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@anne_the_noob14 I pronounce it CAY-don. He lives in a medieval fantasy-type world. 🙂 Oh, poor Lucas! I can see how that experience would be scarring! Though that gives me an idea. We should have a storm come up while Caedon and Lucas are in the library. I’d love to see both their reactions.

Your entry is perfect! Lucas getting there first actually works, since if he hadn’t taken the candlestick, Caedon would have used it to explore. Instead he just chills (literally) in the map room until he discovers the library (which I’m writing now!).

By the way, I love how you elaborated on the castle being sentient! I imagine that it’s a lot like the castle from Rose Daughter by Robin McKinley (a Beauty and the Beast retelling).

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Caedon heaved a sigh. The lengthening shadows told him it was almost sunset in the outside world. The silence of the past hours unnerved him. Being confined within the walls of a castle was nothing unfamiliar, but being confined alone? That was a different matter entirely.

Caedon glanced at the doors on the other side of the room. What might lay beyond them? Only darkness, once night fell. He swallowed. This was his last chance to explore and perhaps find a comfortable place to spend the night. Not that he was holding out much hope. He stood up and pressed his numb hands together. He was as cold as if he’d spent hours in a dungeon cell.

He examined the doors. All were painted different colors except one. That door exhibited the natural grain of the wood, like the door Father had carved for his study. Father’s door was never unfriendly or foreboding. Caedon always found refuge beyond it.

Without any other reason than that it reminded him of his father, Caedon pushed through the door. A dark corridor greeted him. Caedon stepped forward without hesitation. If he gave himself time to think, he would never follow through with this. He forged ahead through a miry darkness without any knowledge of where he might end up.

On and on he walked, the shadows deepening with time. His knees wobbled. His hands shook. He’d had dreams of such darkness before. Never beautiful visions like Mira’s or Mother’s. No indeed. Only ugly, half-formed dreams where Caedon was an object of fear and scorn and all light fled away from him.

Now the dreams were reality. Or were they? He paused and rubbed his eyes. Was he imagining the light at the end of the corridor? No. He cautiously approached another door, this partly open. In the cold darkness, he could feel the warmth of the light filtering through the gap. He crossed the threshhold and beheld a vast library. And there, seated beside the fire, was a kind-looking young man with a book in his hand.

Caedon froze, immediately feeling as though he had intruded. “Hello. Is it all right if I come in?”