Chapter 2: A Stranger's House
The moonlight bled through the curtains, silvery and cold, painting ghostly patterns across the marble floor. Freya lay in bed, eyes wide open, the ache in her throat growing unbearable. Her lips were dry. The pitcher beside her bed was empty.
She swung her legs over the edge and slipped her feet into soft house shoes. The silence wrapped around her shoulders like a shawl, thick and suffocating. She stepped into the corridor, the click of the door echoing far louder than she meant.
She wandered, hugging herself as she crept past tall windows and paintings that watched her like witnesses to things best left forgotten.
Where's the kitchen? This place is a maze.
She turned down a corridor, lined with heavy portraits and flickering wall sconces—most of them long burned out. She paused at an intersection, unsure of where to go next.
And that's when she felt it.
That prickle at the nape of her neck. That slow, spine-stiffening dread. She wasn't alone.
She turned slowly, her breath hitching.
Behind her stood a tall figure—broad shoulders, imposing, still. The hall was dark, but she could make out the glint of his eyes, like twin blades honed by grief and time.
Her voice came out shaky. "W-Who are you?"
The man didn't answer. Instead, he lit a candle, the flickering flame revealing sharp features and eyes colder than winter.
"What are you doing out here?" he asked, voice low and commanding.
Freya raised her chin in defiance, even as her knees trembled. "I should be asking you that. This is my home… or that's what everyone says anyway. What about you?"
The man narrowed his gaze.
"So this is how you speak to your father, Freya Erveldote?"
Her world tilted.
"...Father?" she whispered. "You're my father?"
Before he could respond, the echo of boots slapped down the corridor. Another man came running—a younger version of the Duke, but his eyes held more fire and far less patience.
"Father, what happened?" he asked, then his gaze locked onto Freya. The warmth drained instantly.
"You again," he growled. "What did you do this time, Freya?"
He grabbed her arm roughly.
"Ah—! Let go of me!" she cried, wincing.
"Aaron." The Duke's voice was sharp as a blade. "Release her."
Aaron hesitated before yanking his hand away, muttering curses under his breath.
"Mina," the Duke barked.
Within moments, the flustered maid appeared, still in her nightclothes, eyes wide with panic. "Y-Yes, Your Grace?"
"Explain."
Mina trembled under his stare. "My lord… ever since the young lady woke up, she's been acting strange. She… she says she doesn't remember anything. Not her name, not her family. Nothing."
Freya looked down, clutching her wrist where Aaron had grabbed her. "It's true," she whispered. "I don't know any of you. I don't know this place. I—I just woke up like this."
Aaron scoffed. "What nonsense. It's just another act to get our attention, Father. She's always been like this. Drama runs in her blood."
The Duke was silent, but his eyes were unreadable.
Freya felt the burn behind her eyes again, but she refused to cry. Not in front of them.
Not now.
She was starting to realize—
This wasn't just a house of strangers.
This was a house of ghosts, and she was the one haunting it.
Freya stood in silence, her heartbeat loud in her ears. Everyone's gaze was still on her—like she was a ghost who didn't belong.
With a shallow breath, she straightened her spine and turned around.
"I'm going to my room," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I'm tired. And I feel... dizzy."
The Duke watched her closely, the lines on his face etched deep with exhaustion. He nodded slowly and turned to the tall man standing in the shadows beside the staircase.
"Aslan," he said to his butler, "summon the physician first thing tomorrow."
The butler gave a slight bow. "Yes, Your Grace."
"Everyone, return to your rooms," the Duke ordered, his voice sharp. "This discussion is over for tonight."
Aaron gave her one last cold glance before walking off with heavy footsteps, muttering under his breath. Mina bowed nervously, not daring to meet Freya's eyes.
But just as Freya turned to leave, the Duke's voice stopped her.
"Freya."
She hesitated. "Yes?"
"Why were you outside your room?"
Freya swallowed. "I was thirsty," she said honestly. "But… I didn't know where to get water."
The silence that followed was heavier than stone.
The Duke's eyes swept across the assembled staff, now pale and shifting uncomfortably in place.
"It is a maid's job to tend to their master's needs," he said, each word weighted and biting. "What were you all doing? Hmm?"
Freya blinked, startled. Her feet froze.
Did he just…?
No one dared to answer. A few maids lowered their heads. One shuffled awkwardly behind the others.
She stood there, unmoving, unsure if she should feel guilty or... seen.
The Duke didn't spare another glance. "Enough. Everyone—go."
As the hall emptied, Freya remained, shadows brushing her cheeks, heart trembling as if it were learning how to beat all over again.
The hall was almost empty now, but Freya's body remained still, heavy like stone. Her fingers trembled slightly, her knees locking to keep her upright.
The Duke's voice sliced through the tense quiet.
"I need an explanation. Mina," he snapped, turning to the pale-faced maid who was trying to make herself invisible, "you are her personal maid. Speak. What exactly is going on with the young lady?"
Mina fidgeted with the hem of her apron, eyes darting to where Freya stood at the edge of the hallway light. "My Lord… she… ever since she woke up, she's been different. She asked me strange questions. She doesn't remember anything—not even her own name at first."
"You didn't think to report that to me?" His voice was rising now, sharp and commanding.
Freya stood, every breath growing heavier. Their voices grew louder, harsher, echoing in her ears.
Too loud.
Too much.
Her temples throbbed. Her legs trembled. It felt like the marble beneath her was shifting.
She tried to lift her hand, tried to speak. "Stop it," she whispered. "All of you are so loud… My head... it hurts."
No one heard her.
"Mina," the Duke said again, firmer now, "do you understand the gravity of your—"
"Stop," she tried again, her voice cracking.
And then her world tilted sideways.
Freya's knees buckled, and her vision fractured into white noise.
A final whisper left her lips as she fell—
"…it hurts."
The hall gasped collectively as her body collapsed to the cold floor, her platinum hair spilling like moonlight across the stone.
"Freya!" Mina cried, rushing forward.
"Call the doctor now!" the Duke barked, his mask of stone cracking for the first time.
As the world blurred and darkened around her, Freya heard one last thing before the night swallowed her whole—
"Don't just stand there! Go!"