𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐
𝙰𝚗𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚊'𝚜 𝙿𝙾𝚅

As I sat in the stuffy classroom my mind couldn't help but be drawn back to the allure of the dark angel, or whatever he truly was. Though it was so long ago, his gaze remained etched in the corridors of my mind, an ever-present being trapped in time.

The towering castle, reaching towards the heavens and shadows whispering from within, held secrets that entwined with the very fabric of my being.

Since my encounter with him in the forest, my thoughts have been consumed by finding any hint of information. Yet, unironically, a palace with dancing ghosts couldn't simply be found within the span of townspeople chatter.

The unreality of my experience mocked the limitations, leaving me to grapple with the biting thought that maybe it didn't happen.

The town pulsated with an undercurrent of fear as the annual tradition approached. Rumors of a raffle to determine the next offering for the dark prince echoed through the anxious whispers of the townsfolk.

The atmosphere intensified as TVs would soon blare the announcement of the upcoming raffle, a chilling event that struck fear into the hearts of every resident.

The name chosen would be the unfortunate soul offered to the dark prince in the grand and dreaded dance.

I grasped the necklace in my hand, the red mark left from its burning touch still on my skin after all these years. The only true thing that had remained after that meeting that still left me hoping that it had happened. It had to.

The drone of Mr. Henderson's voice merged with the oppressive hum of the fluorescent lights, drowning out the world beyond the classroom. My pencil moved mechanically on the paper, creating lines of scribbles.

In truth,  I was anything but focused on my work and I hadn't been for months.

Though I desperately wanted to know why these vents occurred, dying at the hands of the prince was terrifying to me. My thoughts zoned out to reality, finally hearing Mr. Henderson's stern voice cut through.

"Anastasia! This is unbelievable. This is the fourth time I've called on you, what has gotten into you?" The abrupt return to reality left me disoriented as I picked up my head from staring at my desk. Mr. Henderson's loud voice boomed across the small classroom.

The glare of my classroom peers staring at me, judging me. They could indefinitely hear him shouting outside the room.  

"I-I'm so sorry sir...it won't happen again." I muttered. I glanced down at my fidgeting hands, kicking my heels against the flooring.

I squirmed into my seat, my cheeks a cherry red from embarrassment. The clock on the wall ticked away each second, a relentless reminder between the fantasy in my mind and the stark reality of this chummy classroom.

The air in the room felt heavy, charged with the tension of my own distraction. My pencil traced invisible patterns onto my hands, recreating the images that lingered in my imagination. The dance of shadows, the tall castle, and the mysterious man I had encountered that night.

A sticky note was placed on my desk. Detention after school. 2:30. I looked up to see my teacher quickly saunter back to his desk. I shook my head in disappointment. I was better than this. I knew I was better than this. God what is the matter with me? 

Driven by an insatiable curiosity, after school, I made my way to the library. I found myself drawn to the library time and time again, each visit an attempt to decipher the cryptic clues that surrounded him and his castle.

But the town's library had gotten old, every book I'd already read. Every newsletter I already scanned. And every film and tape that I'd checked out had been watched. I'd seen it all. I walked to an older library that was opened only a few blocks away from my home.

As I walked past the town square, I gawked at the blue and red tissue streamers. Balloons were taped along the poles, a makeshift wooden podium sat in the middle of the field. It was all a facade. Make believe. They used cheap decorations to hide behind the dark truth.

We were feeding into the myth, the legend of the prince. We were slaves of his sins, doomed to die each year under his reign.

Adjacent to the podium, a large wooden table stood. Whoever was chosen as a sacrifice would be tied down and tossed like a midnight meal to the prince.  I watched as the townspeople, with forced smiles and averted eyes, secured the stand in place.

My feet scratched against the pavement as I stood at the front of the bookstore, my eyes took one last glance at the muse.

I opened the glass door, the scent of old books erupted through me. I walked along the old creaky floorboards, shuffling through the dim hallways of the old store, the weight of ancient knowledge pressed upon my shoulders.

The library, a haven for forgotten tomes and arcane wisdom, held the promise of answers that had eluded me for far too long.

I approached the librarian, a woman with silver-streaked hair and glasses perched on the tip of her nose, looking up from her book as I walked towards her. Her eyes scanned the room before her eyes rested on me.

Her gaze dropped from my dirt crusted shoes to my tattered jeans and white blouse, her lips sunk into her teeth forming a gummy smile.  I cleared my throat before I spoke.

"Excuse me ma'am" I said with a hesitant smile, "could you point me to the history section?"

The librarian, without breaking eye contact, nodded and gestured for me to follow. She shuffled her blue knitted sweater towards her body. "It's always so cold this time of year," she paused. "My husband usually stacks the wood for the furnace, getting all sorts of wood flakes stuck on the carpet." She shook her head.

