Chapter 4 THE CRIMSON HALL

“This isn’t my body. Not my bed. Not my world. So why does it feel like I’ve always been here?”

I opened my eyes to a ceiling painted with clouds and constellations that glowed faintly in the dark. Not stickers like the ones I used to plaster across my bedroom ceiling as a child but moving, shifting constellations that shimmered like real stars. I blinked hard. Once. Twice.

The sky didn’t disappear.

I sat up slowly. My head throbbed at the base of my skull, a dull, heavy pulse that made me wince. I was in a bed—massive, canopied, draped in blood-red silk. The fabric shimmered like water, smooth and silent. The sheets smelled like roses… and something deeper. Muskier. Like old books and burning wood.

Where the hell was I?

I threw off the covers—and froze.

The black gown I remembered wearing last night was gone. In its place was a long red dress that clung to my body like it had been made for me. The sleeves were sheer lace, the bodice structured, tight, intentional. It wasn’t just a dress.

It was a costume. A uniform. A message.

I stood on shaky legs and looked around.

The room was enormous, twice the size of my living room back home. Marble floors veined with crimson stretched beneath me. A tall window poured pale morning light across everything: a high-backed chair, a vanity with a dark mirror, a table set with a single breakfast tray and my invitation.

It sat propped against a silver teapot.

The glowing parchment now bore my name in swirling crimson ink:

Lady Eloise Morgan, The First Of Her Name

I swallowed hard. My mouth was dry. My heart hammered so loudly I thought it might echo off the walls.

Was this a dream? A prank? Had I been drugged?

This felt way beyond Halloween party aesthetics.

As if answering me, the door creaked open.

Two people walked in a man and a woman, both wearing identical ash-colored robes. Their skin was so pale it didn’t look like normal paleness, but porcelain, as if they were carved from moonlight. Their eyes were silver. Empty. Like emotion had been scraped out of them long ago.

Definitely not Halloween.

“Lady Eloise,” the woman said, bowing slightly. “We hope your rest was undisturbed.”

I stepped back immediately. “Where am I? Where are my clothes? What is this place?”

The man tilted his head. “You are in the Crimson Hall, my lady. All has been prepared for you.”

“Prepared for what?” My voice cracked. I hated that fear was slipping into it. “What is going on?”

The woman gave a small, mechanical smile. “All will be explained tomorrow. Today, you are to rest. The Ceremony begins at dusk tomorrow night.”

“What ceremony? Who are you people? Why are you calling me ‘Lady’?” My voice rose, sharper now. I could feel myself coming undone, and I hated it but I couldn’t stop it.

The man bowed again. “Forgive us. We are not permitted to speak beyond our roles.”

“Then get someone who can.”

They exchanged a glance. The woman’s smile didn’t change.

“Breakfast is warm. If you require anything, ring the bell.”

And just like that, they left.

Silently.

The door clicked shut.

I ran to it immediately, grabbed the handle, and twisted. Locked.

Of course.

I slammed my palm against the wood. Once. Twice. A third time. Then I stopped.

My knees gave out and I sank onto the marble floor. The cold seeped through the fabric of my dress, grounding me in something too real to be a dream.

Jessica had been right.

Every warning. Every suspicion. I had ignored all of it.

I pulled my knees to my chest and pressed my forehead against them. A tear slipped out. Then another.

But I didn’t sob.

I couldn’t afford to.

Not yet.

You’re not safe. But you’re not dead. That means they want something. Use that.

I stood slowly.

My legs were still shaking, but I forced my spine straight.

If they wanted to call me “Lady Eloise,” fine. I’d let them. I’d play along, observe everything, learn everything, and find a way out. There was always a way out. My father used to say that. Before he left. Before silence swallowed our home like rising water.

I walked to the breakfast tray.

Toast. Soft cheese. Fruit sliced with impossible precision. A steaming cup of something floral and unfamiliar. Nothing looked poisoned but nothing looked normal either.

I didn’t touch it.

Instead, I moved to the mirror.

It stood on the vanity antique, silver-framed, shaped like twisting vines. The reflection staring back at me didn’t feel like me.

A girl in a blood-red gown. Pale. Haunted. Eyes too wide, like she hadn’t slept in days… or maybe years.

I lifted a hand and touched my cheek.

Real.

Still me.

But not.

Hours passed.

The light through the window shifted from pale gold to amber. Somewhere in the distance, a bell chimed soft, far away, impossible to locate. Footsteps passed my door at one point, but they never stopped.

I tried the bell on the table.

Nothing happened.

Later, when the sky outside deepened into gray-blue, the door opened again.

Another servant entered. This one younger, maybe fifteen with long silver hair and trembling hands. She carried folded black-and-red garments.

“Fresh garments, Lady Eloise,” she whispered.

“Wait,” I said quickly. “Can you tell me what this Ceremony is? Please. Just tell me if I’m in danger.”

She froze.

Her hands shook slightly.

“You’re chosen,” she said finally, voice fragile like cracked glass. “It is not for me to question the will of the Blood.”

Before I could ask what that meant, she bowed and left.

Chosen.

The word echoed inside my head like a warning I couldn’t escape.

I looked back at the invitation.

At my name, written like I had always belonged to it.

But I didn’t belong here.

I wasn’t a lady. I wasn’t anything important. Just Eloise Morgan the girl people only noticed when they wanted someone to humiliate. The girl who stayed in corners, drew in margins, and learned how to disappear without being told.

So why me?

Outside, the first stars began to burn through the fading sky.

And inside the Crimson Hall, I waited.

Surrounded by silence.

Haunted

by questions.

Wrapped in velvet, fear, and something I still couldn’t name.

Tomorrow, they said.

Tomorrow, the Ceremony will begin.

And I would be ready.