[1/2] shoulder open the heavy door and once your vision adjusts, you'll find the same empty room as before. the bed beckons you, promising a plush mattress that WOULD be inviting...were it not blanketed in ash. the marble surfaces and stately pieces of furniture could have been polished and beautiful once. now, their imposing shadows add to the chilling aura raising the hairs at the nape of your neck.
[2/2] this soundless void swallows all light, hungering for more. even then, the frames of two portraits catch your eye. you’ve seen the tallest one before, capturing the conqueror in his gilt and glory. the second is smaller and unlike those in the hallway, this one is whole. stately. once again featuring /him/ yet this time, he shares the limelight. the woman comfortably leaning on him isn’t his wife. she shares his piercing silver eyes. your eyes. your hair. you.
despite the blanket of ash settled heavy over the room, ana drifts further inside. something like familiarity stirs in her chest at the sight of the bed; she’s moving closer to it before she even realizes. a hand pressed into the ash, the sheets, sinks in. by the time she comes back to herself, she’s already in the process of climbing onto the bed and has to force herself backward and away.
it’s unsettling, how familiar this room seems. no step has been second guessed, and briefly, she thinks that she shouldn’t be able to navigate this room with barely a glance around. even the tallest portrait seems familiar in a way that it shouldn’t after having seen it once.
she thinks maybe her heart stops when she sees the second.
her gaze is fixed ahead of her and she can’t tear it away. the count is there, yes, but that isn’t what she can’t look away from. her own face stares back at her, and she sees no discomfort there – instead, she sees fondness, content, like she’s meant to be there, like there’s nowhere she’d rather be.
