Chapter 3: The Cage Wants You

Anaya should have left last night.

She should have packed a bag, stolen a car, and vanished into the mist before the sun ever rose over the dead hills surrounding the castle. But she didn’t. Something—some pull—had kept her rooted.

Or maybe something hadn’t let her go.

She sat on the floor of her room, back pressed against the cold wall, eyes wide and wild. She hadn’t slept. She hadn’t even blinked. Every time she did, she saw her. That woman in red. In the mirror. In the corners of the room. In the soft moan of the wind brushing against the stone walls.

And in her dreams—if they were dreams—she felt her. A hand curling into her hair. A voice pressed against her neck. A body that moved like smoke and fire at once.

“Little storm…” the voice had whispered into her skin last night. “You taste like defiance.”

Anaya shivered now, wrapping her arms around herself.

She was being haunted.

And not just by any ghost.

By something… hungry.

She had tried to escape the bedroom three times before dawn. But every time she opened the door, the hallway changed. Twisted. Sent her back to where she started.

The castle wasn’t letting her leave.

No—she wasn’t.

Anaya got up slowly. Her knees trembled. She walked to the mirror again, half-hating herself for it.

“Show yourself,” she whispered.

The reflection stared back. Her hair was a mess. Her lips were parted. There were faint red marks on her neck she didn’t remember receiving.

Then—flicker—she saw her again.

Behind her.

Red dress. Bare feet. Eyes like burning honey and sin.

Anaya spun around.

Nothing.

But the mirror didn’t lie.

And neither did the whisper that followed.

“You can run, little storm,” the voice purred, close and far all at once. “But you’ll never outrun me.”

Anaya backed up toward the door. “What do you want from me?”

A pause. Then the air in the room thickened like silk.

“You.”

She bolted.

The corridor wasn’t the same as before. It shifted as she ran, doors blinking in and out, staircases curling like the ribs of a beast. She had no idea where she was going—only that she had to go anywhere but here.

But the castle pulsed around her, alive and amused.

A door swung open on its own.

And she fell through it.

She landed in a room she’d never seen. Red velvet draped the walls. Black candles flickered in iron sconces. There was a scent of roses and blood in the air.

And in the center stood her.

Not a reflection. Not a whisper.

Her.

The ghost. The demon. The haunting.

The woman in red.

“Welcome to my room,” she said, eyes gleaming. “You’ve been trying so hard to avoid me.”

Anaya scrambled back. “You’re not real.”

The woman tilted her head. “Then why are you trembling?”

She moved like poetry. Like smoke. Each step closer stole the air from Anaya’s lungs.

“What do you want?” Anaya demanded, voice sharp but weak.

“You,” the woman said again, and this time her voice wrapped around Anaya’s spine. “Your fear. Your fire. Your fight. I want to break them down. I want to taste what makes you run.”

Anaya pressed herself against the wall, breath shaking. “You can’t touch me.”

“Oh, little storm…” The ghost’s smile darkened, almost sad. “I already have.”

She raised her hand, and Anaya’s skin burned—not with pain, but with the memory of every touch she never wanted to admit felt good. Fingertips brushing her thighs in the dark. A mouth she never saw on the curve of her back. Breath at her ear that turned her blood to ash and lightning.

“I hate you,” Anaya whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks.

“I know,” the woman whispered back, suddenly close enough to feel. “And that’s what makes this so fun.”

She leaned in, mouth just beside Anaya’s.

“Because hate... tastes a lot like hunger.”

Anaya tried to run again—but this time her body wouldn’t listen. Invisible threads curled around her wrists, her waist, her throat. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind her she wasn’t in control anymore.

“You’re mine now,” the ghost said.

“No.”

“Yes.”

And the lights went out.

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