Breathing Castle

Cheers echoed in the background, followed by thundering claps and giggles, yet there was no one there.

The ballroom was empty. Only Elias and Willa remained.

Willa’s eyes darted around, fear flickering within them. Her breath came heavy and uneven; the silence pressing against her chest threatened to swallow her. The mansion felt as though the worst was yet to come.

Was this how my characters felt before dying?

“But… there was never any audience,” Willa whispered, her voice trembling as her fingers clasped together.

Before her mind could form another thought, one of the chandeliers above shattered. Broken crystals rained down like raindrops, scattering across the ballroom.

Willa didn’t have time to shield herself or escape her unfortunate fate. Crystals pierced her skin, slicing through the thin fabric of her shirt and into her flesh.

“Help…” Willa turned toward Elias as pain ate her from within. Her blood-stained hands trembled forward, reaching out to him.

But he stepped backward, his hands still buried in his pockets, his face wearing a nonchalant grin.

“Helping you will only delay your death…” he murmured.

Still, Willa inched closer. The pain was too much; it felt as though a thousand ants were eating her from within. The crystals had not only pierced her flesh, but they also dug deeper, tearing into her organs.

It was a death she had designed for a character once, the most unlocked chapter, the one critics had praised as the ultimate work of art.

 But now… it wasn’t art.

 It was cruelty at its finest.

“Please…” she begged, her voice dripping with desperation. She just wanted a break, a moment to catch her breath.

Elias stepped closer and slowly knelt before her. “This is only Door One, Author… You have to go through one hundred.” Willa’s eyes widened, her breath caught as words refused to surface.

His eyes gleamed with mischief as he stood up.

“Welcome to the Hundred Doors….Author”

“A hundred doors?!” Willa’s brain froze. “A hundred deaths… a hundred pains… a hundred tortures, no… no!” she cried, but it was useless.

The cheers echoed louder, followed by giggles of satisfaction from the invisible audience.

Willa’s hands trembled as she struggled to her feet, but before she could gain control, another chandelier shattered, its crystals slicing into her knee.

She crumpled down, blood soaking through her pants and seeping onto the marble floor. She bit down on her lips, swallowing the pain, but without warning, the floor began to shift.

The walls groaned like living creatures, the pillars twisted unnaturally, and the hallway rearranged itself in a matter of seconds. 

Willa’s breath hitched. Her body trembled as she watched her greatest fear draw its first breath.

“No… no…” Willa’s voice broke. This wasn’t good.

In the original draft, once the mansion came alive, all rules ceased to exist. The mansion was a creature of its own, its thirst for blood and cruelty unmatched, its punishments so brutal even the devil stood by for notes.

“Elias!” Willa screamed, but as her voice faded into the self-rearranging walls, the nearest door swallowed him whole.

Now she was alone. 

 Scared. Trembling and bleeding.

“I can do this…” she whispered to herself, pressing her hands to the floor as she tried to stand.

But the floor beneath her cracked, and her reflection twisted into a superficial grin.

Willa’s heart pounded, her breath hitched, and her mouth fell open in horror. She had written this death for her characters before, but now the mansion was making her suffer it all.

Before she could blink, the shining floor shifted, and black nails shot upward, sinking into her legs.

“Ahhh!” Willa screamed, her cries echoing through the massive ballroom.

Blood spread across the white tiles, painting the floor in an artistic pattern.

Slowly, yet painfully, the nails retracted, disappearing back into the floor as if they had never existed.

Willa collapsed into the pool of her own blood, her dress soaked red, her eyes swollen.

“Please… make it stop,” she begged hoarsely.

But this was only the beginning.

She crawled forward, dragging her body inch by inch. She wanted to leave the ballroom, to make it to the door. That was the only way one of her characters had once escaped the castle’s cruelty.

But as she dragged herself forward, her reflection reached from beneath the floor and pulled her backward.

“No… please don’t…” Willa begged.

Her reflection smiled, its eyes gleaming with delight.

“Yes… Yes,” it whispered back.

Without warning, it twisted, forcing Willa to stand on her wounded legs.

“Ahhh!” she cried, tears streaming down her face. No matter how she tried to bend, kneel, or collapse, her reflection wouldn’t let her. It made her stand and suffer.

Her wounds bled freely, agony coursing through every nerve.

Above, the chandeliers groaned, swaying loosely on their chains, threatening to fall.

Then, music erupted through the air, a soft waltz, and dancers emerged, swaying to the rhythm.

Beneath her, her reflection began to move her legs, forcing her to match the rhythm of the music.

“No… I won’t dance,” she protested, but the will was no longer hers.

The keys had long been handed over to the twisted part of her that knew no pity.

Her body moved against her will, spinning, leaping, and waltzing through pain. Her bones screamed, her muscles burned, and her blood left a trail across the floor.

Yet there was no stopping.

Her legs moved faster, unnatural and unrestrained, as blood painted patterns beneath her feet.

Claps erupted again. Cheers thundered in her ears as the invisible audience rejoiced.

When the music finally stopped, Willa collapsed to the floor. The dancers vanished.

Before her lay a perfect flower pattern, drawn in blood, detailed, precise, and painfully beautiful.

A masterpiece, and her dying body was the brush.

Then the system chimed.

[Death Performance Complete.]

[Score: 9.8 / 10.]

[Proceed to Door Two.]

Willa’s lips pressed together as she smiled weakly, but deep down her mind pondered over the other players. What fate were they facing, what torment were they going through? All this weighed heavily on her shoulders, for in a way she believed she caused it. This was her imagination, and now it was a weapon to torment many. 

Willa sighed and stood up, ready to exit the castle, but then she had forgotten the most important rule, and before she could take one step forward, the floor beneath her crumbled. Her body plunged into darkness and fell straight into the arms of an angel statue.

Her bones cracked under the force. Its sword pierced through her skin, blood rolling down to decorate the whiteness of the statue, staining its purified garment, and droplets falling onto the floor. 

Willa blinked her eyes, stared at the statue, a small smile emerged from the corner of her lips, and the statue’s eyes beamed with golden light.

Slowly, her eyes dimmed. Then, the lights went out.

Now she understood the first rule of the system.

Dying fancy was the only way to survive this twisted world.