Over the next few days, Nicole lives in the secret room behind the wall, content with her arrangements. Aside from the excessive dust in the room making her allergies act up, which was easily solved by opening the small window, the room was perfect. The bed was soft and there was a desk for her to write at. She uses the pen and papers she found there to keep track of the days she spent in the fortress.

At first, she struggled to use the nib pen. Unlike the pens she was used to, this pen was messier and had to be dipped into an inkpot to work. Countless ink stains dotted her sleeves, but after a good amount of practice in the room, she was writing smoothly. There was nothing else she could do to entertain herself anyway.

Getting food was the tricky part. Whenever she wanted to leave the room, she had to pull the lever to open the secret entrance. And she would only do so at night, as the maids woke up early to do their work. Their Lord had returned and the fortress had to be kept in good shape.

Sneaking around at night was a challenge. She had forgotten her way to the dining room and tripped over her feet several times in the dark. The cat had to lead her out of trouble several times. She was surprised that her blunders didn’t wake the whole manor.

When she arrived at the dining room, she made a beeline for the kitchen. Tonight, she was stealing two loaves of bread, a hunk of cheese, and a bottle of milk. The food would be enough to last her a few days, sparing her some nights of wandering.

In the meantime, how was she going to find that demon? She twirls the blade in her hands, watching the light bounce off the metal. She had no clue what he looked like, only that she had to kill him to save her cat and return home. She missed her family. The sooner she found the devil, the sooner she could see them.

She leans against a wall, frustrated. Then, she hears two voices whispering on the other side. She can't make out anything being said, but her dagger begins to vibrate, responding to the voices. Her eyes widened. One of the speakers on the other side of this wall was the demon. The demon was living in this manor, in the room next to her no less.

She pulls away from the wall, her heart beating rapidly. A part of her wants to pull the lever and jump the demon on the other side of the wall, but her more cautious side told her to wait. What if the demon kills her first? Or worse, what if she stabs the wrong person?

She looks at the blade in her hands again. She needs to do this the right way so that the demon would never see it coming. And a dagger in hand with both edges of the blade sharp was far too obvious. She couldn’t trust herself to make the kind of kill she wanted. If only there was a way to disguise the dagger, to carry it around in plain sight.

“No one would suspect a thing if you were a bracelet,” she said, speaking to the dagger. Only a fool would fear death by jewelry.

The blade starts to glow in her hands, responding to her words. The metal collapses in her palms, melting into a shiny liquid. Then, it swirls in her hands, circling her wrist until it forms a simple silver bracelet.

She stares at it in wonder, unable to believe her eyes. Why didn’t Lillian tell me about this before? And what else could the dagger turn into?

But by then, the voices behind the wall had faded. She had missed her chance to catch the demon.

Unable to sleep, she spends the rest of the night playing with the dagger, getting it to transform into all sorts of objects. But there were limits to its powers. She had to look at it directly for her command to go through. It couldn’t turn into food or any living creature. And after three transformations, it overheated, unable to shift out of the current form it was in.

She records her observations on paper, carefully writing them with her nib pen. By the time she was done experimenting with the magical dagger, the sun was rising. She yawns. No point in being awake during the day if she could only wander the house at night.

She knocks out, exhausted from her work. Her sleep is deep and dreamless. When she finally wakes up, the sun is setting.

She stretches, wiping the drool from the corner of her mouth. She hadn't slept that well in ages. Her body was still getting used to this dimension and sleeping in a new bed.

She gets up and walks over to the only window in the room. She breathes in the fresh air, a luxury she didn't quite have living in the city back home. Her eyes roam over the endless greenery of the outdoors, marveling at the trees bathed in sunset hues. If only she could bring her family to live here. The manor had everything except modern technology.

She feels her wrist vibrate, interrupting her daydream. The demon was close by. A chill runs down her spine. She hears the same voices from last night, only this time they were outside her window and she could decipher what they’re saying.

"My Lord, I think there are rats in this house," said a velvety voice. "I hear footsteps at night and more food goes missing from the icebox every time the maids check."

Her cheeks redden. She had a feeling she was the rat the man was talking about. She struggles to get a view of the men, but she could only see the tops of their heads. Both had dark hair, but one of them, the one with the velvety voice, had longer, blacker hair pulled back into a ponytail. He was a bit taller than the other man, needing to bend down to address him.

