The first time you saw Bela, it was from across the grand library, golden light catching in her pale blonde hair like fire frozen in time.

You were meant to be a servant—hired last minute, unfamiliar with the castle’s strange ways. You tried not to ask questions, even as shadows flickered unnaturally and the air turned cold with whispers.

But Bela noticed you.

She always did.

"You’re the quiet one," she said one evening, standing far too close, her voice like silk pulled taut. “Most run their mouths to impress. You only stare.”

You dropped your gaze. “Apologies, my lady.”

Her finger, gloved and cold, tilted your chin back up. “Don’t apologize. I find it… refreshing.”

The days blurred. You carried books to her room, dusted shelves already spotless. Bela, unlike her sisters, didn’t toy with you for sport. But she watched. She asked questions no noble should ask a servant.

“Do you believe in monsters?” she once asked, seated at her writing desk, face half-hidden behind a leather-bound volume.