The key was still warm; that was the first thing Marguerite noticed when it lay trembling in her hand. The moment the door opened, she dropped it as though the iron itself had burned her. Now it rested on the cold stone floor between her feet, slick with something dark that gleamed in the candlelight. Blood.
Marguerite stared at it, her breath shallow, her heart beating so violently she feared it might burst from her chest. She had not meant to open the door. Not truly. 
All morning, she had told herself she would not. Her husband had forbidden it with such calm certainty that disobedience felt like a sin.
“You may wander the entire house,” he had said gently, placing the ring of keys in her palm. 
“You are free to explore every room, every hall, and every garden gate.”
Then his eyes had settled on the smallest key. “But not that door.”
The key was smaller than the others, black with age and strangely heavy. She had thought little of it at first, until she noticed the door. It waited at the end of a narrow corridor in the western wing, half hidden behind a velvet curtain that smelled faintly of dust and something older.
Now the door stood open behind her and what waited inside was not silence.
Something moved in the darkness beyond the threshold. An entity that made a tiny sob.
Marguerite forced herself to look. The candle shook in her hand as she lifted it toward the doorway, and the light crept slowly across the stone floor, climbing the walls like a reluctant witness. At first, she saw nothing, then the candlelight found a face. A woman’s tear streaked face.
                                                                             *
The hall was cold despite the fire burning in the hearth. Rain tapped softly against the shutters while Eloise stood before her father with her hands clasped tightly together.
Lord Lyam stared at her as though she had insulted his very blood. “You shame me,” he said, his voice low and sharp.
“I meant no shame, Father.” 
“No?” He struck the table with his palm. “The whole village speaks of it. My daughter seen wandering the road with a miller’s boy like some tavern girl.”
Eloise lowered her eyes. “We only spoke.”
“A nobleman’s daughter does not ‘speak’ with peasants in the dark.” His lip curled. “You forget your place.”
“I only wished to walk. The air in the house—”
“You wished,” he interrupted harshly, “as though your wishes matter.”
She flinched as he went on. “I feed you and I clothe you. I will arrange a marriage that keeps this house standing for another generation. Do not repay me with childish defiance.”
“I did not mean to defy you.” 
“Intent means little,” he said coldly. “A reputation is like glass. Once cracked, every fool can see the break.”
Eloise’s voice trembled. “Please, Father.”
“You will not leave these grounds again without permission. Not the orchard, not the chapel, not even the gate.”
“Am I to be imprisoned?”
“It is discipline.” He stepped closer, his shadow falling over her.
“You are sixteen years old. In two months, you will wed a man of noble linage, because that is the alliance I secured for you. And if you wish that man to treat you with even a measure of respect, you will begin behaving like a proper daughter now.”
Tears gathered in Eloise’s eyes, but Lord Lyam had already turned away dismissively.
“Go to your chamber,” he said. “And thank God your foolishness reached my ears before it reached your future husband’s.”
Eloise curtsied stiffly and left the hall. Behind her, the fire crackled while her father muttered to himself. “A daughter without obedience is worse than no daughter at all.”
The maids stood quietly to one side as she threw herself onto the bed and buried her face in the covers, sobbing. Eloise hated being the daughter of a nobleman. True to his word, Lord Lyam had given strict orders that she was not to leave the castle. So, she stayed in her room and listened to others for entertainment. The servants in the corridor were whispering among themselves. Their voices were low, uneasy, as though they feared someone might overhear the subject of their conversation.
“I spoke to a stable boy who worked there once. He left before harvest and swore he heard crying through the walls at night.”
“How dreadful. And the master intends to marry the miss to that man?”
“Are you willing to defend her?” one maid replied. She began counting on her fingers. “He is a knight, he has money, he owns a great deal of land, and he is very handsome. He is a most desirable bachelor.”
“But didn’t he marry three times?” her companion shot back.
The other maid sighed softly. “I’m not certain of the whole story myself. But there is nothing we can say or do that will change the master’s mind.”
Their voices faded as they walked farther down the corridor, leaving Eloise alone with her thoughts. Just what sort of man was she meant to marry?
A few days later, she received her answer when her father came to see her, followed by her lady-in-waiting.
“Lord Conomor will be arriving later today to meet his new bride,” Lord Lyam said briskly. “And I expect you to look as beautiful as possible. Rose will assist you with your dressing.”
