The Castle Beyond the Storm

The storm outside pounds me harder than gravity ever did, and I scramble down the path I thought would lead me to my Nana’s cottage. Instead, I arrive at an enormous castle.

Dead trees surround the imposing structure, their limbs twisting like clawed hands. Dark, brooding gargoyles perch along the roofline, and I pause beneath their watchful stares. But when lightning crackles a little too close for comfort, my feet propel me toward the large, wrought-iron doors.

I look up at the cracked and crumbling exterior, my hand hesitating over the door handle. The crash of thunder pushes me through without another thought.

As my eyes adjust to the darkness inside, I notice a small fire already burning in a cozy fireplace that doesn’t seem to fit the terrifying exterior. A soft chair sits beside the flames, and I immediately rush toward it, shrugging off my rain-soaked jacket and hanging it over the back before sitting down. I pull off my boots, stretching my freezing feet toward the fire.

The room slowly warms, and somehow, the darkness begins to fade. I look around.

The interior feels much less menacing than the outside made it out to be. Lanterns flicker to life, casting a welcoming glow across the sitting room.

Then a silver dish shimmers into existence on the small table beside me. I stare. A steaming mug of hot cocoa sits on the silver tray, tiny marshmallows floating across its surface.

Stranger things have happened before. I pick up the mug, the heat warming my hands instantly. I take a sip, and warmth blooms in my stomach before spreading through the rest of me. The decadent chocolate tastes like home.

The decadent chocolate tastes like home.

I close my eyes for a moment, letting the warmth settle into me.

Outside, another bolt of lightning turns the windows white. Thunder follows so closely that the glass rattles in its frame.

I glance toward the doors.

I should probably leave once the storm passes.

Nana will be worried.

The thought brings a small pang of guilt, but it is difficult to summon much urgency while sitting beside a roaring fire with hot chocolate in my hands.

I take another sip. Maybe I can stay just until the rain stops. I look around the room again. There are no cobwebs. No dust. No signs that this place has been abandoned for years, despite the state of the castle outside. The furniture is old-fashioned, but well cared for. A thick rug covers the stone floor, and dark green curtains frame the tall windows.

Then I notice something I hadn't seen before. A door. It is tucked into the far corner of the room, almost hidden behind the curtains. I stare at it.

There is something odd about the door. It doesn't look old like everything else. The wood is smooth and dark, polished enough to catch the firelight. A small brass handle gleams against it.

Curiosity wins.

I set my mug down and cross the room. The door opens easily. Beyond it is a narrow hallway lit by small golden lamps. I hesitate.

"Just looking," I whisper, as though the castle might object.

Nothing does.

I step through. The hallway stretches farther than the outside of the castle should allow. I glance back toward the sitting room, but it still looks exactly where I left it.

I suppose castles are large. The thought seems reasonable enough.

I walk a little farther. Portraits line the walls. Dozens of them. Kings and queens, perhaps. Nobles. Children dressed in clothes from centuries ago. Their faces are solemn, their eyes following me as I pass. Except—I stop.

One portrait is different. A young woman sits beneath an enormous tree, wearing a pale blue dress. She is smiling, but there is something familiar about the curve of her mouth.

I step closer. No. Not familiar. Just similar.

I laugh quietly at myself. "Getting a little dramatic, aren't we?"

The painted woman looks nothing like me. Probably.

I continue down the hallway. The next door stands open. Inside is a library. I forget about the storm entirely.

Books cover every wall from floor to ceiling. Some are bound in leather, others in cloth, and a few look so old I wouldn't dare touch them. Tall windows overlook a courtyard filled with bare trees, their branches dancing in the rain. A ladder rests against one of the shelves.

I run my fingers along the spines. History. Poetry. Fairy tales. Folklore. Mystery. Romance. My favorite authors.

I pull one book free. I know this book. I have read it three times. I open the cover. My name is written on the first page. I nearly drop it. I stare at the inscription. There are no other words. Just my name.

I look around the empty library.

"Okay." My voice sounds very small. "That's new."

I should put the book back. Instead, I carry it to one of the chairs beside the window. The chair is soft. I sit down.

Outside, the storm rages. Inside, the fire crackles.

I open the book. And for the first time since I entered the castle, I stop wondering when I should leave.

* * *

When I finally look up, the rain has softened to a gentle patter. I blink. The fire has burned lower. My cocoa is gone, even though I have no memory of finishing it.

I stand and stretch.

I should go. The thought returns, but it feels less urgent than before.

I return the book to the shelf. My name is gone from the first page. I stare at it for several seconds. The page is completely blank.

I shake my head. I must have imagined it. I turn toward the hallway.

Something smells wonderful. Warm bread. Cinnamon. Butter.

My stomach growls and I follow the scent.

The hallway leads to a staircase I am certain wasn't there before. It curves upward, disappearing into darkness. At the bottom sits a small wooden sign that reads: DINING ROOM.

I laugh. "Subtle."

I climb the stairs.

The dining room is enormous. A long table stretches beneath a chandelier of silver and crystal. Candles flicker along its length, though there is no one around to light them.

At the center sits a plate. I approach slowly. Fresh bread. Butter. Roasted vegetables. Chicken glazed with honey and herbs. My favorite meal.

I stop. This time, I don't laugh.

The storm rumbles somewhere beyond the walls. I look toward the doorway. I could leave. I could walk back down the stairs, retrieve my boots, put on my still-damp jacket, and make my way back toward Nana's cottage.

Instead, I sit.

Just for dinner.

