Ella jolted awake, the ghostly grip of her dream still coiling around her heart. She sat upright, clutching the blanket before tossing it aside, her breath ragged and uneven. That twisted smile, those piercing dark eyes, they lingered in the corners of her mind, watching, waiting. Shivering from the stillness of her loft, Ella slipped out of bed, her feet sinking into the thick carpet with a grounding thud. The loft felt oppressive tonight, the air thick with the residue of fear. Needing to escape, Ella padded toward the stairway at the back of the room. Each step creaked softly, as though the wood itself shared her unease. She had taken this path countless times before, always pursued by the same haunting face and those unnerving eyes.
At the top of the stairs, Ella paused before the door to her attic door, her hand hovering over the familiar, tarnished silver key hanging next to it on its nail. Her fingers tingled as she reached for the key, the brief hesitation catching in her throat like a stone. It had been ages since she'd come up here after a nightmare, each dream darker, more suffocating than the last. With a steady breath, she turned the key in the lock, nudging the door open before stepping inside. The attic stretched before her, shadowed and still, its familiar contours feeling strangely distant. String lights draped along the wooden beams flickered faintly, their warm glow struggling against the encroaching darkness. This had always been her haven; a sanctuary she'd carefully crafted, cleared of forgotten relics left by past echo's, now filled with her paints, brushes, and half-finished canvases. But tonight, the air felt heavier, the room teetering uneasily between the comfort of memory and the weight of her lingering dream and worries.
With trembling hands, Ella struck a match, its sharp sulfuric scent cutting through the air as she lit the last candle's wick. The flickering flame cast shadows that stretched and swayed across the walls, dancing over shelves cluttered with jars of murky water, brushes, and scattered paint tubes. Ella approached her easel, carefully positioned beneath the wide attic window where a sliver of pale moonlight spilled over the canvas. Painting had always come naturally to Ella, as a little girl she found solace in art painting the chapel gardens with the birds. She loved to especially paint at night when the world was most quite she found. But tonight, the quiet felt alive, charged with something unseen. The faint tick of an old clock punctuated the silence, each second amplifying her solitude. Even her heartbeat seemed too loud, its steady thud echoing through the shadowed space.
Each squeeze of color onto her palette felt heavier than the last, the pigments dark and oppressive, mirroring the weight pressing against her chest. The hues pooled together like fragments of her nightmare, their intensity drawing the shadows closer. The edges of the room darkened, the air thickening, as if her fear had taken shape, pressing in from all sides. Her fingers trembled as she grasped the brush, dragging it across the palette with deliberate strokes. Each movement carried the weight of unshakable dread, clinging to her like a second skin. Every streak of color pulsed with the remnants of her nightmare, the suffocating darkness, the relentless shadows that seemed alive, their presence a consuming void.
The phantom burn of smoldering coals lingered beneath her feet, the searing heat clinging to her like a memory that refused to fade, as though it had followed her from the dreamworld into this one. And then there was the laughter, low and distorted, a cruel melody that hummed faintly in the still air, threading through the shadows like a malevolent whisper, binding her terror to every corner of the room. She swore she could smell the phantom ash in the air, its cold harsh feeling clinging like an unwelcome memory. It wasn't just a trace of her nightmare, it was a presence, insistent and unyielding, whispering from the edges of her mind. She hesitated her brush over her canvas, a momentary pause brimming with purpose and fear. When it finally touched the canvas, the hesitation trance broke, and her movements became fluid, almost otherworldly. It was as if an unseen force had taken hold of her hand, guiding each line and curve. A faint hum slipped from her lips, an unconscious rhythm that seemed to keep her grounded, though the growing chill in the attic crept deeper into her bones.
The vision from her dream began to take form, the strokes of her brush carving the memory into vivid shapes. Heavy greys swept across the canvas in jagged swaths, capturing the haunting pall of ash that lingered in her mind. Their muted tones seemed to thicken, suffocating the lighter hues beneath them. Then, with sudden intensity, bursts of red and orange broke through the monotony; fares of fiery defiance, their brightness defying the shadows that sought to smother them. The colors blended and swirled in a chaotic harmony, the embers glowing against the dim candlelight as if alive. Ella's strokes quickened, her breath hitching as the painting seemed to grow of its own accord. The attic walls seemed to close in around her, the flickering candlelight casting distorted shapes that clawed at the edges of her vision. The line between her dream and reality blurred until she could no longer tell where one ended and the other began.
