Page 43 of Bound By Crimson

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It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

And yet—it was.

It lived inside her.

Or maybe it was him.

She didn’t know the difference anymore.

She moved forward, body no longer her own.

Her hand found the handle.

Wrought iron.

Twisted and gothic.

Wet with dew.

It burned against her palm.

Every part of her screamed she shouldn’t.

But she did.

She turned the handle.

And stepped inside.

Into the dark.

Into him.

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The heavy door groaned shut behind her.

The sound echoed like a tomb closing.

She jumped, spinning back toward the door. Panic fluttered in her chest.

Maybe I should leave.

Maybe this was madness.

But then—

In the hush of the manor, a soft flicker of light danced in the distance.

Candlelight.

It spilled faintly from the top of a grand staircase, trembling like it breathed.

Her hesitation broke.

She turned from the door, heels tapping across the stone.

Her eyes had adjusted now.

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