate, the name fitting the ethereal beauty of the space. A pang of jealousy tightened in my chest. She had lived here, been part of Calix’s life in a way I would never understand.
"What are you doing in here?" Calix’s voice cut through the air, making me jump. He stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable, eyes narrowing slightly.
I swallowed, suddenly feeling like an intruder. "I was just exploring," I said defensively. "I didn’t mean to—"
"You have no business here." He interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I bristled at his words. "I wasn’t doing anything wrong," I muttered, looking away from him. But even as I said it, I knew I had crossed an invisible line.
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Calix’s eyes softened for a moment, a flicker of something almost like regret crossing his face. "Don't wander around, at least not here," he said quietly. "This room holds memories that are best left undisturbed."
I glanced around the room, its delicate beauty now feeling like a ghostly echo. "Whose room was this?" I asked, unable to help myself.
Calix’s expression closed off immediately, his eyes turning cold. "It doesn’t matter," he said shortly. He turned away, expecting me to follow. "Come. You need to eat."
As if on cue, my stomach growled loudly again, the sound breaking the tense silence between us. I felt a flush of embarrassment creep up my neck, hating the reminder of my own vulnerability. Calix didn’t react, merely continued down the hall.
Of course, he's unaffected. Why would my human needs mean anything to him? I thought bitterly as I trailed behind him. But the truth was, I was starving, and the idea of food was more appealing than confronting whatever ghosts haunted these halls.
He led me to the kitchen, where the loaf of bread, cheese, and the apple we bought yesterday were waiting on the table. The sight of the food brought back a wave of hunger so intense it made my vision blur. I hesitated for a moment, glancing at Calix, who watched me with that same unreadable expression.
"Eat," he said simply, nodding toward the table.
I sank into the chair, picking up a piece of bread, feeling the hunger override my wariness. "You just prepared this for me?" I asked between bites, the words muffled by food.
"You picked them out yourself," he replied, leaning against the counter. "It made sense to prepare them. You need to maintain your strength."
I bit into the apple, the taste fresh and sweet against my tongue. As much as I wanted to resist, the hunger was too strong. I ate quickly, feeling Calix’s eyes on me the entire time. His gaze was intense, studying me like he was trying to decipher some hidden code.
"Why do you care?" I asked suddenly, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "About what I eat, about keeping me healthy?"
I briefly closed my eyes, frustration building up inside of me. Seriously, Freya? Isn't it obvious?
He was silent for a long moment, I feel his eyes never leaving me. "Because I need your life," he said finally, his voice low. "And because it is my duty."
Duty. The word stung more than it should have. There was no warmth in it, no real concern. Just a cold sense of responsibility, as if I were a possession he needed to maintain. I finished eating in silence, my appetite gone.
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The rest of the day passed in a blur of unease and exhaustion. The mansion’s endless rooms began to blend together, each one a reflection of the last. Despite his earlier warning not to wander, I stumbled upon a library, its shelves lined with books that looked centuries old. The pages were yellowed, the spines cracked, but there was a kind of beauty in their decay. I ran my fingers along the spines, reading the titles. Some were in languages I didn’t recognize.
A grand piano sat in one corner, its surface covered in a thin layer of dust. I lifted the lid and pressed a key. The note was soft, almost muted by neglect, lingering in the air like a whisper. I closed the lid gently, my heart heavy. So much beauty, abandoned and forgotten.
The sun set slowly, casting long shadows through the windows. I sat on a faded sofa, my eyes heavy with fatigue. This place was massive, but instead of feeling free, I felt trapped, like the walls were suffocating me. For a moment, my thoughts drifted back home—to the emotions that had weighed on me just the other day. How heavy they felt then, how I longed for an escape, for something—someone—to take me away.
I scoffed at myself. Well, here you are. I got what I wished for. But as unbearable as those feelings seemed before, they felt almost insignificant compared to this. If I could go back now, I’d be grateful just to lie in my makeshift bed, drowning out my mother's voice. It had been a luxury, a simpler discomfort compared to the complexity of this new reality. A world so big, so unknown, and I was thrust into it without any way to protect myself.
The night closed in, anticipation thickening the air around us. Calix entered without a sound, his presence immediately filling the room.
He stood before me, his gaze piercing, eyes darker than the shadows. His expression gave nothing away. "Your wrist," he said quietly, his voice like a gentle command.
A surge of defiance flared up inside me, and I had to fight the urge to glare at him. I'm here to fulfill his needs, not to trust him. He’s not my friend.
I held out my arm reluctantly, afraid of what was coming next.
His fingers brushed against my skin, cold and unsettling, sending a shiver down my spine. Despite the chill of his touch, there was a surprising gentleness in the way he held my wrist, catching me off guard. With a swift motion, he slashed my skin. The cut was so quick, so precise, I almost didn’t register the pain before he lifted my wrist to his lips, his eyes never leaving mine, searching for something I refused to give.
For a moment, time seemed to hold its breath, everything suspended in the space between us. Then his mouth opened, his tongue grazing my skin before he began to drink. The pain was sharp, immediate, but it melted into a strange sense of calm that washed over me. The room around us blurred, fading into the background, leaving only the connection between us—the steady pull of my blood, the quiet rhythm of my heartbeat, the cold darkness of his eyes fixed on mine.
This is my life now. The thought was both terrifying and strangely comforting. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the darkness that enveloped me.
Calix pulled away, his eyes dark and unreadable. He released my wrist, the bite mark already healing. "Thank you," he murmured, voice barely audible.
It's not like I want this by choice, I thought but I held my tongue. Instead, I gave a slight nod, pulling my wrist back. The blood still pulsed beneath my skin, a lingering reminder of the bond between us.
Calix turned to the window, his back to me. "Get some rest," he said quietly.
I watched him, my heart pounding. Why do I feel like I’m losing myself in this place? In him? I lay back on the bed, closing my eyes. The room was dark, the quiet rustle of the curtains in the breeze the only sound.
As sleep pulled me under, I couldn’t help but think of Psyche, of the beautiful room, and the haunting feeling that I was living in someone else's memories.