#37
“Wait!”
Isabelle stepped away from Adolf and picked up the paper lying on the floor. Fresh blood, not yet dry, stained her pale hands. Ignoring the fact that her clothes were getting dirty, she unfolded the crumpled paper, and in an instant, a shadow fell across her face.
Help me.
A short plea, scrawled messily in red blood that reeked faintly of iron.
Isabelle raised her eyes and took in the darkness surrounding her. Logically, it made no sense. Logie was already a ghost, so this blood couldn’t be hers. There was no proof that this was a call for help from Logie.
But what if, by some chance, someone else was in danger?
“Who knows how many people have died before Mr. Denver… maybe more will die…”
The thought that someone completely unrelated to this incident might be involved made her legs feel like they were sinking into the ground, as if a heavy weight had been tied to her ankles.
As if that guilt alone weren’t enough, a sharp scream pierced her ears:
“Ma-ma! Help me!”
“Logie?”
Isabelle scanned the area desperately, trying to locate the source of the voice. But the cold wind blew past, leaving only silence in its wake—Logie’s voice ended as suddenly as it had begun.
As she frantically looked around, she saw Adolf staring at her intently. Judging by his expression, he hadn’t heard Logie’s voice.
Someone was constantly tossing out bait to lure Isabelle further inside.
And even though she knew this could all be a trap, the moment she heard Logie’s voice, the thought of turning back had long disappeared.
Finally, with a resolute decision, she began to walk forward.
“Princess Herpfelder!”
Adolf reached out desperately toward Isabelle as she moved away. His crimson eyes reflected the thick, black hair that fell wildly around him.
In the next instant, as Isabelle stepped into the building, that hair suddenly wrapped around her, snaring her instantly.
“No, Isabelle!”
The memory after that was hazy, even for Adolf. The last thing he clearly remembered was dozens of strands of hair covering him.
“…Ouch… my head.”
A groan escaped Isabelle’s lips. She struggled to move, barely supporting herself with her hands as she rose, swaying unsteadily.
What happened?
Her entire body felt as if it had been beaten with a club. The headache pounding in her temples was unlike anything she’d ever experienced, making her stomach churn, and her vision fluctuated between foggy blur and clarity.
After patting her temples with her hands, Isabelle barely regained focus, realizing she was in someone’s bedroom.
Another hallucination?
It was hardly strange to think so. The bedroom was luxurious, almost overwhelmingly so, even for Isabelle, who was accustomed to grand mansions as a princess. Yet, the atmosphere was ominous and unsettling.
Perhaps it was the sparse furnishing that made it feel so empty. The enormous room contained only a bed, a small table with a vase, a table and sofa facing the window, and a five-tier bookshelf against the wall.
The emptiness made the air against her skin and the faint scent in the room feel oddly lonely.
Brushing herself off, Isabelle approached the bookshelf and examined the neatly arranged books.
“Adventurous Linda, the Journey of the Ugly Duckling… all children’s books.”
Most of the books on the shelves were fairy tales for children. She picked up a few to glance at the contents, but found nothing of interest, closing them and returning them to their places. Then, a forgotten memory flickered through her mind.
“Wait, where’s Adolf?”
As she scanned the room, she saw Adolf collapsed on the floor. Isabelle ran to him and lifted his slumped body into her arms.
“Your Highness, are you okay?”
“…Ugh.”
Adolf let out a dry cough, lifting his trembling eyelids. As his blurred vision cleared and he saw Isabelle, he pushed her away slightly and asked,
“Where… is this?”
“I don’t know either. When I opened my eyes, I was here.”
“….”
Adolf got to his feet, his expression blank as he surveyed the unfamiliar room. Judging by his face, he showed neither surprise nor concern.
He was clearly far from an ordinary person.
Indeed, if he were normal, he would have fainted or convulsed before any paranormal phenomenon could occur.
Isabelle, pondering how to explain the situation, approached him without hesitation.
“I think we’re trapped in a hallucination. I’ve experienced something similar before.”
“A hallucination? Magic?”
“In my opinion, it’s the work of a ghost. More precisely, a malevolent spirit.”
“….”
Adolf flinched noticeably. Isabelle deliberately ignored his increasingly grim expression.
‘I knew he didn’t like ghost stories, but does he have to glare like that? He’s going to burn a hole through my face…’
Isabelle cleared her throat and stepped back, avoiding his piercing gaze. She needed to find a way out of this hallucination before suffocating from the intensity of his stare.
Then, Isabelle, searching for clues, was suddenly struck by a chilling sensation and instinctively looked in one direction. Gray eyes, pale as moonlight, flickered with a strange purple glow.
Slowly, a semi-transparent ghost, previously imperceptible, emerged. Isabelle narrowed her brows as she watched it.
‘What is it doing?’
The male ghost, dressed in a white tunic, stood near the bed, staring at the floor. Unlike other ghosts, it didn’t ask for help or attempt to scare her—it simply hovered slightly, swaying in place.
She didn’t know its intent, but she felt she needed to communicate. There had to be a reason it had drawn her here.
Meanwhile, concerned about Adolf’s disbelief in ghosts, Isabelle smiled faintly and approached him. But Adolf’s state was unusual.
“Your Highness, you may not see it, but there’s a ghost over there… Your Highness? What’s wrong?”
Crash!
Books tumbled from the shelves as Adolf fell to the floor.
