Moonbound to the Beast King

The days passed like snow falling on stone, silent, slow, without warmth or meaning. No one came to speak to her. No summons, no explanations. Just trays of plain food left outside her door and the endless hush of the northern halls pressing in like a second skin.

Aria couldn't bear the stillness.

So she walked.

At first, only a few steps beyond her room. Then down the corridor. Then further. She counted each turn, each creaking stair. The castle was a maze of forgotten wings and crumbling staircases, its silence broken only by the soft sound of her slippers on stone and the distant howl of wolves beyond the walls.

She found bedchambers left to rot, old canopies draped in cobwebs, sheets still tucked as if someone might return at any moment. Portraits hung crooked. Mirrors were veiled with cloth. Dust clung to the air like fog, and every breath tasted like cold ash.

Some doors opened when she touched them. Others would not budge, no matter how she pushed. She passed a room filled with broken armor. Another with a harp missing all but one string. Each space was a whisper, a memory with the sound torn out.

Then she found the door.

It wasn't marked. It groaned as she pushed it inward, the hinges protesting like something half-asleep. What lay beyond made her heart pause.

A library.

Or what had once been one.

The room stretched wide, its ceilings high enough to vanish into shadow. Books were everywhere, spilled across the stone floor, piled on chairs, slumped in heaps where shelves had collapsed. Dust coated every surface. The air smelled of parchment, ink, and time left unspoken.

Aria stepped inside as if into a holy place.

She ran her fingers over the nearest stack. Titles in languages she didn't know, words carved in silver and inked in fading gold. She found old northern histories, records of wars, letters sealed with moons and stars. Poetry, spells, journals. One book crumbled when she opened it, pages turning to lace in her hands.

There was no fire in the hearth. No candles lit. But she didn't feel unwelcome. Not here.

She gathered a small stack and set them gently aside, intending to return. Just as she turned to leave, her fingers dusted the cover of one worn volume with a moon pressed into its leather.

She didn't open it.

The corridor outside was colder than before. She had only taken three steps when the voice came, sharp and dry.

"So," it said, "you've decided to snoop."

Aria turned too quickly, startled.

There stood the thin, pale woman, the one who brought her water on that first morning. Her face was unreadable, her gray eyes sharp as glass. She carried nothing in her hands, but her presence filled the hall like stormclouds.

"I wasn't..." Aria began, but the woman cut her off with a snort.

"Doesn't matter. Just don't get caught somewhere you shouldn't be."

The silence pressed in between them. Aria straightened her spine.

"I'm not a prisoner," she said. "No one said I couldn't walk the halls."

"No one said you could either." The woman's eyes narrowed. "That room is not for you."

Aria bristled. "It's just books."

The woman stepped closer. Her voice lowered.

"Books remember," she said. "And this place is full of memory."

Aria didn't respond. She didn't understand, and somehow, she felt that was the point.

The woman studied her a moment longer, then turned away with a swish of her tattered skirt. Over her shoulder, she added, "Keep your curiosity to yourself, girl. You may not like what answers back."

"Wait," Aria said, more firmly than she meant to. "What's your name?"

The woman paused. "Neris."

And then she was gone.

After Neris left, Aria stood in the hallway for a moment, unsure of where to go. The castle was large and cold, and every hallway looked the same. She thought she remembered the way back to her room, but when she turned the corner, nothing looked familiar.

The torches had burned low, and the shadows stretched across the walls. She tried to retrace her steps, but the halls kept twisting. She passed the same cracked vase twice and a broken painting she did not remember seeing before. The air felt heavier now, colder.

Then she saw a staircase. It was narrow and made of stone, worn smooth in the middle as if many feet had walked there long ago. She hesitated, then climbed.

At the top was a wooden door that stood slightly open. A soft breeze slipped through the crack and brushed against her face. She pushed the door wider and stepped inside.

It was a music room.

Or what had once been one.

The space was large and quiet. Moonlight came in through the tall windows. Dust floated in the air like snow. A broken harp stood in one corner. A cello lay on its side near an old chair. The curtains were torn and hanging loosely. And in the center of the room was a grand piano. Its surface was black and smooth but burned in one place, like it had been touched by fire.

Aria stepped closer.

She ran her fingers across the top of the piano, leaving small lines in the dust. She sat on the bench. The seat creaked beneath her. For a moment, she just sat there, hands resting in her lap, listening to the silence.

Then she reached out and pressed a key.

A single soft note rang out, quiet and sad. It echoed through the room. The sound reminded her of something she could not name, something old and beautiful.

She pressed another key. Then another. Three soft notes filled the air.

And then she felt it. Someone was watching her. She turned her head slowly. He was there.

The Beast King.

He stood in the doorway, very still. His black coat moved gently in the breeze, but the rest of him did not move at all. His face was half in shadow, half in moonlight.

Aria forgot how to breathe.

At first, all she saw was the darkness clinging to him, layers of grime and dust, his black coat heavy with age and damp. His boots left faint smudges on the stone, and his hair hung around his face in loose, tangled strands, dark as spilled ink. He looked like he hadn't washed in a hundred years. He was too still. Too quiet. His presence filled the room without effort, like smoke filling a lung.

And then his eyes met hers.

Eyes that glowed like faint fire beneath thick lashes. Eyes that didn't blink or soften. She wanted to look away. Every part of her told her to. But she couldn't. She continued to stare at him. Her heart was pounding. She could not tell if it was from fear or something else. She wanted to say something, anything, but no words came.

He said nothing. He only looked at her. Then, after a long moment, he turned and walked away without a sound.