An abysmal darkness reigned between the cold walls of the room where Janab opened her eyes. It was not a common absence of light, but a tangible mass that seemed to press against her eyelids. Trapped in a thick silence, she was unable to distinguish anything within that uncomfortable and oppressive blackness, feeling how the lack of visual references disoriented her inner balance.
The air was dense, permeated with a subtle scent of wood and wax—that ancient smell that usually belongs to places sealed for decades. The only certain thing was that she lay upon a bed far too soft, far too luxurious to seem real; the mattress sank under her weight as if it were trying to retain her. For long minutes she could not understand her surroundings: her mind confused memories with hallucinations, making it impossible to distinguish questions from answers, while she searched in vain for a logical thread to cling to.
The silence stretched until it seemed absolute, broken only by the faint ringing within her own ears. With every passing second, her mind fractured a little more under the pressure of the unknown. When at last her eyes adapted to the dimness, nearly an hour passed before she gathered the courage to move: first she extended her hands, brushing the empty air with uncertain gestures, held back by a fear that kept her paralyzed, her muscles rigid beneath the silk sheets.
The beating of her heart thundered in her ears while her eyes tried to scrutinize the darkness, searching for any shape that might stand out from the uniform black. Finally she abandoned the sheets, allowing the cold air of the room to brush against her skin. Her hands felt along smooth, cold walls: there were no windows, and time there seemed to have lost all meaning, trapped within a static loop.
She moved with agonizing slowness, dragging her feet so as not to stumble over invisible furniture. Her trembling steps were the only thing breaking that motionless silence, until her fingers found a switch. The light burst into the dimness, revealing a spacious room: a table, a pair of chairs, austere armchairs, and the immense bed where she had awakened. The modern furniture contrasted with lamps of classical style and golden details that gleamed with an artificial glow. At the back, near the only two visible doors, another space could be sensed.
The smaller one was open: on the other side, a luxurious bathroom followed the same decadent aesthetic as the room, with silver fixtures and dark tiles. The main door, however, was sealed. The wood was thick, solid, impossible to damage even with her nails, which cracked slightly as they scraped the surface without leaving a single mark.
There were no clocks. No indication of day or night. The uncertainty was a well in which she could drown, and panic began to surround her like an invisible predator, bristling the hairs at the back of her neck.
She returned to the bed after cautiously crossing the room, feeling each piece of furniture as a possible threat. The fear persisted, physical and mental, like an anchor sunk deep inside her. She closed her eyes, resigned to letting time flow without measure. Then a dry sound shook her: her lungs forgot to breathe, and something in her chest was about to burst.
The doorknob turned with a metallic click that echoed in her soul like an omen. The seconds of waiting became unbearable, marked by the sound of the mechanism giving way.
"I'm glad you're awake. I brought something for you."
A tall figure slipped into the room without making a sound upon the carpet. Brown hair, wavering over firm shoulders, hid his face for an instant. When he brushed it aside, it revealed pale, luminous skin and lips that curved into a carefully attractive smile. His voice was neutral, yet hypnotic, filling the empty spaces of the room.
"You must be hungry."
Janab lost herself in that poisoned beauty, unable to look away. Her breathing grew clumsy; though she did not feel explicitly threatened, a corrosive distrust tightened her stomach, warning her of a danger she could not yet name.
"Your name is Janab, isn't it? I am Astilbe."
The lights of the room dimmed slightly, as if obeying the sinister elegance of his voice, casting the corners into a deeper shadow. In his green eyes lived a coldness that contrasted with his kind expression, and Janab knew, in the deepest part of her instinct, that she was standing before something that did not feel human.
♱⏾⋆.˚