With that, he turned and left the chamber. Eloise’s shoulders sagged as the door closed behind him.
Later that afternoon, she descended the great staircase dressed in a fashionable pink gown with matching slippers. Her blonde hair had been arranged carefully in the latest French style.
When she reached the bottom, she curtsied politely. A tall man with dark hair stepped forward. His beard was neatly trimmed, though she noticed it held a faint, unnatural blue tint. He lifted her from the curtsy and kissed her hand. His blue eyes were striking. Smiling broadly, he revealed a set of very white teeth.
“Bon jour, mademoiselle,” he greeted warmly. “I am Conomor, your fiancé.”
Turning toward her father, he added with amusement, “She is every bit as lovely as you described. I can hardly wait to carry her away with me.” The two men laughed together.
A cold shiver crept up Eloise’s spine as she remembered the conversation she had overheard among the servants.
“Father, must I marry him?” she asked suddenly. “Could it not be someone else?”
Her father’s pleasant expression vanished at once. He frowned deeply. “Do not behave like a spoiled child, especially in front of your betrothed. The arrangements have been made. You will marry him.” His voice was so cold that Eloise did not dare speak again for the rest of the evening.
Time seemed to pass in a blur, and before she could fully gather her thoughts, the day of the wedding arrived. That morning she woke up with a strange feeling of dread. Her chest ached and her hands were damp with nervous sweat.
“It is only wedding nerves, miss,” her lady-in-waiting assured her gently while washing Eloise’s hair. Yet the uneasy feeling would not fade, and it felt less like nervousness than a quiet warning. Still, she endured the ceremony, smiling through clenched teeth. Whenever the guests were not looking, she took deep breaths to steady herself.
At last dusk fell, and the celebration came to an end. Surrounded by tearful farewells, Eloise climbed into Conomor’s waiting coach. Just as the door closed, she heard a voice whisper softly behind her.
Let me have a moment, let me say.
Bless this girl before I die; I pray you.
Eloise stiffened. “Did you hear that?” she asked, looking at Conomor, who sat opposite her. He was staring out the window.
“Hear what?” he replied.
“A woman praying.”
Her new husband glanced at her briefly before turning back to the darkening road. “I heard nothing,” he said calmly. “It must be your imagination.” There was a crack of a whip, and the coach drove off. Godspeed prayed Marguerite as she watched the latest bride leave.
To call Conomor’s mansion a mere splendor would be a grave understatement. It was a massive brick fortress, encircled by a lake and sprawling farmlands. Towering trees grew across the grounds, and several people lived in barracks within the castle's walls. Eloise’s eyes widened at the sheer size of the home for a single knight.
“It’s bigger than our estate—and my father is a Count!” she breathed.
Conomor chuckled as he led her inside. “I may serve as a knight, but my official title is Baron, and I am Lord of Brittany, Anjou, and Poitou. I own many lands across them all.”
No wonder Father was so eager for this marriage. He’s powerful, too, she thought with a sinking heart. He guided her upstairs to a lavish bedroom, where silk bedcovers and velvet drapes glimmered in the light, and the windows framed a breathtaking view. “You will sleep here from now on,” he said firmly. “And do not—do not—go exploring without my permission.”
“But this is my home now, too,” she protested softly.
“Do as I say!” Conomor’s voice rang sharply, making Eloise start and shrink back in fright. She nodded quickly, and his tone softened. “I will send your servants to tend to you from now on. I shall see you later, Eloise.”
When he departed, she remained frozen in the center of the room for several minutes before collapsing onto the bed in tears. Despite the first day in her new home, he never appeared for dinner, nor did he join her in the bedroom as tradition dictated. His manservant explained that Conomor was busy, advising her to amuse herself with the maids. Shaking her head, Eloise muttered, “How is this any different from before?”
A week later, she and her maid sat together, sewing, the window open to let in a breeze that carried the fresh scent of nature. Eloise breathed deeply, savoring it—until the light suddenly dimmed, though it was still midday, and the window slammed shut with a violent gust. A chill swept through the room, carrying the faint, unmistakable scent of damp earth and something older… 
Startled, she leapt to her feet, her fingers trembling.
“What’s the matter, Madam?” her maid asked, her voice uncertain.
Flabbergasted, Eloise pointed toward the window. “Didn’t you see that?”
“No, Madam,” the maid said, frowning.