* * *

Before I know it, morning light streams through the window of a bedroom I don't remember entering. For several seconds, I simply stare at the ceiling. It is painted with stars. Not the kind of stars painted on a ceiling. Real ones. They twinkle faintly overhead.

I sit up.

The bed is enormous, covered in soft blankets that smell faintly of lavender.

My clothes are folded neatly on a chair beside the window. Dry. Warm. Pressed. My jacket hangs beside them.

I should be frightened. I know that.

Instead, I feel rested. More rested than I have felt in months.

I climb out of bed. The bedroom is beautiful.

A fireplace crackles against one wall. A large wardrobe stands beside it. There is a vanity beneath the window, a writing desk covered in blank paper, and another door leading somewhere beyond.

I open the wardrobe. Clothes hang inside. My clothes. Not the ones I arrived wearing or the one I have sitting in the small cottage I share with my sisters.

These are things I have always wanted but never bought. A dark green dress. A soft sweater. A pair of boots in exactly my size.

I touch the sleeve of the sweater. It is impossibly soft. I pull it on. It fits perfectly.

"Thank you," I whisper.

I don't know who I'm thanking. But somehow, it feels right.

* * *

I spend the morning exploring. There are rooms everywhere. A greenhouse filled with flowers that shouldn't be blooming. A kitchen where the cupboards somehow contain exactly what I want before I know I want it. A music room with an old piano. A balcony overlooking mountains I don't recognize. A bath carved from white stone, filled with steaming water whenever I enter. 

And the library. I return there often.

Eventually, I stop counting the days. At first, I tell myself I am waiting for the weather to clear. Then I tell myself I should explore the castle properly before I go. Then I decide I will leave tomorrow.

Tomorrow becomes the next day. Then the next.

The castle never asks me to stay. That's what makes it so easy. There are no locked doors. No chains. No mysterious voice demanding that I remain.

Whenever I think about leaving, the front doors are right there. Waiting. Open. I could walk through them whenever I wanted. I simply never seem to want to.

* * *

Sometimes, I think about Nana. The thought used to hurt, but now it feels distant. I imagine her cottage, the little kitchen, the old chair by the window. I wonder if she is worried.

I should visit her. I really should.

But then I find myself standing in the greenhouse with my hands buried in warm soil, coaxing a flower I've never seen before into bloom.

Its petals unfold beneath my fingers. Deep violet. Almost black. Beautiful.

I smile.

Maybe tomorrow. I'll go tomorrow.

* * *

The castle changes with me. Or perhaps I change with it.

Rooms that once seemed empty slowly fill. The writing desk is no longer bare. Books I haven't read appear on the shelves. Paintings change. The garden grows.

The castle seems to learn me. Or perhaps it always knew.

I stop asking.

One evening, I find a small table waiting in the library. Two cups sit upon it. One is mine. The other is empty.

I stare at it. For the first time in weeks, I feel a flicker of unease.

"Who's the other one for?"

The castle doesn't answer.

I sit anyway. The fire burns low. The second cup remains untouched. Eventually, I forget about it.

* * *

There are days when I wonder what happened to the outside world. I find myself thinking about people I haven't spoken to in what must be weeks.

Friends. Neighbors.

* * *

Eventually, I discover the room at the end of the eastern hall. I have walked past it dozens of times. I don't know why I never noticed it before.

The door is white. There is no handle. When I touch it, it opens.

Inside is a bedroom. My bedroom. Not the one where I have been sleeping.

This one is different. The walls are covered with photographs. My photographs. Places I've been. People I've known. Moments I had forgotten.

There are pictures of childhood birthdays, school dances, holidays, ordinary afternoons.

My family. My friends. Everyone who has ever mattered to me.

I walk slowly around the room.

For a moment, I feel the ache of homesickness. I miss them. I really do.

I touch a photograph of Nana. She is laughing. I smile. Then I notice something.

There is a photograph beside hers.

It shows me. Older. Standing on the castle balcony. Happy. Completely, undeniably happy.

I stare at it. I don't remember taking it. I don't remember becoming that person. But somehow I recognize her.

I look back at Nana's photograph. Then at mine.

The ache in my chest softens. Not because I love them less. Because, for the first time, I understand something.

Loving someone doesn't mean you have to keep living where you were miserable. The thought arrives quietly. So quietly that I almost miss it.

I could stay. I look around the room.

I could stay. Surer now. The idea doesn't frighten me. It feels like relief.

* * *

That night, I walk to the front doors. For the first time since I arrived, I open them deliberately.

The storm is gone. Moonlight spills across the path. The dead trees stand silent beneath a clear sky. Beyond them lies the road.

Home is somewhere down that road. Nana is somewhere down that road. My old life is down that road.

I stand there for a long time.

I could go.

I know I could.

I take one step forward. Cold air brushes my face. Then I look back. Warm light spills across the stone floor. The fire is burning. The castle is quiet. Waiting.

I think about the library. The garden. The greenhouse. The room with the stars on the ceiling. The way the castle always seems to know when I am cold. The way there is always something waiting when I am hungry. The way I wake every morning feeling rested. The way I haven't cried in weeks. The way I no longer feel like I am waiting for my life to begin.

I glance down the road. Then back at the castle. My hand rests on the door.

I smile. Maybe I'll go tomorrow. There is no reason to decide tonight.

I close the doors. The lock clicks softly behind me. I don't notice that it sounds final. I don't notice the gargoyles watching from the roof. I don't notice the way the castle seems to breathe. I simply walk back toward the fire. Back toward the room that feels like mine. Back toward the life waiting patiently for me.

And somewhere deep within the castle, another door opens.