The Girl Behind The Silver Door

Mira pov

Cold.

That was the first thing I felt when I woke.

Not the kind of cold that came from winter air slipping through a window. This was the kind that seemed to live inside the walls of the tiny room, settling into the stone floor and creeping beneath my skin no matter how tightly I wrapped myself in my blanket.

I curled into myself, pulling my knees toward my chest.

“Just a little warmer,” I whispered.

As if the blanket could hear me.

It had probably been old before I was born. The fabric was thin in some places and almost transparent in others, with several patches sewn over holes that had appeared long ago. One corner was frayed so badly that I had to tuck it beneath my feet to stop the cold air from reaching them.

My feet were always cold.

Everything was always cold here.

I rubbed my hands together beneath the blanket and breathed into them, watching the faint mist disappear in the darkness.

My room wasn’t really a room.

It was a narrow space tucked behind the servants’ quarters, barely large enough for the small bed, a wooden stool, and the little chest that held everything I owned.

There was one tiny window.

It didn’t close properly.

Snow had probably found its way through the cracks sometime during the night, because I could feel the icy draft against my cheek.

I pulled the blanket higher.

Tomorrow, I would have to get up before sunrise.

Again.

There would be floors to scrub, fires to start, clothes to wash, dishes to carry, and probably something else Elisa would decide I had done wrong.

I closed my eyes.

I didn’t want to think about tomorrow.

I just wanted to sleep.

For once.

My body slowly relaxed.

The sounds of the pack faded beyond the walls. Somewhere downstairs, someone moved through the kitchen. A door slammed. A wolf howled far away.

Then silence.

My breathing became slower.

My fingers loosened around the edge of the blanket.

And finally…

I fell asleep.

The corridor was waiting for me.

Again.

I stopped walking.

I always did.

I stood barefoot on cold stone, staring down the endless hallway.

It was exactly the same as every other time.

Tall walls made of ancient gray stone.

Cracked pillars.

Dust covering the floor.

Old torches fixed into the walls, though none of them were burning.

There were no windows.

No doors.

No sound.

Nothing.

Just the corridor.

Long.

Empty.

Cold.

It felt as if no one had walked through it for hundreds of years.

Sometimes I wondered if I was dreaming about a place that had once existed.

Other times…

I wondered if I was actually there.

I looked down at my bare feet.

They were pale against the dark stone.

I took one step.

Then another.

My footsteps echoed through the corridor.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

I didn’t know where I was going.

I never did.

But somehow, every time I had this dream, my body knew exactly where to go.

Straight ahead.

Always straight ahead.

The farther I walked, the colder it became.

My arms broke out in goosebumps.

I wrapped them around myself and kept moving.

There was something at the end.

There was always something at the end.

A silver door.

Tall enough for two people to stand side by side.

It looked ancient.

Older than the castle above it.

Silver metal covered every inch of it, scratched and darkened with age. Strange symbols were carved across its surface.

I had never been able to understand them.

But tonight…

Something was different.

I stopped several steps away.

My heart began beating faster.

The door was waiting.

And for the first time, I noticed something I had never seen before.

There was a handprint in the center.

Small.

Almost exactly the size of my hand.

I stared at it.

Then, without understanding why, I lifted my own hand.

My fingers touched the silver.

The entire corridor went silent.

Even my breathing stopped.

A strange warmth spread through my palm.

The symbols on the door began to glow.

I should have pulled away.

I knew I should.

Instead, my fingers curled around the ancient handle.

I turned it.

The door opened.

Darkness waited on the other side.

Not ordinary darkness.

This darkness felt alive.

I couldn’t see anything.

Then…

Two eyes opened.

Green.

Bright, unnatural green.

They stared directly at me from somewhere deep inside the darkness.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I couldn’t move.

I couldn’t breathe.

The eyes came closer.

Slowly.

And then I heard him.

A man’s voice.

Deep.

Rough.

Broken by centuries of silence.

“Mira…”

I gasped.

My eyes flew open.

I sat upright so quickly that the blanket fell from my shoulders.

For several seconds, I couldn’t breathe.

My heart was pounding violently.

I stared into the darkness of my tiny room.

The cracked ceiling.

The little window.

The wooden stool.

My old blanket lying beside me.

Everything was normal.

Everything was real.

I pressed a trembling hand against my chest.

“It was only a dream.”

My voice sounded tiny in the darkness.

Only a dream.

It had to be.

I had been having it ever since my eighteenth birthday.

The same corridor.

The same silver door.

The same green eyes.

Always the same.

Except tonight…

He had said my name.

I swallowed.

I had never heard him speak before.

I had never heard anything in the dream except my own footsteps.

I slowly looked toward the window.

The sky outside was still black.

It wasn’t morning yet.

I pulled my blanket back around myself and curled into the corner of the bed.

For some reason, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the dream had changed.

That something had happened.

Something important.

And somewhere far away, beneath ancient stone and centuries of dust…

something had heard me wake.