The night pressed in around her, the candle flames guttering as if the shadows themselves were trying to smother the light. Her brushstrokes turned wild, her breathing shallow, each line a release and a capture, a frantic bid to escape the weight of her own mind. Somewhere, deep within her thoughts, she could hear the faint echoes of her dream, the broken laughter, the muffled voices calling her name, and the strange feeling of being watched.
It was both a release and a prison, a maddening dance between freedom and entrapment. No matter how furiously she painted, she could not escape. The shadows on the canvas seemed to stretch beyond it, creeping toward the edges of the attic like silent spectators to her turmoil. Ella blinked, the chill of the air biting against her skin as her breath escaped in foggy puffs. Around her, the world dissolved into an empty field shrouded in thick, twisting fog. The mist coiled at her feet like living tendrils, curling higher with each step. A whisper floated through the haze, faint and haunting, carried on an unseen breeze that made the hairs on her arms stand on end.
Her footsteps echoed, each sound swallowed by the oppressive quiet. No city noises, no distant hum; just silence, vast and stifling. Ella's legs moved on their own, her steps quickening despite the icy dread gripping her chest. The whisper in the air grew louder, fragmented words sliding under her skin like splinters. The world narrowing until nothing remained but shadowy silhouette rising out of the mist in front of her. Heart thundered in her chest, matching the rhythm of the strange, distant music that began to creep into the edges of her awareness; a broken melody laced with hollow laughter.
Through the mist, as she came to a rushing halt stood the solidified shape of a circus tent.
It was massive, burnt and blackened along its edges, the fabric hanging in tattered shreds that flapped in an ominous breeze. As she moved closer, the faint sound of carnival music floated toward her, mixed with the eerie, hollow laughter of children. Her skin prickled, the laughter burrowing under her skin, and her heart thudded painfully in her chest.
Each step closer made the air heavier, pressing down on her lungs. The sharp, acrid scent of burning canvas filled her nose, making her throat sting. She swallowed, her hands trembling as she reached the entrance. But before she could even decide to go in, her body lurched forward, crossing the threshold, and she heard the fabric snap shut behind her, trapping her in darkness.
She stumbled, her heart beating so fast it felt like it might burst, her ears ringing with its rhythm. She threw her arms out, desperate to find something solid, but the darkness was thick and endless. Then, with a loud buzz, lights flickered above, blinding her. She squinted, shielding her eyes, waiting for them to adjust. When she finally looked around, she sucked in a sharp breath.
The lights revealed a long, endless corridor lined with mirrors and paintings. In the glass, twisted reflections of herself stared back at her, faces warped and shifting, each one somehow more afraid than the last. And on the walls, framed paintings showed monstrous figures, distorted bodies with hollow eyes that followed her every move. She felt their eyes digging into her, watching, judging. She had to get out.
Heart racing, Ella took a shaky step forward, then another, until her footsteps echoed against the walls, each step louder than the last. The mirrors around her flickered, her reflections shifting, and suddenly, the sound of whispers filled the air, dark sneering voices, hissing words she could not understand. They grew louder, overlapping, filling her head until she could barely think, and the hallway closed around her, the walls pressing in. In the mirrors, shadowy shapes began to form, reaching for her with long, twisted arms. Her heart slamming against her ribs as she tried to escape.
Suddenly, the ground beneath her shifted, turning soft like sand, and before she could steady herself, she was falling, tumbling down an uneven slide into an endless, dark pit. She tried to scream, but the sound was lost in the air, swallowed by the mocking laughter and screeches of unseen creatures. When she finally landed, she looked up, gasping, and found herself in the center of a circus ring.
