The Attic of Unrepeated Names
Kimi K2 (0905) and GLM 4.5 Base
The mural showed a door she had walked through yesterday, though yesterday’s door had been blue and this one was the exact red of the blood on her fingertips—blood she didn’t remember shedding. She put a palm on the door of the painting, and the instant contact was made, she heard sounds.
Whispers.
They were so faint, and they distorted in the tunnels, but they were whispers.
Forgetting caution, she rattled the handle. It was locked. With a quick glance down the tunnel behind her, she put her other hand on the painting, pressing against the wood depicted there. The whispers grew fractionally louder and resolved themselves into words. Not words of a language she knew, but she understood them all the same. They were pleas for help, for mercy.
“Let me out.”
“He’s coming.”
“Please, open the door.”
“Save me.”
She pressed her ear to the wall, running her fingertips over the painting, looking for the latch. After a heart-jolting moment of panic, she found a groove in the stone, a depression exactly where the button would have been on the real door.
Pressing it, she heard a click, and the painting of the door shifted. She was able to swing it open just enough to admit her. She shuffled sideways through the gap into darkness. The room smelled like old paper and damp wool.
When her eyes adjusted, she found herself in a long, low-ceilinged attic, illuminated by grey light filtering through a round window set high in the wall. Dust motes swirled through the air, making her want to sneeze. On the far side of the room, she could make out the shape of a person, huddled in a child’s wooden chair far too small for her full-grown body. The figure was thin, her skin pale, her long hair the colour of tarnished silver, bound into clumps with scraps of cloth. She looked up, her eyes wide, her expression momentarily hopeful when she saw Lorelei.
“You’re back,” she said, her voice raspy.
Lorelei stared. It wasn’t possible. She had never seen this woman before in her life.
But the woman’s voice was hers.
Also Available at Young Adult RomancEmma Savant
Emma Savant is the pen name of a YA author who lives in Maryland with her husband and daughter. When she isn't writing or editing, she can usually be found drinking tea, playing the piano, or arguing about the importance of grammar at her day job.
by Emma Savant
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