Celestia stood rooted to the floor in the hushed, empty atrium, the silence pressing in on her as if she were the only soul left in the building. Her fingers clenched around the silver pocket watch tucked safely in her skirt pocket, feeling its cold weight grounding her amidst the shadows that seemed to grow around her, silent witnesses to her every nervous glance. You’ve faced worse than a disapproving gaze, she told herself, tightening her grip on the pocket watch. And you’ll endure far more to find the truth. The watch ticked forward with ruthless precision, each tick seeming to echo louder than the last—an unforgiving reminder of her dwindling time.

For a moment, her gaze flicked to the front desk. The assistant who had barely acknowledged her was nowhere to be seen. Celestia’s heart dropped; the desk now stood empty, as if mocking her, as though the whole place had cast her out, unseen and unheard. Shadows along the polished floor stretched out, long and clawing, creeping closer with every tick of her watch. A whisper echoed in her mind, faint but sharp, laughter curling like smoke into the quiet—a mocking reminder of the curse that clung to her like a second skin.

Drawing a slow breath, she willed herself to check the time. Half an hour to go. Taking a steadying breath, she forced herself to peel away from the wall and step toward the staircase that loomed ahead. Each step felt heavier than the last, her movements slow as if trudging through a thick, unseen mire. Exhaustion nipped at her heels, her heart pounding louder, as though it would shatter the silence. The curse’s dark whispers seeped in again, faint tendrils of sound that wove into her mind, scratching at her thoughts, fraying her nerves. Her vision blurred, edges flickering as if she was seeing through a fogged lens, shadows curling in places they had no reason to be.

At the top of the staircase, she spotted a gentleman descending, his face impassive, gaze fixed ahead as though he saw right through her. Celestia gathered her courage, stopping him with a voice so soft it almost dissolved into the air.

“Excuse me… Room 235?”

Her words seemed to hang in the silence, only half-real, as though she’d imagined speaking them at all. The man offered her a brief nod, motioning toward a hallway on her left, before vanishing down the stairs, his echoing footsteps swallowed into the silence behind her.

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Grateful but still tense, she pushed herself forward, her pulse a steady throb in her temples as she pressed on, counting down each step in her mind. The shadows clung to the corners, and the curse’s whispers grew louder, a thousand uninvited voices, hissing and giggling, twisting familiar words into cruel shapes. She clutched the pocket watch, fingers tracing its smooth surface as if the small metal circle could somehow protect her from the creeping dread clawing at her mind.

The corridor stretched ahead, lined with high windows at one side of the corridor that cast beams of soft, golden light over the polished floor. But even the warmth of the sunlight seemed to twist and turn as it crossed her path, as though the light itself was playing tricks on her. The long row of closed doors felt like the entrance to a labyrinth, leading her nowhere, trapping her in endless, unmarked turns. She scanned the walls for any sign, any clue as to where room 235 might lie, but the quiet hallways offered nothing—just silent, endless doors and shadows stretching like thin, dark fingers toward her.

The corridor seemed to stretch longer than it should have, each door blurring into the next. At last, the faint number “235” appeared on the plaque beside one of them, casting a wave of both relief and trepidation over her. The building’s silence broke as a patch of warm sunlight slanted through a nearby window, spilling over the floor like a hesitant kindness, almost out of place in this darkened corridor.

She glanced down at the pocket watch—only a minute to two o’clock. Her fingers, cold and clammy, lifted to knock, her touch so faint that the sound barely whispered in the silence.

No response.

The empty silence closed in tighter, as though mocking her feeble attempt to make herself known.

A bitter feeling rose, thick and stifling. The shadows grew restless, whispering threats at the edges of her mind, clawing and pressing, stoking her nerves to a fever pitch. She felt the curse flaring up, the familiar darkness twisting around her thoughts, and her breath caught, her heart hammering in her chest. The voices in her head began to giggle, cruel whispers flooding her mind as if mocking her weakness, her foolishness in daring to stand here, as if she belonged. Her body felt cold and numb, the curse’s presence closing around her in suffocating tendrils.

Swallowing hard, she tightened her grip on the watch, feeling its chill press into her palm. She couldn’t linger here, not when her very being seemed to unravel with every passing second. She grasped the handle, her fingers slick with nerves, and turned it with slow, tentative pressure. With a deep breath, she gripped the handle, twisting it slowly. The door opened with a quiet creak, revealing a dimly lit office beyond.