Chapter 4: The West Wing Breathes.

Mrs. Alder's steps were smooth and measured, her shoes making no sound against the carpet. Elara had to quicken her pace to keep up, though the older woman did not seem to be moving fast.

Sunlight slipped through tall windows, painting pale rectangles across the walls. In daylight, the manor almost looked abandoned rather than haunted.

Almost.

"Has he lived here long?" Elara asked.

Mrs. Alder didn't look at her. "Long enough."

"That's doesn't really answer _"

"It is the only answer you will get before noon."

Elara frowned. "Why before noon?"

Mrs. Alder stopped walking.

Slowly, she turned her head.

"In Ravenspire," she said,"Questions have hours. Mornings are kinder than evenings."

"That is not how questions work."

Mrs. Alder resumed walking. "It is here."

They reached a narrow intersection where the grand hallway split in two. One path was bright with window light. The other sloped gently downward, darker, the air cooler.

Mrs. Alder took the darker path.

Elara hesitated only a second before following.

The temperature dropped with each step.

The walls changed too _ less polished wood, more exposed stone. Old sconces lined the corridor, their candles unlit, though faint trails of smoke curled from a few wicks as if they had just been blown out.

"Does anyone else work here?" Elara asked.

"No."

"Then how is the house kept so clean?"

Mrs. Alder's lips twitched faintly. "You assume it likes to look abandoned."

Elara did not reply.

At the end of the corridor stood a tall window overlooking the cliffs. The sea below was calmer now, gray and endless under the morning sky.

A door stood to the left of the window.

Unlike the others, this one was made of dark ironwood, its surface carved with twisting shapes that looked almost like roots.

Mrs. Alder placed her hand on the handle.

"Before we go in," she said, "there are rules."

Elara stiffened." Of course there are."

"You may read any book that is not chained."

"Chained?"

"You will know them when you see them."

That did not comfort her.

"You must never remove a book from this wing."

"Why?"

"They dislike being moved."

"Books don't _"

Mrs. Alder looked at her.

Elara stopped talking.

"And if you hear whispering," Mrs. Alder continued calmly, "You are not being addressed."

Elara let out a weak breath. "That's....worse than if I was."

"Yes."

Mrs. Alder opened the door.

A deep, cool breath of air flowed out, carrying the scent of dust, ink and something faintly metallic.

They stepped inside.

The west library was older than the rest of the manor.

The ceiling arched high overhead, ribbed like the inside of a cathedral. Narrow windows near the top let in beams of pale light that never quite reached the floor.

Shelves towered everywhere.

But these shelves were different.

Some were roped off.

Some had iron bars across them.

And some books _ thick, ancient ones _ were bound with delicate sliver chains that glinted softly in the dim light.

Elara stared.

"You were not exaggerating," she whispered.

"I do not waste exaggeration on reality," Mrs. Alder said.

A long wooden table stood in the center of the room. Papers, quills, and several open books waited there, as if someone had been working only moments before.

"You will catalogue," Mrs. Alder said. "Record condition, language, and.... behavior."

Elara blinked. "Behavior?"

"You will understand."

"I am starting to wish I would not."

Mrs. Alder actually gave a small, dry smile at that.

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