“But… it went dark, and the wind—” Eloise’s voice caught. She looked again at the window, and it was as if nothing had happened. The sunlight returned, streaming innocently across the floor, and the glass glimmered as though untouched. Eloise’s pulse raced. Her mind went blank. The breeze that should have been comforting now felt like a warning like the house itself was watching her.
“Mayhap, Madam, you should rest? You have barely slept these past few days.”
Eloise trembled with frustration before sighing. “I suppose so. Would you wake me when it’s time for luncheon?”
“As you wish, Madam.”
She closed her weary eyes, sinking into the bed, while the maid softly closed the bedroom door behind her. A few minutes later, the door opened again. A tall, dark-haired man stepped inside. Conomor leaned against the wall, silently observing his sleeping wife.
Since arriving, he had heard it again—a soft whisper at the edge of his mind, the fourth one. He wondered since she was only sixteen, how long she would last, then he quietly slipped from the room.
As Eloise slept, she dreamt of endless grey walls and mirrors. No matter how fast she ran, the reflections multiplied, closing her in. Her own terrified face stared back at her again and again. No amount of pounding could shatter the glass, and she remained trapped for years, alone, her shrieks echoing against the cold surfaces. As she watched, horrified, her reflection aged while she stayed a child, her terror stretching endlessly.
Eloise gasped awake, heart aching with the same dread she had felt on her wedding day. She pressed her face to the pillow, trying to stifle her tears. Perhaps it was the weight of her new circumstances, still unfamiliar and oppressive. She rose and went to wash her face, hoping to regain some composure. Her maid entered then, a bright smile lighting her face.
“I have come to wake you, Madam. And I bring wonderful news—the master has said he will join you for dinner tonight.”
Eloise froze. For reasons she could not name, she no longer wished to dine.
Thunder rumbled in the distance as Eloise entered the dining hall for the first meal with her husband. Her blue gown shimmered beneath the chandelier, and her golden hair seemed to glow, giving her an almost otherworldly presence.
Conomor regarded her with a dry smile as she took her seat. “Had I not married you, I might have sworn you were one of the infamous fae.”
Plates were laid before them, piled with roasted meats, fresh bread, and vibrant fruits. Conomor lifted a piece of meat and began to chew thoughtfully.
“Was that… a compliment, sir?” Eloise asked, her voice tentative.
He laughed, a deep, resonant sound. “How could it not be?” He tossed the bone to the floor and continued, “I leave for a month to attend to my other estates. You will remain here, by yourself.”
“Surely, I may accompany you? I am your wife, after all.”
Conomor shook his head, his expression amused. “And what interest could a young lady possibly have in such affairs? Stay here. And take it as a courtesy—I grant you full freedom to wander the castle to satisfy your curiosity.”
“You mean… anywhere I wish?” Eloise asked, a spark of hope lighting her features.
From his pocket, Conomor produced a cluster of keys, holding them before her. “Here are all the keys to every hall, every garden gate, every door in this castle. Enter as you like. However,” he raised a finger, sharp and warning, “not this one—the small black key.”
Eagerly, Eloise accepted the keys, already imagining the adventures she would have with her maids. But her gaze kept returning to the black key. Conomor’s voice faded into background noise as she turned it over in her hands, noting how unnaturally warm it felt. Though the key was pitch black, she could make out tiny, almost imperceptible blots of red upon its surface.
A sudden clap of lightning cracked through the sky, snapping her back to the present.
“I’m sorry, could you say that again, dear?”
Conomor released a sharp breath. “I said you shouldn’t wander about on your own. When I return, we can go out together and visit some of the nearby villages in my domain.”
Eloise gave a small cry of delight. “That would be wonderful. Then you must be careful during your inspection of the other estates.”
Conomor laughed warmly. “So, you’re concerned about me now.”
For a fleeting instant, Eloise thought she saw something dark flicker in his eyes, and her smile faltered. But when lightning flashed again a moment later, the shadow was gone, leaving her uncertain whether she had imagined it.
Rain began to pour just as the dessert was brought in. Although the exotic fruit, mango and dragon fruit, looked exquisite, Eloise found she had lost her appetite.
What kind of man have I married?
The next morning, Eloise stood dutifully with the servants to bid the lord of the mansion farewell. He gave her a knowing look, as though he sensed her unease. She forced herself to meet his gaze with confidence as he climbed into the coach.
She did not wait for it to leave the estate before hurrying to her room and to the keys.
They seemed to call to her, pulling at her thoughts, demanding to be used.