She was surrounded by clowns, their faces twisted into sickly grins, their hollow eyes staring at her, empty and cold. She stumbled backward, heart hammering as the clowns drew closer, their laughter echoing around her. Above her, trapeze artists swung back and forth, their eyes blank, their bodies moving in lifeless, mechanical motions, like dolls whose strings were being pulled from far away. A broken calliope played somewhere, its tune slow and eerie, winding around her, wrapping her in a strange, awful tune.
She spun around and found herself in another hallway lined with mirrors. Her reflection appeared again; this time pale, trembling, her eyes wide with terror as she looked back at herself. But there was something else. In the corner of each plane, a dark figure hovered, watching her, its eyes glowing with an unnatural light, filled with hatred that made her shiver. A low, menacing chuckle echoed through the hallway, coming from everywhere and nowhere, filling the space around her until it felt like a physical weight pressing down on her chest.
Desperate to escape, she turned and ran, her feet carrying her toward what she hoped was an exit. But instead, she found herself on the edge of a vast, smoke-filled chasm. Thick, black smoke swirled up from below, and as she watched, it twisted into the shape of the burning circus tent, a terrifying reminder of her dream. She tried to step back, but her feet felt frozen to the ground, her eyes fixed on the smoke.
Then, from within the smoke, a face appeared; a terrible face with burning, coal-like eyes filled with pure malice. It lunged at her, and Ella screamed, the sound piercing the air as the ground crumbled beneath her. She fell, the smoke swallowing her, wrapping around her, choking her as she plummeted into darkness. The face's laughter followed her, growing louder and louder, filling her ears until it was all she could hear. Her scream faded, lost in the blackness, and the last thing she heard was the cruel, mocking laughter echoing around her, a haunting foreshadowing of what was to come.
Ella recoiled from her canvas, snapping out of the trance that had consumed her. Fear clung to her like a second skin, oppressive and unrelenting, each breath shallow, as if the air had thickened around her. The painting before her was raw; a visceral, chaotic manifestation of the darkness she couldn't escape. Layers of wet paint shimmered under the dim light spilling through the attic's wide window, their textures jagged and unrestrained, mirroring the turmoil within her. Her gaze fixed on the centerpiece: a half-burned circus big top, its towering structure an ominous figure dominating the scene. The vibrant colors that might have once brought it to life were buried beneath layers of ash and ruin, their brilliance dimmed into muted despair. Torn flaps of fabric drooped like wounded wings, their edges jagged and singed, caught in a perpetual state of collapse, as if captured mid-scream. Dark smoke wove upward in twisting tendrils, threading seamlessly into the night sky she had rendered, where the shadows seemed to pulse and shift.
Amidst the void of black, something more sinister emerged. A faint, almost imperceptible grin, etched in malevolence, curved within the shadows. Its presence felt alive, haunting her with an unspoken promise of more to come; a fragment of the nightmare that had refused to release her, a lingering specter pulling her deeper into its grasp. A shudder ran through her as she took in the final strokes she had made, each line mirroring the fear that lingered within her. The attic felt quiet and too still, as though it, too, was caught in the painting's dark energy. Ella tore her gaze away, her mind foggy from exhaustion, realizing she had lost track of time entirely in her feverish painting. Outside, the first rays of dawn seeped through the window, softening the darkness around her.
Taking a deep breath, Ella set down her palette and rinsed her brushes, watching as the water in the jar darkened, the colors dissolving into swirling murk. The sight offered a fleeting sense of calm, a brief escape from the weight pressing against her chest, as though she could wash away the remnants of the nightmare still clinging to her thoughts. Slowly, she began to pack away her tools, each movement deliberate, her fingers lingering on the familiar handles of her brushes, their solidity grounding her in the present. The canvas remained behind, stark and unyielding, its raw, chaotic lines a reflection of the turmoil she couldn't escape. It loomed in the dim attic light, a silent testament to her unrest. With a sigh, she turned away, closing the attic door softly behind her. As she descended the creaking stairs, each step felt like a tether pulling her back to reality. Yet, even as she reached the base, the vivid images refused to fade, lingering at the edges of her thoughts, waiting for the quiet of sleep to pull her back into their haunting embrace.
