Elara entered the tower cell like a sleepwalker. Behind her, the heavy oak door creaked shut, followed by the sharp clickof the lock turning—a sound crisp and heavy, like the death knell of her freedom.
She was alone. The cold stone walls radiated a chill; the small space felt suffocating. Elara leaned her back against the cold door panel, slowly sliding down to the floor. She buried her face in her knees, her body trembling uncontrollably with fear and despair.
She was truly imprisoned. Thrown away like an object into some forgotten corner of this grim castle by that demon-like Duke Reinhardt.
After an unknown amount of time, footsteps approached outside. Elara instantly looked up, alert, seeing Frau Helga's severe, statue-like face appear behind the small hatch in the door used for passing food.
"Get up." Frau Helga's voice came through the hatch, still flat, devoid of emotion.
Not daring to delay, Elara scrambled up from the floor, standing respectfully in the center of the room, head bowed.
Frau Helga peered through the hatch, her sharp eyes scrutinizing Elara again, as if trying to see right through her. Then, she began to announce the rules of the castle, or rather, the rules for this "special prisoner":
"Listen, girl. From now on, you will forget your previous name, forget everything about your past. Here, you have no name, only a designation—'Object Seven'."
Object Seven?! Elara's heart clenched painfully! This wasn't just imprisonment; it was a complete stripping of identity, a profound insult! Did she not even have the right to a name anymore?!
Frau Helga seemed satisfied by the flicker of pain and humiliation on Elara's face, continuing in her icy tone:
"Your existence has only one purpose: absolute obedience to His Grace the Duke's every will. Beyond that, you have no value."
"Memorize the rules here: First, without my express permission or that of His Grace, this room is your only permitted space. You are not to step outside. Second, maintain absolute silence. No unnecessary noise is permitted, including weeping or complaining. Third, maintain absolute cleanliness of yourself and this room. Any filth is an affront to His Grace. Fourth, food and water will be delivered at fixed times each day. Take them promptly. No wasting, no hoarding. Fifth, no one, including the servant delivering your meals, will speak to you, nor are you permitted to attempt conversation with anyone."
"Finally, and most importantly," Frau Helga's voice turned even harsher, her gaze piercing Elara like an ice pick, "never attempt anything that might displease His Grace. Never attempt to challenge the rules here. The punishments at Blackstone Keep are far more terrible than you can imagine. Do you understand, Object Seven?"
Elara bit her lip so hard she nearly drew blood. Humiliation, anger, fear... emotions churned within her, but ultimately, the overwhelming instinct for survival suppressed them. She knew any resistance here was suicide. She could only lower her head further, answering in a barely audible whisper: "...Understood, Madam."
"Good." Frau Helga seemed somewhat satisfied with her compliance, nodding curtly. "Remember your place."
With that, she said no more. The hatch slammed shut with a bang, sealing off the outside world once again.
In the following days, Elara truly experienced what "silent confinement" meant.
Only at three fixed times each day would the hatch open. An expressionless maidservant would pass in a tray with food and water, then take away the previous meal's empty plate and the waste bucket. The food was simple but sufficient to sustain life: a piece of not-too-hard black bread, a thick soup of unidentifiable vegetables (sometimes with a hint of meat), and a jug of clean water. Nothing more.
The delivering servant never uttered a word, never even looked directly at Elara. She moved like a programmed machine, precisely executing her task.
There was nothing in the room to pass the time. No books, no needlework, not even a spare scrap of cloth. All Elara could do was sit numbly, or lie on the cold plank bed, staring at the four walls. The narrow window was sealed with iron bars; she could only see a small patch of perpetually grey sky, mocking her imprisoned fate.
Immense loneliness and silence washed over her like a tide. Sometimes, she wondered if she had already died, if this was some corner of hell.
Frau Helga would appear periodically, without warning, outside the hatch, her hawk-like eyes surveying the room. Elara had to remain constantly vigilant, ensuring the room was tidy, herself "well-behaved." She didn't even dare look too dejected or desperate, fearing even that might be deemed an "improper" emotion. She forced herself into the guise of a thoughtless, emotionless puppet.
But her mind never stopped working.
Frau Helga's words, the cold rules, echoed repeatedly in her thoughts. The Duke's will is everything... Absolute obedience... Severe punishment...
She knew these weren't just warnings. This castle, this chatelaine, and that demon-like Duke—they had the power to make these threats terrifyingly real.
She began to carefully observe the serving maid. Her movements, her expression, the duration of her stay... could there be a weakness, a crack in the routine?
She began to study the room. The cracks between the stones, the seams in the floorboards, the height of the ceiling, the sturdiness of the window bars... could there be a hidden secret she hadn't yet discovered?
She began to recall every detail she had seen at the hunting ground, on the road, upon entering the castle, trying to construct a map of Blackstone Keep in her mind, however blurry, however incomplete.
She knew the chances were slim. But she couldn't give up.
Even in the deepest darkness, even stripped of her name and dignity, the flame of survival within her, the yearning for freedom, and that bone-deep hatred, still burned stubbornly.
She had to find a way, had to find an opportunity. Otherwise, she would eventually be driven mad by this silent iron cage, or... completely assimilated, becoming a truly soulless "Object."