She went to her dresser, slid open the drawer, and lifted them out with trembling breath.
At last, she thought. At last, I can open every door.
In her excitement, she completely forgot that the black key was forbidden. Smiling broadly, she set off to unlock the mansion’s mysteries. 
She also forgot Conomor’s request that she not wander alone.
As she began unlocking doors and peering inside, Eloise did not notice that she was being watched. One presence was protective yet sorrowful. The other watched with quiet malice.
The first door she opened was made of sleek, polished wood. It resisted her push before finally swinging inward, revealing a study. Old scrolls filled the shelves, many bound with dark leather, and a lion’s skin lay stretched across the floor.
Eloise approached the large desk, running her fingers along its polished surface. She opened drawer after drawer, searching carefully, but found nothing of interest. With a small sigh, she stepped back into the corridor and shut the door behind her.
The same happened with the next few rooms. Each door revealed something ordinary, dull even.
Then why were they locked? she wondered as she climbed the staircase. She continued opening doors while a pair of servants giggled somewhere behind her back. Ignoring them, Eloise pushed open another door and stepped inside. This time she struck gold. The room was a library.
Shelves stretched along the walls, crowded with books. Eloise felt a spark of excitement. Her father had always liked to hide important things in libraries. She began searching immediately, scanning the shelves, kneeling beside chairs, peering beneath tables. At last, she found something curious: a blank book tucked beneath a chair. When she opened it, three small portraits stared back at her. “Ambre, Juliette, and Marguerite,” she read softly.
The painted women were young and beautiful. “Were they his other wives?”
She studied their faces more closely. “They look so young… What happened to them?”
Her throat tightened. “They couldn’t have died… could they?”
Eloise glanced nervously around the room before snapping the book shut.
She knew Conomor had been married before. But she had always believed he had simply divorced them. But now…
She resumed searching, yet an uneasy feeling crept over her. A chill slipped through the room, as though winter itself had seeped into the walls. The air grew colder and colder until she rubbed her arms to warm herself. Eloise stood frozen for a moment, her heart pounding, before abruptly fleeing the library. The malicious presence watched with delight.
There was still the West Wing to explore, but it was already lunchtime, and Eloise realized she was starving after missing breakfast. Still troubled by the strange feeling in the library, she made her way toward the dining hall.
She sat at the table while the beautifully prepared dishes seemed to stare back at her.
“Why did I even think that?” she murmured to herself. “Conomor doesn’t seem like the kind of man who would murder his wives. I’m simply overthinking.”
Having convinced herself, she relaxed and began to eat. By the time she rose from the table, the afternoon had already begun when she made her way toward the West Wing. The servants working there grew visibly uneasy as she opened the doors one after another.
Some rooms were empty. Bare grey walls loomed over her like the walls of a prison. Others were used for storage, cluttered with chests, and forgotten furniture.
Her mouth fell open when she pushed open one door and glimpsed what looked unmistakably like a torture chamber. Before she could step inside, a servant rushed forward and slammed the door shut in her face.
“Master never used it,” he muttered quickly. Eloise hesitated, hoping it was true. The portraits of the previous wives still lingered sharply in her mind, and she shivered.
For a moment, she longed to go home. But she knew her father would only send her back here again.
At last, she reached the final door. It was hidden behind a velvet curtain, and a strange odor hung in the air around it. Her eyes dropped to the black key in her hand. Without thinking, she slid it into the lock and began to turn it when suddenly a voice whispered in her ear.
The warning.
She froze. Her husband had clearly warned her not to open this door. Slowly, she began to pull the key back out. But then the wind shifted, growing suddenly cold, and before she quite realized what she was doing, she twisted the key. The lock clicked.
Eloise swallowed nervously. “Oh dear,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to… I only opened it.”
She turned around, hoping someone might still be nearby, but the servants had vanished.
The iron door creaked open. Eloise trembled as she stepped backward. The key felt strangely warm in her hand, almost as if it were scolding her for disobeying the master of the castle.
Then she noticed the stains. Dark metal… spotted with red. The key looked as though it had been dipped in blood. Her breath caught as she saw something shift in the darkness beyond the doorway. Instinctively she reached for the iron door to close it again. But suddenly something shoved her from behind. Eloise cried out as she fell forward, crashing onto the cold stone floor. Pain shot through her face and shoulders as she struck the ground. Behind her, the door slammed shut with a deafening clang.