After a well-needed and refreshing shower, Ella set about gathering some art supplies into a bag and set out for her early morning plans. As she strolled down the familiar streets, her gaze wandered taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of the early morning city waking up. Ella continued down the familiar street, her mind still tangled in the remnants of her dream, each step seeming to carry a shadow of the nightmare's weight. She was so caught up in her thoughts that she did not notice the woman until they collided, nearly sending the stranger to the ground. "Oh no, I'm so sorry, ma'am!" Ella gasped, reaching out to steady the woman, her own heart pounding faster from the shock. As she looked up, she felt her stomach tighten. The woman's clothes seemed out of place, layered fabrics in muted, weathered colors, like she had walked straight out of an old, forgotten story. Wooden and metal bangles clinked softly on her wrists as she adjusted herself, and Ella caught a hint of something earthy, a scent like old smoke and dried herbs.
"Thank you, dear," murmured the woman, her voice low, an eerie blend of comfort and chill. Ella met her gaze, and a cold shiver ran down her spine. The woman's eyes were unsettling, cloudy grey, as if smoke were trapped behind her irises, swirling faintly. Ella's breath hitched. That smoky gaze felt like a thread, somehow connecting her back to the shadows and strange figures of her nightmare. "Um... are you sure you're alright?" Ella managed, her voice wavering slightly, caught between the urge to stay and the pull to step back. Something about this woman felt wrong, but she could not look away. The woman's hand tightened around Ella's; her grip was far stronger than it appeared. Leaning in closer, she fixed Ella with that piercing, foggy gaze. "Beware, Ella," she whispered, her voice thin as a whisper on the wind. "Darkness lurks, and shadows dance with death. Trust not those who offer salvation... but those who may lead you astray."
The words echoed in Ella's mind, and she jerked her hand free, instinctively rubbing her wrist. The sounds of the street around them felt strangely muted, like she had drifted somewhere far away. She blinked, the woman's smoky eyes burned into her memory. How did she know her name? The woman inclined her head slightly, her face unreadable, then turned and melted back into the crowd. Ella stood there, rooted to the spot, glancing around, but it was as if the woman had never been there at all. Her heart hammered in her chest, and a chill settled over her skin as she started walking again, the strange warning ringing in her ears. The whole encounter left her feeling off-balance, like her dream was reaching the real world. Each step forward felt heavier, the woman's last words weaving into the shadows that stretched across her path, lingering like a presence she could not shake.
As Ella rounded the corner to her favorite café, she exhaled slowly, as if releasing the weight of her lingering nightmare and the unsettling events of the day. The Brush and Brew stood ahead, a beacon of warmth and familiarity, its golden light spilling softly onto the cobblestone street. The gentle hum of life inside; the clink of mugs, low chatter, and the occasional burst of laughter; reached her ears, carried on the comforting scents of freshly roasted coffee and warm pastries. She welcomed the familiar embrace of the café, hoping it would offer a temporary refuge from the shadows that had followed her all day. Nestled at the heart of her small town, the café was more than just a retreat; it was her sanctuary, a place where time seemed to slow and the world's edges softened. Here, amidst the rustling of pages and the soothing cadence of everyday life, Ella could usually find peace. Today, though, as she pushed open the red door and stepped into the cozy embrace of the café, she could only hope it would be enough to quiet the shadows still trailing her thoughts.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
She pushed open the café's familiar red door, a chime from above announcing her arrival. Inside, the comforting scents of coffee, freshly baked pastries, and the faint smell of paper and paint welcomed her, filling the space like an invitation. Ella took a small breath, savoring it, and Owen's warm voice called out from behind the counter, "Ella! Good morning!"
"Good morning, Owen," she replied, managing a small smile as she returned his wave. He was arranging a line of brightly colored drinks, and when he spotted her, his face lit up. "Ah, my favorite Little Moon Star!" he added, a playful grin spreading across his face. Ella felt a slight blush creeping up her cheeks at the nickname, a familiar warmth mixed with something deeper.