She turned to me, "this darn town won't give us any money to get a heater in. You would think they would considering it's a public library but the budget went down this year." She continued to mutter to herself. The small talk continued as we walked up the stairs, the wooden case creaked underneath our feet. I was terrified it would collapse beneath me.

"So, what brings a girl like you to this old place? You're young, you certainly have better things to do than to be here." Her nose scrunched up. Her small voice wavered though carrying a gentleness to it.

I paused before I spoke, "I need to find some things on the civil war. My history teacher made it a requirement to use real textbooks. He says he wants us to "practice our researching and analytical skills." I put in quotes. I figured it was best to lie, it was easier to explain. It took less time and less energy.

Lord knows I don't have much time anyways considering the impending notion that my name could be chosen from the raffle.

"Ah alright," She continued her footsteps making her way to a couple smaller shelves. Old book sat perched. She stopped, turned around and faced me with her hands outreached by her sides. "This is the history section, the two top shelves are everything we have for books on the Civil war. There are some laminated newspapers that I have in the back. We keep them there for safety reasons as we've had a couple incidents..." She dragged the "s", looking at the floor.

"Anyways, if you want them, just let me know and I can grab them out. Good luck on your project though dear!" With that I watched her leave. Her Mary Jane shoes patterned away down the stairs. I took in a deep breath, the scent of parchment pages and old leather filtered through the room, embracing me as I wandered through the labyrinth of books.

I could feel the eyes of the worn book bindings watching me, waiting to see which of them I would pick up.

My fingers trailed along the spines of the books, seeking a connection to the secrets I pursued. Illuminated by the dim glow of the antique lamps, the titles beckoned like distant stars similar to the ones I'd seen that night.

My gaze darted from shelf to shelf, as if the answers were encoded in the arrangement of words and symbols.

How is it that there isn't a single damn book in this place? C'mon there can't be anything in here. A sinking in my heart filtered through my body as my eyes landed upon a small diary that rested in the nook of the top shelf from the corner of the small store.

Its edges were crisp from age, the leather cracked and splintered along the spine and its color a dull gray; however its title continued to draw me in like a moth to a flame.

Through Treasures Untold: The History of the Phantom's Waltz. As I reached for it, a sense of excitement flowed through me, for I knew within the pages of this forgotten book, the key to my questions might finally reveal itself.

There's got to be something in here...something that can finally answer my questions.

Before I made my way to the front of the desk, I shuffled back to grab a civil war book. I didn't need her questioning me. I took one of the old leather bound books, dust floated around me.

I walked down the stairs, both books in hand as I sped to the lady's desk. The librarian, the same elderly woman with wisps of white hair peered over her glasses at me.

'Checking out, dear?" She asked, a friendly smile on her face.

"Yeah," I replied, my fingers still lingering on the edges of the diary. "I'm hoping these books will have what I need."

The librarian's eyes twinkled with curiosity as she gazed at the second book. "Phantom's Waltz, eh? That's an interesting choice. Though I'm surprised that's in the history section.

It should've been with the rest of the young adult books. Matthew probably messed everything up again. I swear that grandson of mine- I love him but god is literature anything but his specialty." She mumbled the last bit but I still chuckled.

She looked inside of the book, skimming over the words before looking up at me again. "Seems like a good read though," She scanned the books, stamping the back of both. Her blue ink pen scribbled onto a yellow note sheet.

She placed both of them in a bag, giving it to me. "Good luck on that history project of yours!" She gave me a small smile before I watched her figure walk into the back. I nodded before opening the library's door, shutting it behind me, making my way to my car.

When I arrived home,  I quickly climbed up the stairs to my room. I jumped onto my bed taking out the phantom's waltz from the bag completely ignoring the old Civil War book.

As my fingers delicately traced the worn surface of the diary, a strange energy oozed and seemed to pulse through my fingertips; it was as if the book itself held a life force eager to share its secrets. 

The cover creaked open, revealing pages yellowed and a musty scent wafted up, filling the air with the unmistakable fragrance of old paper. The entries were handwritten in an elegant looping script.

Unfortunately, though, the language was since long past used and needed to be more readable. Shit. What am I going to do now?!

As I scanned the words I began to take note of the patterns, the book was seemingly written in Latin. I guess language can be handy. I began to translate the words, my eyes darting between the pages of the book and the pages of my Latin schoolbook.

The scribbles seemed to turn to something a bit more tangible despite some mishaps between translations. The book read:

On the annual eve of Hallows' grace, the resplendent tapestry of The Phantom's Waltz unfurls.

The castle, veiled in the folds of temporal sorcery, reveals itself to the good folk of Northbridge, hosting a grand ball where the echoes of time wind backward. The hands of the clock trace their steps, and an annual jubilee ensues.

