I stood in front of the mirror examining myself. The bruises and scrapes from my misadventure through the woods had faded; there was a colorful tinge to my skin that made me look and feel strikingly more alive. For the past three days that I had been a visitor here at this castle called Blackhill, my health had not only been restored, but vastly improved. Whoever had rescued me, they saved my life. A heartfelt thank you was no doubt in the works—but there was also something else on my mind.

I need to leave.

Where to? I didn't know. Getting through the woods safely into the next village was my first task, and I did not know the way. The next village could be fifty miles—and then what? I had no money, no clothes, no map, and no provisions. When I was younger my father always promised to take us on a trip to the coast—it was a faraway journey for sure, but there I would get to sail ships and breathe in the salty air of a distant ocean. Maybe I could still do that.

My host had already been so kind to me. Being nursed back to life without even seeing my hero's face made me feel apprehensive, though. What would they think of me? Would they be so generous to help me again? I would just need a map, if they had one, no doubt they did based off the size of their impossible library. I would need a small number of provisions, and if possible, some coins to survive off of. It's difficult to ask for things, I realized, when you have nothing to offer in return.

The wardrobe in my room had been filled while I was sleeping—inside were clothes and shoes that fit me. Three casual dresses, two pairs of shoes. I tried them all on, staring at myself in the mirror now in bewilderment. How odd that the clothes and shoes fit me perfectly. And how was this possible overnight?

There was a knock at the door. Martha entered carrying a tray of dishes and food, her face beaming as she saw me up. "Wonderful," she gushed, "I just knew that today would be the day. How do you feel my dear?"

"Better than ever before," I said truthfully.

She sat the tray of food onto my bed and began fussing with the plates. "Cooky is eager to know what you like to eat," she said, "he is our chef—breakfast is his favorite meal to prepare. He can fry apple sausages with hot cakes, fresh honeyed jam, and a serving of his famous white tea. Very healthy, I'm sure. He also loves to prepare dinner, though he hardly has anyone to cook for these days…"

I sat on the bed and picked up a piece of toast, chewing carefully and easing it into my stomach. "That all sounds divine," I said, chewing. "If you don't mind me asking—who lives here?"

Martha smiled warmly, but she averted her eyes as she continued fussing with the tray, saying, "It's just us, the castle staff, and the master, of course. I think of us as a happy little group, though there are more of us than you will see."

"Hmm," I pondered her words. It seemed as if there was something she wasn't telling me, but it wasn't my place to pry. "I'd like to thank the master for helping me."

"Oh?"

I nodded. "Most certainly. When can I meet him?"

"Oh." Her tone fell as she bit her lip, thinking. "Not today, I'm afraid."

I raised my eyebrows. Why not? I thought. "Okay," I said. "Perhaps tomorrow, then?"

She smiled. "I will inquire on your behalf. Until then, I advise you to eat up! Cooky will be so disappointed if you don't try his porridge…"

Before she left, she turned to me again with the same hesitant smile. "By the way, Belle, you're welcome to spread out for a little bit. There's no reason for you to stay cooped up in this room. You're welcome to take a walk around the castle and grounds. Any door that is not locked is yours to open. Cooky will cook you something nice for dinner tonight."

"Thank you," I said, and she was gone.

She had said the castle would "awaken" with me, but still it was a lonely place.

But some rooms felt like there was someone, maybe even more than one person, there in the shadows. I could almost hear whispers, though it was most likely a trick of my mind. At the corner of my eye there'd be an occasional disturbance. Blackhill's halls and chambers were endless and cold, though the pale sun now shone through the dusty windows and illuminated something I had not seen before: beauty. Yes, I thought. Someone has lived here, and loved this place.

My wanderings brought me through a hall that opened up onto a garden terrace.

Just like Stefan's, I remembered with a pang of sadness. Except Stefan is a prince. What kind of person is this master? A hidden castle in the woods, an empty castle full of shadows? It was certainly a riddle I was not equipped to solve.

The garden was dead. The trees, gnarled and hanging, wept over dry, thorny bushes and winding paths overgrown with weeds. Dead leaves covered the ground; somewhere in the mess I discovered a murky pool of water. It rippled in the soft breeze—how had the air grown so cold in the dead of summer? I shivered in my new clothes, my eyes passing over all of the sadness of the garden. I could tell it had once been well cared for and beautiful, but now it lay in ruins.

No, I thought. There has to be one beautiful thing in this garden still. I will find it.

So I spent the afternoon picking through the ruins of the garden.

