Dionne
I was in a corridor I recognized — dark wood panels, sconces casting amber light against the walls. My bare feet made no sound against the cold floor as I walked, one hand trailing along the wall.
A door appeared ahead of me. Red. Deep, dark red that seemed to pulse in the low light.
My hand found the handle and pushed.
The room opened before me, I stepped inside and my breath caught.
The red room.
I'd only been in here once before, to clean. The memory should've made my skin crawl, it should've sent me running back through that door, but instead something hot and liquid moved through my belly.
The room looked exactly as I remembered. Red everywhere. Streaked across the walls in decorative patterns, some darker than others. The bed dominated the center, massive and draped in black satin sheets that caught the light like water.
And the instruments.