The name brought her back to her childhood, when she had been left at the orphanage under a full moon, a sky filled with stars arching over her. "Little Moon Star," the orphanage staff had whispered, as if her arrival held some hidden magic. Though she had grown into her own name now, that nickname lingered, a quiet reminder of a past she had not chosen but somehow still carried.
"Your usual today?" Owen asked, his voice pulling her back to the present.
Ella nodded, the slight tremor in her hand betraying her calm expression. "Yes, please, Owen. And could you add Sarah's usual too? Plus, a banana muffin?" She offered a small smile, a hint of hope that the café's warm familiarity might ease the tension knotting her stomach. "Coming right up, Ella." Owen disappeared into the back, while Finn, humming cheerfully, worked on the row of orders. He spotted Ella and gave her a friendly nod before turning back to his task, the scent of warm pastries drifting in the air. Ella turned, glancing around the busy café, hoping to find a quiet corner to sit. Her eyes fell on the familiar platform with its collection of wire tables, dark wooden chairs, and the massive stained-glass window casting splashes of colored light across the room. The café was busier than usual today, the voices of customers blending with the clinking of mugs, a lively backdrop to her morning. For a moment, she considered finding a spot downstairs, but something held her back, her heart still heavy with the morning's strange events.
Her gaze lingered on the Literary Loft, perched above the bustling energy of the café's main floor. It had always been her sanctuary within a sanctuary, a quiet refuge where the noise of the world fell away, leaving space for her thoughts to unfurl undisturbed. The weight of her dream pressed heavily against her, its shadowy tendrils clinging stubbornly to the edges of her mind, refusing to be forgotten. She hesitated, her fingers brushing the strap of her bag as doubt whispered at the edges of her resolve. But the loft's stillness called to her, its familiar calm offering solace. Today, she needed its embrace; the tucked-away corners where time seemed to slow, the quiet that allowed her to breathe, to think, and to unravel the storm raging within.
As she ascended the stairs, the vibrant hum of the café below softened to a distant murmur, fading into a subdued rhythm that seemed to echo faintly behind her. The loft greeted her with its customary stillness, a quiet so profound it felt tangible, wrapping around her like a protective cocoon. This had always been her haven, a sacred retreat where she could shed the weight of the world and let her thoughts roam freely. Yet today, as she settled into her favorite chair beneath the skylight, the familiar comfort eluded her. The air felt heavier, dense with an unspoken tension that pressed against her chest. Shadows seemed to linger longer in the corners, their edges sharper, their presence more insistent. The silence was not the gentle balm it had always been; it was charged, alive, as though the loft itself was holding its breath, waiting for her to notice something just beyond her grasp. Instead, Ella felt a strange tension building around her, the quiet pressing in close. She glanced around, suddenly aware of every small sound, the soft creak of the floor as she shifted, her own breathing echoing in space, and the way the silence sharpened her senses. A prickle of unease traced up her spine, making her wonder if she was truly alone.
She approached the iron-and-wood table at the center of the room, setting her sketchbook and bag down with measured precision, as though grounding herself through the motion. Afternoon sunlight streamed through the skylight above, casting a delicate tapestry of golden light and shifting shadows across the floorboards; a fleeting masterpiece painted by the slow arc of the sun. Despite the unlit fireplace nestled against the far wall, the loft radiated an inexplicable warmth, an almost sentient comfort that wrapped around her like the embrace of an old friend. Her gaze lingered on the interplay of light and shadow before drifting toward the double French doors nearby, a subtle but transformative feature of the space. Once sealed behind a crude brick wall by a previous owner intent on dividing the property, the doors had been uncovered by Finn and Owen, whose ingenuity had turned the discovery into a seamless connection between the café and the adjoining bookstore. The attic had since become a shared retreat, a quiet sanctuary where boundaries blurred and unspoken thoughts could find room to breathe. But today, even the loft's enduring warmth and familiar charm could not lift the weight pressing against Ella's chest, a lingering shadow she could not shake.