By the time the sun began to set, it was getting bitterly cold. I didn't notice my fingers turning blue as I was lost in my thoughts while I searched. After a while, someone cleared their throat.

"Ahem," they said politely.

It was a man, elderly like Martha, dressed in a formal grey coat, his white hair tied back from his shoulders. He had a prestigious air about him, the way he stood, the way he seemed to watch me with both patience and impatience.

"My name is Clarkson," he announced. "I am the caretaker of this castle. May I ask what is it you are looking for?"

I brushed the dirt from my hands onto my dress, standing up straight. "I was looking for something that is alive. Surely the entire garden isn't dead?"

He smiled grimly. "I'm afraid it is, Mistress Belle. Martha has asked me to invite you inside for dinner. It seems the weather is beginning to turn."

From the sky cold rain began to fall, softly pattering onto the garden path. Clarkson led me back into the castle, through the hall and into a smaller chamber lit with a dozen candelabras and a fire. A long table lined with twelve chairs was adorned with hot, fragrant food. There was only one place set. Clarkson indicated for me to sit.

"Am I to dine alone?" I asked, not trying to sound ungrateful, though it did seem quite strange to me. Didn't anyone else here eat?

"The master is unavailable tonight," he explained apologetically. "But as our guest, the table is yours. Help yourself to all the food and drink you need." He nodded his head respectfully and exited the room. I seated myself at the head of the table and ate the food in silence.

That night I experienced the worst nightmare I ever had, and woke up screaming.

Martha rushed into my room, her face drawn with concern. "What is it, my dear?!"

I was out of breath, my body drenched in sweat. I could only look at her without words.

I had died again in my dream, and the necromancer was the one who killed me.

"I need to see the master," I told Martha the next day over breakfast. "It's very important."

She looked at me with guilt in her eyes. "I'm very sorry. The master will not see anyone today."

"What? Why not!" My voice raised slightly in exasperation. Every day I spent here made me more vulnerable to being found when I returned to the woods. And I dreaded what could be waiting for me there.

Martha gazed out my window into the cold summer sky, offering no explanation.

I placed my hands on hers gently. "I have been here nearly a week," I said carefully. "You must understand, I need to speak with the master. I can't stay here forever."

"Certainly not," Martha agreed, squeezing my hand comfortingly. "He will see you. Just give him time."

I shook my head. "Why does he need time? This is urgent!"

Again, her face was drawn with concern. I could only guess what she must've thought of me.

I took a deep breath. "Forgive me. I'm grateful to be alive, and to be cared for. But I am not safe here. I need to go soon. Do you think he could help me with that? Is there a map I can take?"

A flicker of understanding dawned in her eyes. Her eyebrows pulled close together in sadness. "My dear, are you in some kind of danger? Tell me truthfully."

I was immediately overcome with emotion and didn't dare fight the tears that rose to my eyes. I couldn't tell her. But I didn't have to.

Martha pulled me into a tight embrace and held me as I wept, saying comforting words to ease me. It took me a long time to recover, and I felt drained and raw when the tears finally stopped.

"You are safe here," she said. "I promise it. And the master will see you soon. I'll arrange it myself."

"Thank you."

And so another long day passed in the castle. I didn't venture outside, for I did not have a coat to protect me from the now-frosty air. I watched summer change to autumn and autumn turn to winter through my bedroom window. By nightfall a light snow began to fall.

It's impossible, I thought. But then again, this place is magic. I don't understand it, but I know it.

I revisited the library after dinner that night, returning the book I borrowed to find a new one to read. The grand fire in the fireplace was bright and burning but the library appeared deserted. The master is here somewhere, I pondered, so why does he hide from me?

I chose a book and returned to my room, hoping to read until I was so tired that there would be no chance of nightmares. It was hopeless.

I awoke again screaming.

Lord Terrowin, the necromancer, was hunting me. I could sense his presence in my dreams growing closer. He would find me; it was only a matter of time. But why? What does he want from me? What will he do to me?

Tomorrow I will see the master, I decided. And then I will leave with or without his help.

"Tell me I can see him today," I said as Martha brought me breakfast.

She didn't respond.

"Did you tell him?" I asked frantically. "Did you tell him it is urgent?"

"I did," she said carefully.

I sat back on my bed, my mind racing. Outside my window I could see the snow falling again. There were no jackets in the wardrobe provided to me. I would be leaving without one, I decided. And the hour is already late.

Martha pleaded for me to give it more time. I could only shake my head. "I'm sorry," I said, "but you just don't understand."

