"I owe him a great debt," Driscoll muttered.
Katherine raised a brow. "What sort of debt isn’t cleared with death?"
Driscoll hesitated, as though the words were heavy on his tongue.
"I’m in bondage. Perhaps it’s part of the curse... I can’t live freely. Can’t leave. All I can do is follow his orders... forever."
Katherine’s voice lowered. "What kind of magic does that?"
"Magic I wouldn’t dare dabble in."
She twisted the beads on her bracelet thoughtfully. As she handled it, a tinge of warmth flowed through her fingers. It was like an outstretched hand, leading her somewhere. "What kind of key is this, then?"
Catching her concern, Driscoll chuckled, dark and soft. "It’s no shackle."
"Tell me."
"Ah," he sighed, a hint of bitter nostalgia creeping into his voice, "perhaps it is, in some way." His gaze drifted off, wistful and distant. "If only shackles were so easily cast off. No, your gift is of an entirely different nature. He'll guide you."
Katherine frowned, puzzled by his cryptic tone.
"Take your treasures and go," he said, abruptly shifting the mood. "It’s about the time you usually leave me here anyway."
"Come with me," she urged. "We have the key—surely it works both ways?"
Driscoll shook his head.
"I don’t live with anyone else," she replied, a softness creeping into her voice. "You can haunt my hall, where it’s warmer."
Driscoll’s laugh was dry, as though her suggestion amused him more than it should. "He may turn over all he has to you, but he has withheld me for himself. These will stay fastened until my debt is paid."
Katherine bristled. "What sort of debt can’t be paid off after an eternity of service? Your master is cruel. I—"
"I owe him everything," Driscoll interjected, voice firm. "Don’t let my condition taint what he’s done. He defeated a god for your sake. Don’t you think he’s done just as much for me?"
"A god?" she echoed, blinking. "My suitor was... a god?"
"A god of ashes," Driscoll muttered, his gaze dropping to the ground. "We’re treading upon him now."
Instinctively, she stepped back, becoming acutely aware of the gravel and snow beneath her feet. Was it a metaphor, or something more? Driscoll often spoke of her suitor in riddles, but now, the stakes felt unnervingly high.
"Why are you so evasive? How could anyone defeat a god? And why pursue me? I’m no one. No one to get caught up in this." She sighed. "It’s just a dream." Shaking her head, she pressed on. "No, tell me. You owe me that much."
Driscoll’s tone shifted, each word measured. "I serve my master. He may have given you all else, but not me."
"Is your master still alive?"
Ignoring her question, he beckoned her closer, the weight of his past palpable. "Look at my ear." He parted his wispy hair, revealing a metal bar locked into his lobe. "I requested this chain, that I might remain here in service. I’m sorry. If I were free, I’d venture out and tell you everything. But nothing undoes a mark like this."
"It’s just an earring," Katherine whispered, feeling a knot of frustration. "Can’t it come off?"
"No. I was pierced. Are you going to undrive the nail from my lobe, too?"
Frustration welled within her. "If your only duty is to guide me, you can do that anywhere. The hall is crumbling beyond repair. I can keep anything left in my room."
Driscoll didn’t respond, his empty eye sockets gazing into nothingness. That fierce loyalty—a stark contrast to the bumbling, well-meaning man she had known—prompted Katherine to nod, a quiet respect settling over her. With the next breath, reality seeped back in, but anxiety gnawed at her mind.
"I hate waking up like this," she muttered, a shiver passing through her. "The eyes of that shadowy presence... they’re burned into mine."
She blinked, but those eyes—those little flames—were still there, flickering at the edges of her mind.
"Bah."
Looking down, she cradled the bracelet in her palm. It was the same metal, but more ornate, blooming with dainty gems and jewels of every color. She tried it on, took it off, then reexamined it.
"...I took this from my dream." She marveled, suspicious of its dormant power. "If this is a key, how does it work?"
After hours of idle fidgeting during breakfast and her morning routine, she finally surrendered, looping it through a neck-chain and wearing it under her top.
"Not too close, not too far."
With no duties to occupy her mind, she sprawled across the bed, imagining patterns in the popcorn ceiling.
Driscoll’s bitterness lingered—what kind of master had shackled him, and what had he done to deserve such loyalty?
If someone had done something so great for me, I'd tell the world.
The popcorn bubbled into those fierce eyes beneath the Master's feet, sending chills down her spine.
Then there's my suitor. A god, no less. And he was an evil god...a god of ashes...
Her dreamworld was shifting from a dalliance into a burden. In the beginning, making friends always feels effortless, filled with lightness—frequent jokes, shared gifts, and spontaneous hangouts. But as time wears on, those early joys give way to needs, drama, and an unshakeable heaviness. Even dream companions, a source of delight, can become weighty anchors dragging her down.
Twisting the beads on the bracelet, she let its curious warmth flood back into her.