Throwing open the doors, Ella felt a cool draft spill in from the airy library. After a moment, she closed the doors again, crossing back to her seat. She began unpacking her art supplies, arranging them methodically before finally settling down with her sketchbook. But as she put pencil to paper, her mind drifted, replaying the strange events of the day. The dream that haunted her morning, the unsettling woman she had met on the street, the cryptic invitation; all of it lingered, an itch she could not scratch.
Ella looked around the empty loft, feeling a chill that made her skin prickle. It was as if she were being watched, though no one was there. Her gaze drifted to a portrait hanging above the mantel, and a sudden shiver ran through her, cold and sudden, as though the eyes in the painting saw her too.
Elllllaaa, Elllaaa
A soft faint voice made Ella snap her attention around the room. "Umm hello?" Ella said with a shaky voice "Ssarah? Iss that you?" she stuttered a little, then the soft whispers came again.
Elllaaa, Elllaaa
Ella whipped her head to the bookshelf, having guessed the source of the whispers just in time to see a shadow disappear into the aisles. Ella jumped from her chair both feeling scared and angry. "Sarah you better not be playing games on me! If you are, I swear!" She heard now reply, only a faint giggle.
Ella moved hesitantly to the edge of the bookshelf, her breath shallow as she peered into the dim aisle. Her eyes strained to adjust to the shadows, but no one was there;
at least, no one she could see. Yet the faint prickle of being watched lingered, an almost tangible presence just beyond her sight. She could swear someone stood within the darkness, the faint outline of a figure hidden among the shelves. As she took a cautious step forward, the shadows seemed to shift, the figure retreating further into the labyrinth of books.
"Hello?" Ella called, her voice shaky but determined. "Is someone there?"
A faint giggle echoed in response, soft and fleeting, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. The sound set her heart pounding, but it also ignited her curiosity. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she pushed forward, the light footsteps of the retreating figure drawing her deeper into the maze of shelves. Each step felt heavier, the air cooler, as though the aisles themselves were holding their breath. Whoever—or whatever—it was, they stayed just out of reach, their presence teasing her resolve, pulling her forward into the shadows' embrace.
Ella darted through the maze of bookshelves, her pulse quickening with every step. The figure always seemed just out of reach; a rustle of fabric, a flash of movement around the next corner. It was maddening, as if the person was leading her on purpose, always one step ahead. Determined, she quickened her pace, her shoes barely making a sound against the creaking wooden floor. As she rounded another corner, a shadow shifted in her peripheral vision, vanishing down an adjacent aisle. She lunged forward, nearly running now, when—thud! A book flew from above, smacking into her shoulder with surprising force. Ella, still stunned on the floor with her head spinning, yelled out, "That wasn't funny!" Her voice echoed faintly in the silence as she staggered to her feet, rubbing her aching head. Her gaze fell to the book that had struck her, its worn leather cover catching the dim light. The faint, swirling patterns etched into the surface seemed to shift under her fingers as she picked it up, an almost hypnotic pull compelling her to open it.
Inside, brittle newspaper clippings filled the pages, their edges yellowed with age. The faded words spoke of vanished townsfolk, unexplained phenomena, and performers who seemed to disappear as mysteriously as they arrived. Grainy photographs accompanied the articles, their haunting images half-lost to time. One clipping stopped her breath; a pristine, almost untouched photograph of a circus tent. Its swirling patterns and towering peaks were eerily identical to the one from her painting, down to the faint wisps of smoke curling around its edges. Her pulse quickened as her thoughts raced. How could this be here? Why did it so perfectly reflect her dream? Questions swirled as she stared at the image, the uncanny familiarity pressing down on her chest like a weight. This wasn't coincidence; it couldn't be. But if not, then what? And why had she been led to this book? The air around her felt heavier, thick with unspoken answers, as though the shadows themselves were waiting for her to uncover their secrets.
So many questions ran through Ella's mind as she rounded the last corner, her thoughts swirling with unease. Then she stopped short, her breath catching as her gaze landed on a figure seated at her usual spot in the café. A man, a stranger, was flipping through her sketchbook as though he had every right. For a split second, she considered turning and disappearing before he could look up, but something about him held her in place.
