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Ivy tiptoed up the grand staircase, her bare feet silent against the cool marble. The third floor really felt… forgotten. The air grew colder the higher she climbed, carrying with it the faint scent of dust, old parchment, and something… floral? Gardenia? No. Something older. Older than even this place. She paused in front of the hallway the maid had described. The painting of the ship loomed ominously on the wall, its masts cracked, sails torn, and storm clouds rolling overhead. It felt like a grave where she had to be reverent. It felt like somebody's resting place. “Why am I being so damn cautious?” She rolled her eyes at herself but did not speed up.“ Ahh…it feels like I am officially inside a gothic novel,” Ivy muttered under her breath. The door creaked open when she pushed it,
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