"Have you found a way to get rid of the vermin?" the Lord asked. There was something about his voice that was familiar. The cadence of his voice, the way he stressed his vowels - all of it gave her an intense feeling of deja vu.

"That's what the cat is for, but no dead rats have turned up," said the taller of the two.

“Then the cat is useless,” retorts the shorter one. She frowns at the statement. She recognized the Lord’s voice, but couldn’t seem to place it. Yet, she knew the voice well enough to feel that what he was saying was out of character.

“The cat is not useless. Cats are wonderful creatures, my Lord. And it may not be a rat that's been stealing our food." The man’s velvety voice lowers.

"What do you mean?" The young Lord’s tone shifts from frustration to curiosity.

The long-haired man tilts his head up to the sky. She notices something peculiar about him and the young Lord. Both were wearing medical eye patches on the same eye. She thinks it’s too weird to be a coincidence.

"There's something strange in the house, something that I can't see," said the taller man. He sniffs the air, wrinkling his nose as if he caught an unpleasant odor.

"It's beyond your abilities?" There’s a tinge of worry in the younger man's voice.

The tall man nods. "We may be in danger."

She looks at both men closely. Which one was the demon?

At that exact moment, she and the young Lord make eye contact. A brief memory flashes before her eyes. She quickly shuts the window and backs away. She had seen him before, years ago. But where did she meet him? She hears her heart thudding loudly in her ears. Did the young Lord see her or had he only caught sight of a passing cloud?

She goes back to her desk and tidies up the notes she made from the night before, trying to soothe her nerves. No one had been in this room for a long time before Mr. Whiskers had shown it to her. There was a good chance the Lord didn't even know it existed.

But was that a risk she was willing to take? The longer she stays in the manor, the more likely she is to run into the Lord. A plan begins to take seed in her head. She would leave the room at nightfall when everyone was fast asleep. To avoid stumbling around in the dark, she’d turn the bracelet into a lamp and wander the house. Whichever room the lamp responds to would be the lair of the demon. The next step would be finding her way into that hypothetical room and slaying the demon. If this plan worked, she could leave this dimension in two days.

To pass the time, she cleans the room, folding the white sheets that had covered the furniture and wiping the filth off the walls. The floral wallpaper was peeling off, curling at the edges with age. A huge chunk of it flaps in the air. She debates smoothing the paper down or ripping it off.

Just when she decides to smooth it down, she notices something odd. There were strange ridges beneath the paper. Her curiosity got the best of her. She begins ripping the paper out, tearing at the wall.

“A door,” she whispers to herself. “How did I not notice this?”

She turns the knob. The door is stuck, held back by grime that had built up over the years. With some effort, she pries it open, revealing a set of stairs leading into the darkness.

She glances at the window. The sky was already black. She needs to leave the room and find the demon. But the stairs beckon to her, begging to be explored.

“Screw it. I’m going down these creepy stairs,” she said. She looks into the darkness. The darkness stares back. She shivers, excited at the prospect of finding yet another hidden part of the manor.

She transforms her bracelet into a lantern and heads down the stone steps. A blue flame lights the lantern, illuminating the area before her. It didn’t seem like a long way down. In fact, she’s pretty sure she sees another door.

“This isn’t so scary,” she said, taking her first step down. The door slams behind her. She yelps, nearly jumping out of her skin.

“Fine, maybe you are scary,” she tells the stairs. She continues her walk down, her senses on high alert for any unpleasant surprises. Dead bugs crunch beneath her shoes and any living ones crawl out of her way. Cobwebs hang low from the ceiling, tangling into her hair.

She breathes a sigh of relief when she reaches the door. No more bugs. She jiggles the doorknob. Locked.

Dread fills her chest. The darkness, which seems to be kept at bay, closes in, making her feel claustrophobic. She was trapped in the stairs with no way out.

Stars fill her vision. She feels dizzy, the air suddenly becoming very hard to breathe. Her chest tightens. An unpleasant feeling presses against her, squeezing the life out of her. She sinks to the ground near the door, unable to hold herself up. Strange voices whisper in her ears.

“There’s the sick child,” one of them said. “Look at her.”

“So unstable. And she’s supposed to kill a demon? She can’t even handle us,” the other replies.

She wants to yell at the voices, to say she wasn’t weak, but her lips were glued shut.

“Hush, hush,” said a third voice. “How can you speak with no air in your lungs?”

With that, she passes out, the unpleasant feeling taking over her.