He looked... familiar. Dressed in a formal suit the color of deep amethyst, his clothes seemed to shimmer faintly under the café's soft lights. Intricate silver designs wove through the fabric, patterns that seemed to twist and shift when she tried to focus on them. Her gaze dropped to the cane leaning beside him, a polished silver skull with eyes set with gleaming amethysts, as if it was watching her too.
The man looked up, his dark eyes meeting hers with a gaze that felt almost playful yet unsettling. "Ah, Ella Starling," he said, his voice smooth, with an edge that sent a chill down her spine. She froze, the sound of her name in his mouth feeling both wrong and familiar. "Just the person I wanted to meet."
Her heart pounded as she stepped closer, unable to look away from him. "Who... are you?" she managed, her voice wavering.
The man chuckled, his fingers tracing a line down her sketchbook, lingering over the drawings she had made of her nightmares. "A messenger, if you like," he replied, his tone casual, yet his words hung heavy in the air. He extended a hand, and as he did, something sparkled into existence, a thick, dark blue envelope, held out toward her with a flourish. Her name, written in elegant silver ink, gleamed on the front.
Ella's hand trembled as she reached out to take it, her fingers brushing against the thick, cool paper. A strange tingling shot up her arm, leaving her with a mix of awe and apprehension. She flipped the envelope over, her gaze caught by a dark purple wax seal stamped with stars—one silver, one gold. She felt the weight of his eyes on her, watching her every reaction.
"What... what is this?" she asked, still staring at the envelope, half expecting it to vanish from her hand.
The man leaned back, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "An invitation, of course," he said smoothly. "To a night you'll never forget."
Her heart thudded against her ribs, and she looked up at him, questions filling her mind faster than she could speak. But before she could say another word, he stood, reaching for his cane. The silver skull gleamed under the lights as he tapped it against the floor, the sound sharp, echoing in the quiet space.
"I do so hope you accept, Ella," he murmured, his voice low and teasing, as if he already knew she would. Then, with a final tip of his hat, he turned and walked away, his footsteps fading with the soft, rhythmic tap of his cane.
Ella felt a tap on her shoulder as she pondered the strange encounters of the day and jumped into the air a little. She yelped and turned to find her friend Sarah standing behind her. Sarah took a step back and laughed "Oh Ella? What has you so jumpy today?" Ella just took a deep breath to steady herself instead of replying. "Anyway," Sarah continued as she turned to make her way over to Ella's spot and things she left at the table still talking "I talked to Nina on my way in through the bookstore and she told me that the boys have a surprise for you on Friday. Be warned, they always get a little out of hand." Sarah chuckled at her own joke and looked back at her friend still standing in the doorway. "Hello? Earth to Ella!"
Ella shook her head, forcing a small laugh that did not reach her eyes. 'Oh yes!' she managed, hurrying over to the table to sit down. "Sorry, just a long night and... a lot on my mind." She glanced over her shoulder as if expecting to see someone there, then added, 'So, the boys, Friday, Nina, I was listening. Please, continue." Sarah just sighed a little laugh and continued into a rant about how it took forever to pick her outfit out, and the weather. Ella just tuned her friend out a little and examined the envelope the strange man had given her. She turned it over and broke the wax seal. The envelope popped open, out fell two tickets in a shower of silver stars that vanished before the tickets landed on her lap. Ella unfolded the envelope and found writing on the inside in elegant silver script like her name had been written on the front.
The invitation read,
Miss Ella Starling,
Your presence is formally requested for an extraordinary evening with us at the Night Circus of Dreams. Enclosed are two special VIP tickets for you and a guest to enjoy a magical evening. You will both be entranced by extraordinary performances, captivating games, and exclusive privileges throughout the park.
Additionally, you have been invited to a private meeting with the Ringmaster himself after the show to discuss a unique opportunity. We eagerly await your arrival and hope you accept.
Ella stared at the invitation, her fingers trembling as she interrupted Sarah mid-sentence. "Look at this," she said, shoving the tickets and invitation toward her friend. "Some stranger just handed this to me."