Eloise! Get up! The voice echoed through the darkness. She had no idea where it came from, but instinct forced her to obey. Dizzy, she staggered to her feet, swaying slightly as the room spun around her. Then her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she saw what lay before her.
Eloise screamed.
                                                                                     *
Conomor sat comfortably in his chair, watching the birds wheel lazily through the sky. He lifted his glass of beer and took a long gulp.
Sighing in satisfaction, he murmured to himself, “She must be opening the forbidden door by now. No matter how hard they try to resist, he always pulls them toward that room. Such lust for beauty.” He took another drink and leaned back, thoughtfully considering which girl he might choose as his next wife.
                                                                                     *
Eloise’s knees nearly buckled as she stared in horror at the scene before her.
Standing directly in front of her were three enormous mirrors. Their glass surfaces were spotless, polished to a perfect shine. But they did not reflect the room, instead, they reflected three women. Eloise recognized them instantly. The blonde beauty with blue eyes was Ambre. The dark-haired woman with brown eyes was Juliette. The third, with her curly flaxen hair and gentle brown eyes, was Marguerite.
They were trapped inside the mirrors. Eloise watched in stunned disbelief as Ambre and Juliette sat on the ground, their expressions empty and hollow, as if all hope had long since drained from them. Marguerite, however, stared directly at Eloise with desperate urgency.
Run! You must get out of here!
Eloise blinked, too stunned to move. Marguerite repeated herself again and again until at last Eloise snapped back to her senses.
“How?” Eloise cried. “You… that’s impossible!”
Now is not the time. Run!
Hearing the fear in her voice, Eloise turned and rushed toward the door. But she slammed straight into something invisible. “Ow!” she gasped, clutching her forehead. “I can’t. Something’s blocking the way.”
Marguerite’s face filled with sorrow.
It’s too late, she said softly. I’m sorry.
Not understanding, Eloise began pounding wildly at the unseen barrier, screaming for help. She called for the servants again and again, hoping someone might hear her. She shouted until her throat turned raw. But no one came. At last, sobbing, she sank down onto the cold floor.
“Am I… inside a mirror now too?” she asked weakly.
“I’m afraid so,” Marguerite replied sadly. Eloise wiped at her tears and looked up at the imprisoned women.
“What will happen now?”
Marguerite lowered her gaze. “Now Conomor will simply find another unfortunate girl to marry.”
Eloise slammed her fists against the glass once more. “Why?” she cried. “Why must we be imprisoned in mirrors like this?”
Marguerite sighed. “I don’t know.”
*
A month later, Conomor returned to his fortress. Only the head butler and the head housekeeper stood waiting to greet him. His young, petite blonde wife was nowhere to be seen.
“Is Eloise too busy to welcome her husband home?” he asked lightly. The two servants shook their heads.
“She has gone missing,” the housekeeper replied. Conomor raised his brows in mock surprise.
“My, my. Another one. I seem to have dreadful luck with women.” He sighed dramatically. “Am I truly such a terrible husband that none of them wish to stay?”
The servants remained perfectly stoic. “No, sir,” they answered.
“Well then,” Conomor said with a casual shrug, “I suppose I shall simply have to find someone else.” He turned to the butler.
“Do some research. See if you can find a suitable young woman.”
After dismissing them, he made his way toward the West Wing and stopped before the forbidden door. The velvet curtain swayed slightly in the draft. At his feet lay the bunch of keys, abandoned on the floor. Smiling faintly, he picked them up and slid the black key into the lock.
Before stepping inside, he paused. A strange scent lingered in the air, something ancient and faintly nostalgic. “Well, Grandfather?” he asked quietly into the darkness. “Are you satisfied yet?”
No answer came; only a cold gust of wind swept past him and pushed the door open.
“Not yet then?” he murmured. Conomor stepped inside. Immediately he was met with shrill, desperate cries.
“Why?” Eloise’s voice rang out from one of the mirrors. “Why did you imprison us?”
For a fleeting moment, pity stirred within him. But he forced it away.
With a tired sigh, he looked toward the mirrors. “You are not the only prisoner here.”
And somewhere beyond the room, far deeper in the darkness of the fortress, cruel laughter echoed that rang on and on as if it might never end. Conomor glanced at the mirrors before leaving the room. Four women stared back at him now. And slowly, Eloise’s expression began to look just like the others.

                                                                           THE END