Chapter Nine: Look, A Girl...
Pushing open the doors, Christine found herself inside a massive foyer.
A few torches hung in sconces on the walls, barely casting enough light to illuminate the space.
Squaring her shoulders, the redhead took a deep breath and walked farther into the castle.
As the 21 year old made her way toward the grand staircase, her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark.
She heard muffled whispers, but she couldn't see anyone.
Two voices rose and fell, and then she heard one phrase uttered clear as day.
"But what if she is the one? The girl who will break the spell?"
"Who's there?" Christine demanded sharply, whipping around and peering through the shadowy gloom in the direction that the voices had been coming from.
Nothing.
Just some oddly-placed antiques.
Christine frowned in confusion, her brow wrinkling slightly, as she picked up a nearby torch.
Then, closing her eyes and steeling her nerves, she took a deep breath before placing one foot on the bottommost step.
As she climbed, frightening shadows moved and twisted in the eerie torchlight and it was all Christine could do to keep from fleeing then and there.
When she reached the top of the labyrinthine stairs, she found herself in a tower, which, Christine noticed with increasing dread, appeared to be used as a prison.
A grated iron door stood opposite the stairs.
The latticework was so thick that it was impossible to see through it clearly, but she could still make out the shape of someone sitting inside.
"Papa!" she exclaimed, immediately rushing forward and dropping to her knees in front of her father's cell.
Gustave's eyes widened in shock and horror.
"Christine, what the devil do you think you're doing?" he protested frantically, his voice hoarse and raspy.
"Getting you out of here," she replied firmly, looking around for the keys.
Suddenly, the temperature dropped by at least twenty degrees, the torch that Christine had just set down suddenly sputtering and going out without any warning.
Then, there was a voice, a voice that was as cold as ice, yet soft as silk.
A voice that was more beautiful than any voice Christine had ever heard in her short life, which admittedly, wasn't many.
A voice that could make even the angels in Heaven weep if it so desired.
"Why, I do believe we have a guest..."
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