During this ethereal revelry, the dark prince graces the gathering, albeit fleetingly. His presence, ephemeral as a wisp in the night, materializes for the briefest moment, choosing a maiden for a dance, entwining the present with the past.

As the celebration reaches its zenith, the castle vanishes, leaving behind a spectral memory etched in the minds of those who partook in the otherworldly dance.

Amidst the ethereal celebration, spectral figures materialize in harmony with the living. These apparitions, the echoes of bygone eras, gracefully join the dance, their translucent forms waltzing through the grand ballroom.

They are the remnants of souls, tethered to the castle and the enchantment of Halloween night. Some say they are the echoes of revelers who once partook in the waltz, their joyous spirits forever intertwined with the timeless celebration.

This mystic masquerade, orchestrated by the hands of time, repeats its enchantment every decennial, unveiling the castle and its secrets to those fortunate enough to witness the haunting waltz across the ages.

Thus, the enchantment of The Phantom's Waltz persists, a testament to the enduring dance between shadows and the fleeting light of temporal delight."

"So I'm not crazy," I whispered. The realization that the strange encounter I'd had in the forest was not a figment of my imagination but an integral part of a mystique tradition enveloped me. 

The book continued to weave its tale, recounting the lore of the castle and its mysterious protector, the dark prince. As I delved in the passages- a revelation unfolded. One I won't ever forget.

"As shadows waltz and time unwinds, beware the dark prince, his blood a sacrifice that echoes through the veiled realms.

Tainted and tormented, his essence entwined with the spectral dance, a presence to be approached with wary hearts. In the dance of shadows, his steps leave imprints, a testament to a sacrifice shrouded in enigma.

Trust not the blood that courses through his veins, for it carries an offering to powers unseen.

The dance of shadows enchants me, but the specters of mistrust lurks beneath the surface. As the notes of the waltz resonate through the palace, beware of this warning."

As quickly as the writing conjured, it stopped. The pages quickly came to an abrupt halt. Soon the words took on a frantic note, a descent to madness that tinkered on the brink of insanity.

"Stay away. Stay from Evil. Stay away. Stay away. Away. Away." The words repeated in a mantra of warning with a chilling intensity. My body shivered as I read the bloodied scribbled notes. But I kept turning the pages. In the top-hand corner, a couple of pages down wrote:

"The castle, now a silent witness to the blood prince's torment, stood shrouded in the echoes of a sacrifice gone awry. The walls whispered of a curse that clung to the very stones, a spectral imprint of a tragedy that defied the passage of time.

Beware, for within these hallowed halls, the dark prince seeks solace in the dance of shadows, forever haunted by-"

The page had been roughly ripped out. I quickly shuffled through the rest of the book but the pages were empty. Blank. This was it. The realization hit me like a cold gust of wind, sending a shiver down my spine.

The missing page held the key to understanding the dark prince's true nature, the nature of the sacrifice, and the ominous warning that seemed to echo through the scholar's fractured mind.

I traced the torn edges of the empty space, as if hoping to piece together the missing fragments of information. Why was the page removed? What truths did it contain? What was the sacrifice? Was the prince evil? What had he done? 

I slammed the book shut. Once again I was lost in a daze, searching for more answers than before. Glancing at the calendar on the bedroom wall, my eyes fixed on October 1.

Tomorrow would mark the day when the castle hosted its grand ball. A decade had gone by since the last, I was sure of it.

As I stared at the book in my hands, I noticed a piece of paper sticking out from the edges of the volume. Pulling the piece from its hiding place, the delicate piece of paper slipped from the pages, fluttering gracefully to the floor.

A map, intricately drawn with faded ink, lay before me. Its contours revealed with mystical layout of a place unknown. The map bore no title, yet its details spoke of a destination- the very heart of the Phantom's Waltz.

Intricate lines led through a darkened forest, winding towards a towering castle obscured by a crystalized dome. How did they know where it was?  From my childhood stories, it was said that the waltz moved every decade, and that one could never find its location.

That must've meant- someone survived the sacrifice. I quickly shoved the paper into a random piece of clothing, shoving the drawer closed.

As I made my way to the window, the moon hung in the night sky, casting a glow. The necklace around my neck pulsed with a faint warmth, as if resonating with the energy of the approaching event. I shivered.

The town's annual tradition, the raffle, had cast a shadow over our lives. The fear and anxiety gripped the townsfolk, the chilling whispers of the dark prince's demands- these weren't distant concerns but a part of my reality.

If fate deemed me the chosen one, if my name echoed through the halls of the raffle, I wouldn't succumb passively. I would fight for my life to uncover the truth that lay hidden within the Phantom's Waltz. 

The missing page in the diary held the key, and I would not let the opportunity slip away.

Word count: 3068

Let me know what you think! <333
𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭!

Follow me on Instagram for updates!
@moonxttea