The dim glow of candlelight flickered across the worn wooden floors of Harper Manor, casting long, wavering shadows along the corridor. Charlotte Campbell, a maid of the household, knelt near the base of an old cabinet, scrubbing away at a stubborn stain. The house was still, save for the distant ticking of the grandfather clock in the main hall.
As she moved her rag along the floor, her fingers brushed against something small and cold. She paused, setting aside her cloth, and peered closer. There, nestled in the gap between the floorboards, was an old, tarnished key.
Charlotte picked it up carefully, turning it over in her palm. It was heavier than she expected, its once-golden surface dulled with age. A strange sense of familiarity stirred within her. She had seen this key before—perhaps not this exact one, but something similar.
Then she remembered.
There was a room, one unlike any other in Harper Manor. Tucked away at the very end of the second-floor hallway, its door had remained locked for as long as Charlotte had worked there. Unlike the guest rooms, storage rooms, or even the master chambers, no one ever entered it. The other maids whispered about it in passing, dismissing it as another forgotten corner of the vast house.
But Charlotte had always wondered.
She glanced around, making sure no one was near, then quickly tucked the key into the folds of her apron. Her heart pounded in her chest, excitement bubbling beneath her usual composed demeanor. Could this truly be the key to that mysterious room?
She would find out soon enough.
That night, when the household fell into slumber, Charlotte crept from her small servant quarters. Clutching the key tightly, she moved through the dimly lit halls, her soft steps muffled by the plush carpet. The manor seemed different at night, the grandeur of its chandeliers and marble columns lost to the eerie hush of darkness.
At last, she reached the door.
The key trembled in her hand as she slid it into the lock. For a moment, nothing happened. Then—click. The door creaked open, revealing a room untouched by time. Dust hung in the air, swirling in the moonlight that streamed through a single, arched window.
And there, against the far wall, stood a piano.
Charlotte stepped cautiously into the room, her breath shallow as she took in her surroundings. The air was thick with the scent of old wood and paper. A thin layer of dust coated everything—the bookshelves lining the walls, the heavy velvet drapes, and most notably, the grand piano at the center of the room.
She hesitated before approaching it. The instrument, though neglected, still held a quiet dignity. Tentatively, she lifted the lid, revealing ivory keys dulled with time. Her fingers hovered over them before pressing down gently. A single note rang out, soft but clear, breaking the silence of the forgotten chamber.
A memory surfaced.
She was a child, no older than ten, wandering the streets of the city. It was an unusually cold evening, and she had been drawn to the warm glow of a grand building—a musical theater. The doors had been left slightly ajar, and with cautious excitement, she had slipped inside.
The performance had already begun. A woman sat at a grand piano on stage, her fingers dancing effortlessly across the keys, filling the hall with a melody so breathtaking it had made Charlotte's heart ache. In that moment, she had wanted nothing more than to play like that—to create something so beautiful, so alive.
But poverty had stolen that dream from her.
Now, standing before the piano in Harper Manor, the longing stirred once more.
Carefully, she wiped away the dust from the keys. If this room had remained hidden for so long, perhaps no one would notice if she came here… just for a little while.
That night, when the manor was wrapped in sleep, Charlotte returned. And under the cover of darkness, she let her fingers glide across the keys, playing a tune from the depths of her memory.
The music echoed through the halls, drifting through the silence like a ghostly whisper.
By morning, the rumors had begun.