I would have gathered my things, but I had nothing to gather. With a full stomach and fresh clothes on my back I headed through the ominous castle, making my way to the ground level in order to go out the way I had come in—through the front door.

No horse, I thought furiously. No provisions, no map, no coat, no hope…

As I made my way through the castle I could sense more of a presence than ever before—surely, and without a doubt, I was being watched. And the whispers I could only imagine I heard before were now more than real; I heard voices throughout the castle. But as I walked, making my way with false confidence to where the front door would be, I saw no one.

The entry hall was shrouded in shadows despite the time of day; there were no windows but instead a few flickering candelabras placed strategically by the entrance and exit points. Ahead were the wide double doors through which I had come before, though I could not remember that part of the night.

I marched straight to the front door and placed my hand on the large brass knob. I braced myself before making the next move: this is it. I'm off through the woods again, and I won't be as lucky next time I run into trouble. I made to turn the knob; it did not yield…

I gripped forcefully upon the knob and twisted, but that only resulted in pain shooting through my wrist.

Ouch!

I let go of the doorknob.

I tried again, gritting my teeth against the pain as I willed the door to open. There were no locks that I could see, nothing barring the door from opening—but it simply wouldn't budge.

"It won't open for you," said Clarkson gently. I spun around to find him standing there, watching me.

"Excuse me?"

"Only the master can open the door."

I stared at him incredulously. "That's the truth? Only the master can open the door? Well if it is the truth, then tell him to open it for me. I'm leaving."

Clarkson said nothing. Anger began to swell uncomfortably in my stomach.

"Listen," I said carefully, "I have been here for a week and the master has refused to see me. I am thankful for what he has done, but I need to leave! Do you understand?"

"I'm sorry," Clarkson said, "there's nothing I can do. As I said, only he can open the door."

"I know what you said!" I remarked bitterly. "So where is he then? I demand to speak with him."

A moment of silence passed as Clarkson hesitated to answer, but my patience was spent.

"Never mind," I snapped. "I know he is here somewhere, and so I'll find him myself!"

"Don't," said a new voice.

It came from the far side of the room, where a person stood silhouetted against the flickering candlelight, their image shrouded in shadows.

Clarkson nodded politely and quietly left the room.

"Who are you?" I demanded, staying poised in front of the door.

"I am the master of this castle. Who are you?"

"You know who I am," I said impatiently, "you saved me from the wolves. You've kept me here for a week and have refused to see me- and now I'm leaving, and you will open this door."

"I'm not ready to open the door," the stranger said coldly, "and you still haven't told me who you are."

What kind of game is this?

I was growing furious. "What does it matter who I am? In any case, I'm not your prisoner-"

"It matters to me," he returned angrily, "because you lied."

I took a deep breath, composing myself. "I don't know what you mean."

The stranger chuckled softly. "And you're lying still."

"I don't have to explain myself to you," I returned curtly. "Open this door and I'll be on my way."

"Hmm," said the voice from the shadows, "Maybe I'll open the door if you tell the truth."

I stared at the shadows incredulously, my anger rising and falling with uncertainty. What did this stranger know of me?

We were at an impasse. I would not budge, and neither would he.

"I will concede that we have not yet properly met," I said calmly. "So let's get it out of the way. Step in to the light and face me." More than anything I wanted to finally see his face.

"You won't like it if I do," said the master.

"And why not?"

"Because you are running from demons. And I am one," he said. And then he stepped forward, out of the flickering shadow.

Indeed he was a demon. His eyes were wide and hateful, his mouth twisted into a sneer with teeth jutting out as sharp as daggers. His skin was red like blood, all the way to the tips of his pointed ears. I could've screamed, because the horrific demon staring me down was not so far from the necromancer's image in my dreams as he hunted me.

But the master's face was hidden, alas, and the demon was a mask he wore. My fear turned to anger.

"What's wrong with you? You keep me here accusing me of being a liar and you don't have the courage to even face me as yourself!"

"Tell me who sent you here," the master said scathingly.

"No one."

"That's impossible," he snapped. "Blackhill cannot be perceived by outsiders. Are you a spy?"

"No!"

"Then tell me who you are!"

I couldn't do it. That feeling was back again: fight or flight. I yielded to my anger and blindly fled from the room.

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! It was all I could think.

The master did not follow me. I stormed back to my bedroom and slammed the door shut, locking it behind me. I screamed into my pillow a thousand times and then my anger put me to sleep.