Sarah's eyes widened as Ella recounted the day;
the haunting dream, the strange woman's warning, and now the eerie invitation. She hesitated to mention the whispers and shadows, unsure how much Sarah would believe.
"This is amazing!" Sarah said, her excitement bubbling over. "We have to go, El. It's like fate!"
Ella frowned, twisting her sleeve. "It feels... off. Like there's more to this."
Sarah laughed, dismissing her doubt. "You're overthinking! It's a free adventure—and I'll be there. What could go wrong?"
She told Sarah about the weird man who she found snooping through her sketchbook and the interaction that occurred. Sarah just read the invitation and took in Ella's words without a sound. She looked increasingly excited as Ella went on, and by the time she was done talking Sarah looked like she was ready to explode with excitement. "Omg let's go!" Sarah let out in a huff, "Strange prophetic dreams, a weird witch lady, and spooky men with creepy invitations to a night circus count me in!"
Ella was hesitant but thought about it for a moment, a night out at the circus would help her ever-growing nerves. Sarah seemed eager to go, she could tell. Sarah, sensing her friend's hesitant choice, turned to whining a little in desperation to sway her friend. "Come on El it will be amazing, plus they did say have exclusive privileges throughout the park. So, we can get some free food, and in the best case you turn this Ring Master guy down then we enjoy a free show and fun. It is a win, win. Plus, it's on Friday El, you may meet a guy on such a special day." Sarah giggled as she nudged her friend at this. Ella just blushed and snatched back the invitation from her friend "Fine, we'll go, but no trying to set me up. Plus, if you did, I would leave you oh so lonely at the circus." Ella mocked back in a joking tone, Sarah just mocked an oh no and laughed.
They settled into the cozy nook by the loft's large, arched window, where morning light cast warm patches over the faded spines of old books. Ella took a slow sip of her coffee, savoring the comfort as Sarah flipped through the invitation, her excitement building by the second.
"Ella, this is incredible! A night at the Night Circus! It is like something out of a dream," Sarah whispered, eyes wide with excitement. Ella offered a small smile, her gaze drifting to the sunlight catching dust motes in the air. She wanted to share Sarah's enthusiasm, but something held her back, a faint chill, a feeling she could not place.
"Yeah... it's definitely something," she replied, her voice trailing off as she traced the edges of the ticket with her finger. She could still feel the echo of that strange man's gaze, the weight of his words hanging over her like a shadow. The invitation felt heavier than paper, as if it were carrying some invisible thread tugging her into the unknown.
"Come on, El! Think about it, the magic, the shows! Velvet curtains, flashing lights, and who knows, even a bit of adventure," Sarah said, nudging her. "You know you could use a night out. And if that Ringmaster wants to talk business, we will just play along."
Ella managed to laugh, though her thoughts were elsewhere. She glanced at the rows of books lining the loft, the familiar scent of old pages and leather binding settling around her like a blanket. Normally, this was her haven, but today, even the comfort of the loft felt tinged with something... off, like the shadows had crept in deeper than usual.
"I know," she said, her voice soft. "But doesn't it feel strange, Sarah? This invitation, the way he knew my name, it is like something out of a story, but not a safe one."
Sarah waved a hand dismissively, her eyes still gleaming with excitement. "You are always overthinking things! Look, this is our chance for a bit of mystery, besides, you know I will be there to keep an eye on you, just in case things get too... circus-y." She winked, her smile wide and infectious. "This is an adventure, El!"
Ella wanted to believe her, to let herself get swept up in the thrill. She took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of her coffee cup against her fingers, grounding her. "Maybe you're right," she murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips as Sarah continued talking about what they might wear.
As they finished their snacks and gathered their things, Ella cast one last glance around the Literary Loft, feeling a small pang of reluctance to leave its quiet embrace. As she followed Sarah down the staircase, the soft creak of each step blending with the faint hum of voices below.
They did not notice the figure standing quietly near the tall bookshelves, hidden in the loft's dim corner. As Ella and Sarah disappeared down the stairs, the figure stayed behind, watching with patient eyes, waiting. For now, they lingered in the shadows, watching and waiting for just the right moment to step into her life.
